Ever wonder why you’re here and what is your purpose in life? I have a friend who has said, “None of us are here just to exist.” I like to think that’s true. I believe that we all have some reason to be here.

When I first retired in 2015, I searched for activities that I would enjoy doing. I was really trying to stay busy and find something I liked to do. I liked to sew and craft so I started by making things like placemats and curtains and repurposing small furniture in my home. In doing that I found I really liked making things. I was also addicted to cooking shows (still am!). I’d watch chefs prepare meals and try them on my family. I actually considered enrolling in a cooking class, but I found Google and the Food Network were enough to satisfy my curiosity.

Then, in 2020, I became part of a collaborative with four former co-workers. We were asked how we had gotten to where we currently were in life and what our purpose was. We ended up sharing our perspectives on life, vision and purpose in a book.  

It was suggested I take what I was learning about cooking and my love of writing and put it in a book. I wasn’t really feeling that combination. Instead, I opened an Etsy shop and sold the hand crafted things I was making. I did find that satisfying and surprising that complete strangers were interested in and buying the items I was making.

Just this past winter I questioned whether that was what I really wanted to do. I was still enjoying making things, but something was missing. It became a little too easy for me to just stop and let go of something I thought I loved. I just wanted to write. I wanted to finish that book. I wanted to get this blog back out there. That was my purpose.

I’ve heard that if it’s meant for you it will come true. You just have to put in the work. I have said in a previous post that I have found my joy in writing. I just had to try some other things till I found it.

Your purpose may be in something you create or an activity you participate in. It may be helping others in some way, teaching or just being a listening board for someone. It’s just something that brings you joy or maybe joy to others. I am far from a religious person, but I find meaning in Jeremiah 29:11 NIV. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” It may not be the intention of that scripture, but it says to me, the plan for you is there and do what brings you joy.

Have you found your purpose? What brings you joy?

I have been fighting with this post for weeks trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. I understand why some people don’t share their journeys. This is the most traumatic experience I’ve had to go through. I had support, but basically I was alone.

During October 2020 I was making masks for Covid with breast cancer logos on them. The fall season of 2021 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. March and April of 2022 I was traveling to a city 30 miles away from my home for cancer radiation treatments; twenty nine days of treatments to be exact. Breast cancer awareness has taken on a whole new meaning for me. I am one of the thousands of women (and men) diagnosed with breast cancer.

I faithfully have my mammograms every year. I also do self-exams. In 2021, I was called back to repeat my mammogram. It had happened before so I wasn’t really worried. A second mammogram, an ultrasound and a biopsy later I was told cancer was found in one of my breasts. It was all so, so scary. My doctor called me with the news. When I hung up I cried.

In the late 70’s a journalist named Betty Rollin wrote a book titled First, You Cry. It documented her breast cancer journey. I’m using the same title for this blog post because that was my exact reaction to my diagnosis. My next reaction was to pray. I prayed for strength and asked God to hold my hand through this. I prayed for courage. I knew that many survive for many years after treatment. Of course at first, that’s not where my mind was. I finally realized that being positive was what I needed. People often don’t talk about their diagnosis. I get that. I didn’t tell anyone outside of family at first either. I wasn’t ashamed. I just didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me.  

It’s all so overwhelming. Cancer is a terrible word that you never want to hear your name associated with. My treatment was surgery and radiation. I am now considered a survivor. I take my meds and see my oncologist. I’m just thankful that’s all I had to go through because I could have needed much more. I ended up at a cancer hospital because the original channels they sent me through were just too spread out, by day and location. The cancer hospital was a one stop shop. They did everything there and they were thorough and put me at ease. It was just mind boggling to me that they built a whole hospital for cancer patients.

Since all of this I try to remind others to keep up with their cancer screenings. You never know what they will tell you. As they say with security issues, if you see something say something. This applies with your health, too. I know it’s scary, but wouldn’t you rather know. When they first started testing me, before I got the actual diagnosis, I prayed that it was not there, but I’d had enough tests to know something was there. I couldn’t pray it away. It was what it was. I asked God for strength to help me in my fear and worry. I want to be around for a while. My children are just starting to begin their adult lives. I have celebrations I want to be part of. In my prayers I promised that I would find a way to help others through their own diagnoses. I’ve already made a small start with that.  I’m not done yet.

