Kendall, not an angel

Not incredible, not amazing, not a miracle-worker, and not humble or modest either. What I do is ordinary, from my perspective. Unlike many whose lives are marginal to mainstream society, I spent the first five years of my life being lavishly loved by two grandparents and a great-grandmother. At five, I entered a childhood scarred by physical illness and blighted by physical and sexual abuse administered by parents suffering from mental illness and addiction. In my twenties I chose relationships that included abuse, exploitation, addiction, betrayal, and loss. By my thirties I began to make better choices, but not till I was sixty-eight did I find someone I could deeply love and be loved by. 

I have never had money or material resources. When you have nothing, it’s easy to share. When you have nothing to lose, you can take risks. Many people helped me. I chose a delightful profession--teaching theatre--but got to it late because it took so long to work my way through school. Once educated, I was poorly paid, and the hours were endless. Yet I loved the work, and I met outcasts, clowns, misfits, revolutionists, and irresponsible dreamers. Who would yearn for a life in theatre? Not a practical person. So I am comfortable with wild people. Poor people, unhoused people, prisoners, victims of injustice: they are my people. I am far more comfortable with them than with middle-class conventional people. 

In this journal I tell the story of my life as an old white woman. I talk about what I think and do, what amazes me, what fills me with gratitude and admiration. I hope my journal interests you as yours interests me; I hope mine leads you to reflect on what is right for you to do, coming from where you come from, to make the world more loving, more joyful, more compassionate and just.  I’m turning comments off for a while. I will keep enjoying your journals and appreciating your words on your pages.


Thanks to Diana for this portrait of me.