I’m standing on the bridge watching maple pinwheels fall. (Helicopters didn’t exist when Anne did.) The sun is lighting them up. One…two…and then the wind blows and hundreds detach from the branches and fall in nature’s confetti.
I’ve been thinking about the concept of being needed lately. I want Beau to need me. I am needed by the children for snacks and shoe tying yes – and that is all apart of nurturing. But I mean- my beauty. My soul.
I have been struggling a great deal, for months and months really, with the idea of success. Art, my book…can I “make” it. As if my beauty is a business and if it isn’t wanted I am a failure.
Today as I stand on the bridge I am thinking of the books deemed successful. And the opposite rings true. I need Harry. I need Anne. I need middle earth and tea with Mr. Tumnus.
LM Montgomery had depression. She may have even committed suicide. Anne was her escape. The people who created these characters are almost irrelevant. Their success is not a factor that really truly matters. My therapist said something a while ago that sticking out to me today.
“Think of all the children who need your book.”
And even deeper I am thinking of how much I have needed Flora. Perhaps I need her in the way sweet Lucy Maude needed her Anne.