Those of you who have been reading my blog, and those of you who know me personally know I’m good at sharing important, gruesome, sad, exciting, powerful pieces of my life so others’ lives may be impacted positively. You have seen that I use my voice to make a difference. You’ve witnessed as I have raised thousands of dollars for the Arthritis Foundation, as I’ve shared my story openly on my blog and in local and national news stories about healthcare. Those of you who know me best know that I love hosting potlucks – what you may not know is that I love hosting potlucks so much because I love bringing people together who would not otherwise meet. I love creating community, introducing strangers, being a nucleus to a gathering.
My mother is responsible for this. It’s all her fault. Mind you, I’m not blaming her; I’m giving credit where it is due. In 2005, my mother’s high school graduation present to me was a sewing machine.
I remember being confused, a little upset, and perhaps a bit embarrassed by it. Not the machine, of course, it didn’t do anything to cause me anxiety, but rather the thoughts that intruded my mind when I considered the unspoken suggestion behind the gift – that I would use it.