Beth Bornstein Dunnington
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A Circle Of Women

February 2, 2018

Something extraordinary at LAX today… (writing this on the plane). I was at the gate, waiting to get on my plane to Portland. Flights to two different cities were boarding on either side of the Portland fight. A toddler who looked to be eighteen or so months old was having a total meltdown, running between the seats, kicking and screaming, then lying on the ground, refusing to board the plane (which was not going to Portland). His young mom, who was clearly pregnant and traveling alone with her son, became completely overwhelmed… she couldn’t pick him up because he was so upset, he kept running away from her, then lying down on the ground, kicking and screaming again. The mother finally sat down on the floor and put her head in her hands, with her kid next to her still having a meltdown, and started crying.

Then, this gorgeous thing (I’m crying just writing this)… the women in the terminal, there must have been six or seven of us, not women who knew each other, approached and surrounded her and the little boy and we knelt down and formed a circle around them. I sang “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” to the little boy… one woman had an orange that she peeled, one woman had a little toy in her bag that she let the toddler play with, another woman gave the mom a bottle of water. Someone else helped the mom get the kid’s sippy cup out of her bag and give it to him. It was so gorgeous, there was no discussion and no one knew anyone else, but we were able to calm them both down, and she got her child on the plane.

Only women approached. After they went through the door we all went back to our separate seats and didn’t talk about it… we were strangers, gathering to solve something. It occurred to me that a circle of women, with a mission, can save the world.

I will never forget that moment.

Bursting at the seams

2/27/2019

 
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A woman wrote to me about one of my upcoming writers' workshops.
 
She read about it on Facebook.
 
She wrote, "I'm bursting at the seams with stories but have never written any of them down. I'm about to turn 80. Is it too late to start? To even think of calling myself a writer?"
 
Her message did me in. I sat with it for a long time.
 
The image of the stories trying to burst out of the seams of a life, like an old dress that doesn't fit... your body saying no to that too-tight thing, unable to squeeze into what no longer works.
 
I sent this quote back to her. "It is never too late to be what you might have been." ~ George Eliot.
 
I really believe that. That it's never too late. That's what's so gorgeous about living. You can do what you need to do when you realize you need to do it. Writing is a practice.
 
Just pick up a pen and start. 

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  • Home
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    • Class Gallery
  • Waking Up In Hawai'i Blog
  • Bios
    • Writing
    • Theatre
  • Calendar
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