Moons ago, someone carved me a nickname into the sand. The tide came and swept my name away. That name was "Sputnitsa," which means "fellow traveler" in Russian.
Author Archives: sputnitsa
I Remind Myself, in Troubled Times
Have the courage to accept our responsibility and our pain as our starting point. Imagine, seek and honor the most compelling truth of “the other side.” Abandon demeaning speech and belittling thoughts. Forgive others for not being perfect, for not … Continue reading
It is the Now
Times are dark and uncertain, and how things are going to end isn’t a given. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. It’s the love we share in the now that is everything that matters. Love makes and remakes us. And I believe … Continue reading
Posted in being, challenges, communication, community service, culture shock, faith, giving, giving is healing, goals, helping others, integrity, kindness, learning from others, life, love, never ending story, plan b, power, self-creation, volunteering, volunteerism, what next, what now, youth development
Tagged community service, faith, giving is healing, kindness, love, power, what next, what now
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Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Have I Learned Anything At All?
Many moons back, a man told me that he and I had no future together, due to the cultural gulf between us. I was devastated, but also furious that he’d not thought of the gap before leaping. I’d pointed it … Continue reading
the road is short, with many a winding turn
I was twenty. Driving down dark roads. Around us, only trees and stars, and the many, many curves the road threw before us. I drove slowly. It was our first night together. We’d end it lying on our backs on our gorgeous … Continue reading
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M
Kid, you have died. And the world continues being the world despite that. You knew it would. Somewhere in you, its relentlessness must have seemed proof you weren’t worth anything. But you were. It’s snowing. Weather keeps weathering. Movies keep … Continue reading
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The Woman Who Wasn’t There
I called him “My Old Man.” Every Sunday, for three years, I would make him a pot of soup and visit his tiny apartment cluttered with paintings and cockroaches. We’d sit, look at photos of trees, and he’d tell me the same stories. … Continue reading
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Death Be Not Proud, though Some Have Called Thee, for I Haven’t Yet
A decade ago, I opened up Long Day’s Journey into Night, but I never got past the introduction. There, I read of Eugene O’Neill’s youth, of his sailing the world and battling tuberculosis. This summed up everything that was wrong with me. I had never … Continue reading
Strangers on a Train
I took the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan. The train was crowded. A woman in the seat facing me was weeping. I turned off my music. She was in her 50s. On either side of her were two young women. She was telling them … Continue reading
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In Which I Do Not Reference Death, Not Even Once. Maybe Once.
Until now I have written like fire. Fire burns itself down. Fire fights. How do you keep a heart open while fighting? My heart needs to be open for this script. I’m entering a water period. This struggle is worth it. And if it’s … Continue reading
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