Isaiah 41:10 is my mantra.  There was a time I was seeing it everywhere so I knew it was for me. “So do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you.”

Have you had or scheduled your cancer screenings for this year? Asking for a friend.

I wish I had continued to keep journals after high school. Now that I look back at my life there are events I cannot remember. My memories of certain events in my life are sketchy at best. The other day, one of my college friends was talking about an incident I was part of. I really didn’t remember it. I sat there trying to reach back into my memories, but it wasn’t there. I couldn’t remember to save my life. The same thing had happened with a high school friend a few weeks earlier.

In high school I had an English teacher that encouraged the class to keep a journal. Actually, it was a part of the class to write something in the journal every day. I kind of kept it up when I went to college. Once I started life after graduation I didn’t really document anything. I only wrote little notes in small daily planners.

I destroyed those planners during a purge session years ago. I think my mindset was that I really didn’t want to remember some of those things. My first job, the boy I spent the day crying over, meeting my soon-to-be husband would only be remembered in my head. I have picture memories of my wedding, our first house, my two successful pregnancies. No written documentation. I don’t really know how I was feeling during those occasions. I only have my foggy memory to rely on for some of my early memories.

I was going through items in an old trunk a few years ago and found those high school journals and notes of events I had written down. I decided then that I would start journaling again. I have, unfortunately, lost a good amount of memories in my life. Thankfully, it’s not everything. There are events I actually remember moment by moment.

I believe my vision, my purpose, is to write. As someone who aspired to be a writer early in my life, I’m so sorry I destroyed those written memories. That high school English teacher was right. Write something, anything, every day.

How’s your memory? Have you ever kept a journal?

I have chosen persevere as my word of the year. I am determined to finish what I started and keep moving in my purpose. My problem is self-doubt. It is my plan to not allow self-doubt hold me back anymore. Self-doubt has gotten a hold on me many, many times. I am actively trying to dispel her from my life. Yes, I called it “her”. She became so intrusive and annoying at one point that I named her Sheila. I don’t know anyone by that name and I tend to talk to myself so I couldn’t use my own name when I tell “her” to go away and leave me alone. My apologies to all Sheilas.

I have found that, at 64 years old I have finally come into my own. For most of my life I have doubted myself and my abilities. It didn’t help to be bullied when I was younger, but that’s a story for another day. In the last ten years or so, I have realized that I can do and make things that make me and others happy. I have quotes all over the walls of my office/craft room to remind me that you’ve got this Adrienne.

Writing, drawing and making things are very calming to me. I recently opened an Etsy shop to sell some of the things I make. Friends saw the things I made and encouraged me to monetize them. I would always become anxious when someone wanted to buy something. I would feel my items were not worthy of being bought. I really couldn’t believe my friends wanted to buy my items much less a complete stranger would pay for something I made.

Making things aside, I have always felt positive about my writing. I make an effort to embrace it whenever and however I can. I am a listener rather than a speaker. Writing allows me to put the thoughts in my head out into the open. Sheila still tries to hinder my progress, but I am learning to push her to the side. This blog is evidence of that. I am so determined that self-doubt will no longer rule me. I let it go once, but now I’m back.

For me, beating self-doubt is about having confidence in yourself; not to the point of conceit, but knowing your worth. It’s about knowing that no one is perfect and stepping out on faith. Nine times out of ten, what you’re doing has been done before. You’re just putting your own spin on it; nothing wrong with that.

The quote below is one of many I look at every day. This is part of my work on my self-esteem. Yes, I waited till I was 64 years old, but I do believe you’re never too old to reach your dreams. As long as I can hold a pen I’m doing this. Bye, Sheila.

Have you let self-doubt stop your dreams? Have you overcome it and how? 

