Je suis Laura, but people just seem to prefer Linda. Job applicants, sales people, colleagues, new acquaintances, old friends, anyone, everyone addresses me as Linda. At least once a week. Sometimes, they realize what they’ve done and murmur confused apologies. Usually, though, the conversation continues, none the wiser. Except Linda, of course. I know. But really, I’m cool with it.
But forget Linda for now. Who is this Laura character, really? Can her existence be described as meaningful or worthwhile? Like so many people, I can’t shake the certainty that when I die, no one will notice or care much about my absence. Driven by the urge to matter or at least not be normal or boring, I aim for “edgy” but realize I just come across as needy and a little weird.
I’ve been meaning to get serious and start writing most of my life. I’m out of excuses, so here i am. This is a place where pieces of me can find a home, outside my head. It doesn’t matter if anyone visits, I want these Laura-packets out of my head so they can blossom in the warmth of the sun, in a garden of lovingly curated words. As much as I enjoy using words to elicit a desired mental picture, sometimes an actual image is far more efficient. I dabble in both words and imagery to satisfy the need to create, to be uniquely me, to find purpose.
I dream possibilities. I long to see the world, to be fearlessly swept along in the current of far-away cultures. I am compelled to form connections with – and deep down, to be accepted, to drink in everything I can about how and why things are. I am the sum of every experience, each person I have known and all the mistakes I have made. If I live each day well, the sum of me will grow until my last breath.
je suis notlinda 