I’ve been thinking about families lately. Specifically, two kinds of family: the kind we are born into and the kind we create for ourselves among the strangers we meet in the course of our lives.
I have a brother I love dearly. I never had a sister, but I was blessed with girl cousins who were close in age. As children, we’d play together like siblings. Holidays were always big gatherings, too. And when we got older, we stood as bridesmaids in each others’ weddings. Eventually, we moved away from our family homes and out of each other’s lives.
This week, some of my cousins came to town for an impromptu four-day get-together. From the get-go, I was struck by how easily we slipped back into sister-mode. Making lunch, shopping, and just sittin’ around reminiscing, the bonds between us are still there, despite the years we’ve been apart. It’s such a comfortable, validating feeling to be with them, those people who knew us way back when.
Almost a decade ago, writing groups and writing conferences introduced me to a different kind of family. After attending my first writing conference, I felt like I had finally found my “peeps.” Without these new sisters and brothers, my writing life would be one lonely enterprise.
I’m especially grateful to the angels among them who’ve taken a personal interest in my work. At times when I’ve been ready to tear my hair out in frustration, they come through with encouragement and sage advice.
When I was growing up, I imagined a writer’s life to be a solitary existence. I never imagined that I’d find such a nurturing community here. But that is exactly what happened.
I’m lucky to have all these folks in my life. Whether related by blood or by our love of books, it’s family that makes life worthwhile.
July 11, 2023
Originally published on The Stiletto Gang