I have written, re-written and edited this article/blog post about Valentine’s Day at least four times. What’s the problem? I want to say good things about this holiday because I do love, love. I’m just trying to examine how I feel about this holiday and these displays of love. Show me you love me every day. I honestly do get it though. Love is special and we get a whole day to express it.

Valentine’s Day was special to me way before I even knew about being in love. It’s my sister’s birthday. My mom had a special heart-shaped cake pan that she’d bake her birthday cakes with. One year, she left me in charge of the birthday cake. I used the regular cake pans because there was only one heart-shaped pan. I needed to make a two layer cake. It was more work to bake one layer, wait for it to cool and remove and bake another. So, I used the regular pans. My mom was furious. I don’t know how my sister felt. I had frosted the cake pink and made it pretty so I thought my job was done.

Other than my sister’s birthday the other joy I got out of Valentine’s Day was making a box to collect the many cards I would receive when I was in elementary school. The teachers would have us bring in an old shoe box that we would decorate with red and pink paper and hearts. Then, on the special day we would collect cards from our classmates in the boxes.

One year, a boy gave me a candy bar for Valentine’s Day. I had to be about 10 or 12 years old. He liked me but I didn’t care much for him. That year, the holiday had fallen after the Lenten season had started and I had given up chocolate. I did take the candy bar. I prayed on that candy bar and ate it.

After grade school Valentine’s Day wasn’t as important. Through high school and college there was never a really special someone to share it with. I can’t say I knew anything about love. I only dreamed that someday I’d find it.

My perspective of the holiday did change when I met my future husband. I came to appreciate it because I got gifts. I never thought he was particularly romantic, but he would give me cards, candy or flowers on Valentine’s Day.  

Those gifts and romantic gestures are just memories now. My husband passed away some years ago and our romantic relationship ended before that. I now tell my children and mother that I love them whenever I can. My children have given me cards and gifts and shown their love. A change for the holiday this year is that I have decided to celebrate ME. One thing that the Covid shutdown taught me is that I really do enjoy my own company. I pledge that I will love myself and ban negative thoughts about me and the things I love to do. Self-care and self-love will feed my self-esteem.

Happy Valentine’s Day! Who are you celebrating with?

I’m Adrienne E. Gray. Welcome to my blog. If you follow me on social media, you may already know a little something about me (or, know of me). Whether you follow me or not, thank you for being here. I’ve been trying a little too hard to perfect what I’m doing here. I planned to share it in January, but here it is now. I truly hope it’s worth looking into.

Here’s a little about me. I was born and grew up in Pittsburgh, PA, but came south to attend college and moved here after graduation. I started writing in high school. Back then, I dreamed of writing the “Great American Novel”.  Instead, I wrote sad poetry about my dreams of love. Right now, I’m working on this blog. The novel is still very much a work in progress.

I started the blog almost 10 years ago. If you look at some of my past posts, you can see it’s just a mish mash of thoughts. I never really gave it a theme. It’s just become thoughts of a 60 something year old me. I invite you to read, comment and share at will.

As for the name of the blog, I came up with the name AdieInk in high school. I was keeping a journal then and that was one of my doodles along with an idea for a logo which I drew on everything I could. Adie is my nickname and the Ink represents my writing – with an ink pen. My latest configuration is below; still working on it.

So, please follow me, share my blog and send me comments. I’d like to see where I can take this. I hope to put something out a few times a month ideas and thoughts willing. I’m still working on that book, but for now, it’s AdieInk.com.

New year. New venture. Then again, I don’t know that I can say it’s new, maybe recycled.

So, it’s 2023 and I’ve decided to reactivate my blog. I started it in 2014 and my last entry was in 2016. I get it. What happened, you ask? Well, life.

I looked at it a couple of months ago and decided to go back to it. It’s a new year. I’m feeling renewed. I’m also trying to get into this blogging process with a new mindset.

I understand many people prefer podcasts over blogs these days. I’m not one of them. I prefer writing over speaking. Hopefully, someone(s) will find what I write interesting and inviting.

