What I Really Know

“Becoming a writer is about becoming conscious. When you’re conscious and writing from a place of insight and simplicity and real caring about the truth, you have the ability to throw the lights on for your reader. He or she will recognize his or her life and truth in what you say, in the pictures you have painted, and this decreases the terrible sense of isolation that we have all had too much of.”

Anne Lamott

Tell me what you really know, what you really, really know. What can you write about with complete authority—even if it’s how to change a diaper or a tire; or how to listen to a friend. Make a list of things you really know how to do. Post your list here.


  1. Tammy Tucker Weston says


    He was beautiful and loved him in a way I never loved another, but his time has come. I’m moving on. The way a tennis ball escapes into the grass hidden, eluding those it does not hope to be found by. Waiting for the one it does. We tried to keep our emotions in the same court, share the same life. We crossed that net onto a side we could never leave together. Yet one of us always kept the ball way too long.
    A tennis ball swirls through the air waiting for the right place to fall, only to be recieved by a racket of frustration slamming it so hard it must fly away. Although fullfilling, this love could not sustain it’s bounce for a lifetime.
    You ask what do I know about. I know about tennis. Knowing to hold the ball,
    but not too long, not too tight. Have learned even though opposite at times, there are more times we could be a team on the same side. Knowing that it is better to share a court than always have the ball in yours. I also know when the time has come to hit that ball right off the entire court than stay inside the game. If I did not allow that ball to go, just let it go, would not have found the one I so embrace. May have always been searching and never found what was so needed for me.
    Now that I look back on the choice made. The shot committed to taking, I am so pleased with my decision. Choosing to share my court with another, making it ours for a lifetime. I do know tennis.

    • says

      Tammy, thanks for posting…and welcome to the Roadmap Blog. It’s interesting how we can use something we know intimately to reveal the truth of a complete separate situation.

      • Tammy Tucker Weston says

        thank you so much for reading “tennis’ so soon. I was excited to hear your input..and welcome anyone else’s.

  2. says

    What I Really Know

    I know almost nothing. Every bit of knowledge slips away when I pinch at it — like quicksilver or water, elusive, unholdable. I don’t know what this body is fundamentally made of, or how much space cushions atoms, or how to really love my friends, or why I adore my partner, or what happened to the Barbie-toting little girl I used to be. I don’t understand how spiders make symmetrical webs or how hummingbirds flap invisibly quick. I don’t know how I got here or what’ll happen to my mind when my body quits. The list of unknowns is as long as time; as jumbled and beautiful as a city day. What do I know? I know the feel of my heartbeat, an inside drum that soothes me down when I can’t sleep. I know the smooth hard keys beneath my fingertips as I type this. I know the woody taste of cinnamon oatmeal with a sweet pique of raisins. I know the whistle-high song of swallows and the distant avalanche sound of crashing waves. I know the ease of being this body on a morning when I decide to love myself, love life, stop fighting. I know the warm ambling joy of being skin and bones and eyes and tongue and hands, the thick knowing that this moment with birdsong and oatmeal and steady heart is all there is; this is all I need to know.

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