Eating from Paper Plates

I first learned to express myself in the smallest unit of culture that I know, my family. I am most thankful for my family's ability to be real, to invite others into the reality of our lives.  If you come to dinner you won't see our fine china set out for you. You'll be squished around a small dining room table bumping elbows with the person sitting next to you. You are guaranteed for someone to spew their drink in laughter, to hear incredible stories from my Dad, and for my Mom to make you a great meal and send you home with the leftovers. It's a place where you are allowed to laugh till your gut hurts or cry over your mashed potatoes. We will laugh with you, cry with you, let out frustration with you, and hopefully uplift you.  I assume that we probably overwhelm the really well mannered and quiet ones, but always when they leave I see a glimpse of something in their smile and eyes. It's a joy that they have experienced realness and they know it is right and good. I used to be nervous when bringing in the new boyfriend or friend scared that they would be overwhelmed or not fit in but now I see that it's one of the most beautiful gifts I can offer someone.  Mom always used a saying to describe us when inviting people over to dinner, "We'll be eating on paper plates, but we'd love to have you."

I have had the desire to write for some time now. I began writing poetry when I was in elementary school, and over the past few years my journal writing has been a key element in my sanity of mind. Perhaps to write books would be my goal, but I first needed a place to begin sharing my unedited thoughts. So, here it is. My writing is sort of like eating on paper plates. I don't want to write to impress, give advice or out of the need for others to hear me. I do want to invite others into my life (my dining room table), to journey with me in realness. In the words of my mom, I invite you, "We'll be eating on paper plates, but I'd love to have you."