Please check out what I wrote in the past and come back for what I write in the future. I plan to keep it up this time. My word for 2023 is PERSEVERE. I’ve got to keep moving and persist in my purpose.

I’ve also been choosing a word for the year for a couple of years now. A college classmate introduced me to it and I can say that is something I have kept up with. You choose a word to live by for the year. I chose persevere this year because I tend to procrastinate and put things off. My blog is a perfect example of that. I started it and worked on it for a bit and then just let it go. This year I have promised myself to keep up with it and carry on in spite of whatever else is going on in my life.

So, my question is if you could choose a word for yourself for the year, what would it be? Maybe you’re already following this practice; how’s it working for you? Let me know in the comments.

My son will be leaving home in a few weeks to attend college. This should be a happy time for us, but I’m scared to death. My son is an 18 year old African American male.

I had “the talk” with him when he was around twelve years old. I told him to respect the police and do what they tell him to do if they ever stop him. No back talk. No eye rolling. No hesitation. At the time it upset me that I had to tell him these things. I didn’t want him to fear or hate the police.

Now, when he goes out, I worry. I worry that he may be hit by a stray bullet that someone may fire into a crowd. I worry that someone won’t like the way he looks and beats him up for that reason only. I also worry that a policeman will stop him for whatever reason and he won’t have a good enough explanation as to what he’s doing and why he’s there.

I have been more afraid for him than I have ever been for my daughter. As a young woman she is more vulnerable than he is. I never had “the talk” with her but now I have decided to include her due to recent events. The three of us talked about recent events with the police and I reinforced my earlier advice.

I don’t want either of them to have to watch their backs when they go out. They’re young. They should have a good time. I pray that they both grow to be happy, independent, courageous adults. I pray that they don’t have to have “the talk” with their children.

I recently accompanied my mom to South Carolina to see her older brother. He and my aunt are moving to Michigan where she has family so that she has help caring for him.  He has diabetes and some other health issues that are starting to change his quality of life. He is my mother’s only sibling. My aunt has cared for him and is now needs help. Her children and grandchildren live in Michigan and will help with my uncle’s care.

My mom has recently had her own health issues. She still lives in her own home and drives her own car. She moved to Atlanta to be closer to me. I think this trip was somewhat hard for her. She’s close to her brother and she and my aunt are like sisters. Some years ago she and my uncle moved my grandparents from Pennsylvania to South Carolina so that they would be closer to my uncle and aunt. My mom later made the same decision to move to my city to be closer to me. I guess things have now gone full circle.

During this trip she understandably had problems seeing my uncle as he was. He would be moving farther away from her and it may be harder to see him. On the way home she spoke about the issues they faced when they moved my grandparents. Her next question was, “Who is next?” She realizes this is part of life, but I’m sure she’s concerned about what will happen to her in the future. She always says she doesn’t want to be a burden.

I have told her that I will support her in any way I can. I plan to work with her now to put her wishes for the future in place. I am her oldest child and I believe she sometimes looks to me for assistance. My only sister lives in Boston and offers her support but I’m the hands on person since I’m right here with her. My mom cared for me before I was able to care for myself and I will care for her.

A few months ago I attended my 35^th college reunion. I had been looking forward to this reunion for a few months. For the first time since graduation I felt accomplished and happy; genuinely happy. I didn’t get to see some friends I would have liked to because they didn’t come, but I did see a few I didn’t expect to see.

I was very proud of my class. We looked good! I admit I bought a dress last year specifically to wear to one of the events. It was a little tight at the time. I lost some weight and got into it and I ended up not going to the event I bought it for!

I had a small circle of friends while in college and a few of them live in Atlanta, as I do. I talk to them maybe every few months. I can’t say that we keep in constant touch. We have that connection where we don’t see each other for months, but when we do it’s as if we just saw each other yesterday. We have our own mini reunions when we can. They showed up at my husband’s funeral. I lend support when one of them has family or medical issues. These are my “sisters from another mother”.

A few days after all of the festivities were over some classmates starting posting messages about the next reunion in five years. I look forward to this one too. I will be there.