Author: Linda Wright

Linda Wright, author of "My Turn: When Caregiving Roles Reverse," now lives in Florida. She has served on the boards of organizations serving people with rare, genetic bleeding disorders like hers. As a writer, she has contributed to several anthologies and is a member of the Tallahassee Writers Association. Linda is married to the Reverend Ms. Robin Gray.

Is It Lying If I Say “I’m Fine?”

~ Linda Wright

Is it lying if I say that I’m fine, when I don’t feel well? Am I trying to convince myself that I’ll be okay or, am I trying to give the answer that is expected? What if part of me feels emotionally unwell but physically fit? Am I trying to protect the person who asked? Is it that I just don’t feel like receiving words of sympathy? What’s the harm in a little fib now and then? If the person who asked was just doing so as a formality, then there is probably no damage done by stretching the truth. The harm happens if the person who asked really cares. That wounds both parties in the conversation and leaves a harmful scar in the relationship.

Day 7 (of 31 days of free writing)

The Evolving Nature of Truth

~ Linda Wright

When I was younger I believed that truth was solid, something that was absolute. What I learned as true in my history classes I find now was a one sided view of what really happened. What science proved to be true when I was younger has now been shown to be false. Just look what happened to Pluto! Once it was a planet, then it was not, and now it is labeled a dwarf planet with one of its five moons composed of organic macromolecules that may be ingredients for the emergence of life. It seems clear to me that more research will bring new truths to light. Recently I read that there is finally some attention being paid to the placebo effect. In fact some people do have the ability to heal their own bodies based on what they believe. Others of us, myself included, lack this talent. The lesson here is not to scoff at those who are lucky enough to have this power. The research isn’t there yet, but it appears that this ability may be genetic. It’s easy for me to understand why some people don’t always believe in the same things. The possibilities for what is true is limitless and the universe is expanding.

Day 6 (of 31 days of free writing)

Reflecting on Tolerance

~ Linda Wright

The older I get the more I feel my patience shrinking, like the spaces between my vertebra. Now that the time left to me is shorter so is my tolerance. There are many small things that irritate me, like not being able to remember someones name. Indecision in another person is almost as annoying as it is in myself. I do my best to silence my grumbling complaints to everyone except my spouse, although I can see the unfairness of dumping my petty grievances to the person I love the most. Ironically, one of my primary pet peeves is lack of communication. People who are inconsiderate of others really inflame my anger. Balancing the line between politeness and honest communication is a work in progress.

Day 5 (of 31 days of free writing)

Less Media, More Peace

~ Linda Wright

We don’t own a television or a large screen monitor. I never listen to the weather or news on the Internet and I’ve completely given up using my phone to report even the current outdoor temperature. I listen to the radio only in bits and snatches when I happen to be alone in the car. I occasionally look at a newspaper, most often to see who might be listed on the obituary page. Despite my best efforts someone will tell me what weather is expected in the next few days or the latest political news. People seem to be obsessed with the weather and politics. I find it somewhat baffling, since the predictions for both seem unreliable.

Day 4 (of 31 to days of free writing)

Reflections on Memory

~ Linda Wright

My parents both had good memories even at ninety years of age, but they rarely agreed when they told about an event they both remembered. On their sixtieth wedding anniversary I asked them to tell me what that day was like for them. Dad grinned sheepishly and spilled out a tale of how happy he was to pick my mother up at the train station that morning. He said if felt like it was one of the best days of his life. Mom’s version of the day was about how tired she was after her long journey from Canada and how frustrated she was to have the ceremony delayed for hours. She had no pleasant memories of the ceremony. My sentimental father was skilled at seeing the good in the world and ignoring the disdainful. My mother harbored resentment and jealousy that often gave a bitter taste to her remembrances. Memory it seems to me is a fragile thing, held together more by the glue of emotion than reality.

Day 3 (of 31 days of free writing)