Sharon Moore

Every once in awhile I'm shocked by how easily I'm overwhelmed by emotion over everyday things. Sometimes it's by a song I hear, a picture I see, a prayer I say, or something someone has written. Today I was talking to my friend(one of my best), and she told me I REALLY need to stop worrying about what other people think of me. I DO have anxiety over the choices I make and what's "right and wrong". I worry whether or not I'm a good enough Mom, wife, friend, sister, ect. Later on during the day I logged onto MYSPACE to read a blog that my good friend Sharon Moore told me she was going to be writing. Sharon is a 41 year old, black lesbian, who just quit her job teaching at UNLV to move home to Chicago and write a book. If you would have asked me 5 years ago if I could be friends with a 41 year old black lesbian, I'm sure I would have highly doubted it. I would have assumed we couldn't possibly have anything in common. Now, I can't imagine never having met her. She has changed my life. The way I look at people in general now has changed. I realize that we all have similar insecurities, and we all long for inner peace. The reason I'm writing this is because EVERYTIME I read a blog of hers, an email from her, an article by her, or hear her speak I feel moved, and it almost always makes me cry. I don't know if it's what she says or how she says it, but her writing ability is an undeniable God given talent, and I thought it deserved a little MORE recogniton. I will definitely be first in line to read her book when she's done, and I will push copies on all of my friends as well. I hope her writings can inspire others to give everyone an equal chance, and to realize that despite our outwardly appearances, most of us all long for the same things in this life... peace and happiness. Here are some quotes I stole from Sharon's blog on myspace. I thought I should show an example of what I'm talking about.
From the blog of Sharon Moore...

"Two weeks ago I headed home, i.e. I packed some things and headed for the friendly environs of Chicago. What I've discovered is that while little (h) home might be connected to a person or people, or a place or to one's things, Home is something else all together. Home is not external; it cannot be created by others or with an accumulation of stuff. Home is internal and is really about finding a sense of peace and belonging within. I'm not particularly spiritual and am not all that grounded in religious tradition or in philosophy, but I do believe that being at peace with who, what, and where one is is the key to having a true sense of Home."
-"I've spent the better part of my adult life running away from committment. And as John Cusack says in High Fidelity, failing to committment is like dying in tiny, tiny increments. I am committed to this book project. I have something to say, and though I hope there will be others interested in what I write, it is the saying that is truly important. And perhaps, if I say it well and say it truthfully, I'll find that ever elusive peace, which will lead me Home."

This was her next blog, and this is what made me cry..

-"Ten minutes ago I was told, almost in passing, that my father has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. And in the last ten minutes it seems as if everything and nothing has changed.
The sky over Chicago remains partly cloudy, the temperature in my unairconditioned apartment remains balmy, the Cubs are still in first place, Pam's flight remains on schedule, and yet everything seems askew.
As a child, my father seemed to be a distant, unfeeling (except for anger) disciplinarian. My siblings and I would scatter like so many cockroaches when he returned home in the evening for fear of being the focus of his ire. As a child, I did not understand.
As an adult, I recognize that what seemed mean, hostile, and sometimes violent, was really a lifetime of frustration: frustration at the realities of being born poor, orphaned, and black in the rural South of the late 1920s; frustration at being basically uneducated and thus forced to work a job he hated; and frustration at having seven mouths to feed on an income that never exceeded 25 thousand dollars a year, despite working for the same company 36 years.
At the time of his retirement, my father became a different man; or rather he became the same man, liberated. And oh, his liberation was joyous. He is a man of smiles and laughter. A man who enjoys his time off from the drudgery of labor. Now he labors in his yard and on his family tree because he wants to not because he has to.
I lost my job two months ago. And in the buildup to turning in my keys and clearing out my office, I felt the keen failure of my situation. Ten minutes ago I realized that that "failure" has affored me the opportunity to be in Chicago, in this place, near my childhood home and near my dad. It is my privilege to be here to comfort him and see him through. It is my privilege to be his daughter. It is my privilege to be at home."