Writing Corner 1: Write to Wellness Prompts

Word Prompt: Lower Story Prompt: from the book “Option B” by Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant

"I had been trying to keep a journal since childhood. Every couple of years I would start a new one, only to give up just a few days later. But over the five months following Dave’s funeral, 106,338 words poured out of me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe until I wrote everything down — from the smallest detail of my morning to the unanswerable questions of existence. If I went even a few days without journaling, the emotions would build up inside me until I felt like a dam about to burst. At the time, I didn’t understand why writing on an inanimate computer was so important. Shouldn’t I be talking to my family and friends, who could actually respond? Wouldn’t it be better to try to distance myself from the anger and grief rather than use the limited time I had alone each day to dredge it all up?

Now it’s clear that my compulsion to write was guiding me in the right direction. Journaling helped me process my overwhelming feelings and my all-too-many regrets. I thought constantly about how if I’d known that Dave and I had only eleven years, I would’ve made sure we spent more time together. I wished that in the hard moments in our marriage, we had fought less and understood each other more. I wished that on what turned out to be our last anniversary, I had stayed home rather than flying with my kids to attend a bar mitzvah. And I wished that when we went for a hike that final morning in Mexico, I’d walked by Dave’s side and held his hand, instead of walking with Marne while he walked with Phil. As I wrote out these moments, my anger and regret began to lessen.

Philosopher Soren Kierkegaard said that life can only be understood backward but it must be lived forward. Journaling helped me make sense of the past and rebuild my self-confidence to navigate the present and future."

Brenda's Musings:

Wow, my first post! After reading Monique's prompt above, I was inspired to write the whimsical poem below. The poem encouraged me to look at my relationship with nature (low to the ground in my kayak) and with my partner in The Mayfly on Black Bay Isle.

The Mayfly On Black Bay Isle

In their bright red tandem they make their move.

This quirky couple in their outstretched groove.

She in the bow, he in the stern

of their cheeky kayak all set to be born.

As the clear water licks its lips at shore

The pink granite becomes their brand new floor.

Close to the water they glide on through.

Brushing rocks a bit, but just a few.

He finds her position to be quite droll

that she would acquiesce control

to his steering arms so steady and strong.

But, she shyly whispers that he is wrong.

As the winds pick up, habits reverse.

She sets the pace and he doesn't curse.

He follows her lead and matches her rhythm

with a harmony that is often hidden.

They find a cove on Black Bay Isle

where they both agree to stay awhile.

They head for harbour without a fight

like a braided rope they huddle tight.

A different world, a mysterious place

of cedar, rock, wind and taste,

With windswept trees, paddle and line

They fasten their tent to the deep sublime.

They watch a show on Black Bay Isle

where the mayflies shag in their elegant style.

As the dark sky falls into the lake,

These insects hover and procreate.

They have their moment beneath the moon

and once they flicker, they die real soon.

Such candor, no shame, no blame or fuss.

Just frolic, fireworks and tangled muss.

They are bemused as they sleep real well

But to wake up early to a monstrous smell

of putrid odours of shedding skin

Into their sleeping bags the flies stole in.

When she bends real low to relieve it all.

Do the spiders bite or send a call?

When he pours his coffee onto their mossy hill

Do the ants come marching to make their kill?

When the sun comes up without a sound.

Does she pump her light into the low dark ground?

As the yarrow darkens to an amber hue.

Do the honeybees don their dancing shoes?

Are they playful now since the morn awoke?

Are they kin with paddles and womb-like boats?

Would they figure it out on Black Bay Isle

without the mayfly’s flirtatious style? - Brenda Wainman, July 2023 ·