Monday, September 23, 2013
It's blowing my mind!
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
This article appeared at a perfect time for me, as I am wading through my manuscript (it's about the decade I spent as a wilderness guide while I searched for my birth parents) and trying to connect the chapters. Howard made me realize that I, too, am looking for the gesture in my writing, trying to "step back" from the page and see the overall movements, gestures of the work.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
I haven't yet read the book. Have you? Want to weigh in?
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
An adopted friend wrote, "Happy Birthday, Andrea. If birthdays are as difficult for you as they are for me, I wish you the best in getting through yours. If not, then just have a great day!" It was a sweet, empathetic message, and it really made me feel for my friend.
There were many years in my early adulthood when an impending birthday would bring with it feelings of dread and sadness. On many May 20ths I woke up in the morning wondering who I really was, what it meant that I was born, and if the woman who had borne me was thinking about me on that day.
I compensated for these negative feelings by planning elaborate birthday adventures so that I would be too busy to think those sad thoughts. But the sad thoughts always crept back to me anyway.
I'm happy to say that since I reunited with my birth families, even though learning how to be in relationship with them has at times been challenging, I no longer dread my birthday. I don't languish in bed wondering if I deserve to exist on this planet.
Birthdays are no longer a big deal to me anymore. I don't need anyone to make a big fuss just to prove they love me, I don't make elaborate plans so I can celebrate myself. I deeply enjoy hearing from friends, but I don't sit around waiting for the phone to ring.
There is tremendous power in knowing where we came from, and those of us who are or were denied that knowledge tend to struggle. Our struggles manifest in various ways, but they are struggles nonetheless.
For any of you reading who do not have access to information about some part of your family, some part of where you are from, that integral part of the self, please know that my heart is with you.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
This is a fake legend. I wrote it to try to portray the feeling that many adoptees have that they are not fully human because they aren't allowed to know their true origins.
Sometimes, we invent our origins.
The stanzas written in regular lettering are meant to represent someone telling a story, the italics indicate where the storyteller is spinning a tall tale.
by Andrea Ross
Crouched on a shale slope, she peered
from between yucca spears
to watch them toboggan down snow patches
on their black-feathered asses; she muffled
her laugh when they snacked on snow-clods.
She learned raven-talk—
the sounds of water pouring into a canteen,
a hasp settling into place.
But what she loved most
was the way ravens loved: in mid-air.
her sweetheart was a rock-climber.
He spent each free moment pressed
to canyon walls, while she loved the air’s caress.
Some swore she jumped.
She tumbled over the rim
like the pack-mules in the snowstorm that year.
Black feathers crowed across her face in love—free-fall, a mile.
They twirled, iridescent, and then swept upward.
Now, in a pile of raven’s down,
a human-raven baby softly grows
while mother blackness swoops
around the world, calling.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
I recently found this excellent blog, The Declassified Adoptee, written by a woman who has had similar experiences as an adult adoptee as I have had. What I find especially exciting and compelling about her blog is that she writes eloquently about many of the same feelings that I try to write about, and she writes about them with real aplomb. Like me, she has found her birth family and has a good relationship with them and with her adoptive family, but she still feels a sense of loss about being adopted and a sense of injustice about the way that adoptees are regarded in this country. Check. Her. Out.