If you follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or Google+ then you probably already know that an essay of mine was published on The Washington Post on Wednesday. If you didn’t already know, that essay is about how I’m learning to talk to my four-year old about police. It wasn’t an easy essay to write. Whenever I write about things I’m doing as a parent, I always feel terribly naked. Parenting is such a personal endeavor. What we do with our children is such a personal and living process. To be a writer is to make our “personal” consumable for everyone else, however. When you do that, when you tell your story for an audience, you open yourself and story up their interpretation. As a writer, there’s no greater agony than this. But there’s also no greater joy. There’s agony is living naked on paper. There’s joy in being able to hear your thoughts re-told by someone else, someone with their own story that will make them more inclined to agree or not agree with what you’ve said. This is the power of writing.
So, here’s the essay. I hope you read it and share it and take something meaningful from it. Have a great weekend. Love, Jessica.
p.s. If you live in the DC/MD/VA area, you can also read my essay in the The Washington Post this Sunday. It will be in the Outlook section.