London Bridge is Falling Down…

On Personal Evolution & London’s Tower Bridge

Happy, happy Sunday, Writer’s Block Partiers.

It’s so good to be back here with you.

A photo I snapped of Tower Bridge on a rare break during a work trip (2015).

Since we’ve last connected, I’ve enrolled in a memoir class, which has been a powerful contrast to my ongoing efforts on my fiction novel. Memoir requires the writer to draw conclusions about lessons learned and to consider the point of experiences while still processing and living life.

“Rather than simply telling a story from her life, the memoirist both tells the story and muses upon it, trying to unravel what it means in the light of her current knowledge.”

-Judith Barrington, Writing the Memoir: From Truth to Art

So, today I’m sharing a personal essay prepared for my class.

When you’re writing as much as I am, you are forced to evolve. As you get over the initial shock of sharing your work, you find power in publishing things that matter to you, whatever form they take. You also learn to make peace with an ever-evolving readership. And you, after years of fighting it, write from your heart.

This is exactly that. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Thank you, as always, for being here, for supporting me, for reading, and for being a safe space for me to create, evolve, and confront all that flows through my wild, artistic brain.

“The Bridge that (Almost) Broke” (working title)

By Malaika R. Simmons

When asked to come up with a landmark of significance, I felt uninspired, unmoved, unmoored even. It brought up deep emotions and hard truths of never feeling home even in my own country, feelings that have intensified with the harsh realities of the present administration. And so, it only seemed right that I settled on a travel destination.

Travel is my safe space.

It’s the grounding source of sanity that gives me perspective, makes me feel connected, and roots me in the sheer size of the world, and the beauty beyond my every day.

I let my mind run free and it sprinted toward London’s Tower Bridge.

My first international trip alone was to London for a theatre program at Cambridge University. A wide-eyed eighth grader growing in confidence amidst my family’s relocation from Minneapolis to Dallas, I found friendships and my footing in a foreign place that somehow felt familiar. The city’s reverence for the arts was special, different, and enlightened. Though I didn’t fall in love with Cambridge, I developed an intoxicating admiration for what my time in London allowed me to become. I stood in awe as I gazed at Tower Bridge. It represented a massive step outside my comfort zone. It stood for freedom.

I’d travel there later as a practicing attorney. And I’d look at the same structure having made significant steps away from my truest self, from truth, from calm, from creativity. I was a lawyer now, whatever that meant. And the structure that previously symbolized freedom felt heavy, corporate, stoic…stuck. Like me.

I’d change jobs. Move cities.

In adulthood, I’d reconnect with a dear friend I’d met at Cambridge. She’d become a lawyer, too. Her presence would force me to remember my unbridled, unbarred, unconstrained former self.

I’d return to London when I’d found my way out of private practice and into an executive role. I was miserable. Work travel felt punitive, like punishment for every move, small and large, that I’d made away from my inner voice. I’d stand still and stare at the Bridge once more, overtaken by sadness. I’d ponder what could have been. I’d mourn what I had let go, the personal sacrifices I’d made in the name of practicality.

I’d get married, have children, work hard, suffer the torment of a bad boss who wasn’t my cup of tea (pun intended).

I’d have an accident, a very big accident. I’d confront losing it all and it would make the whispers of my creative voice turn to screams. Suddenly, the aspirational would become urgent.

And I’d find my way back to the arts.

I’d write again. I’d fall back in love with the version of myself who first felt small compared to that big Bridge. I’d talk to God and ask for another chance to live life differently.

And now, I am.

Each day, I’m more of who I was always supposed to be. Before the nonsense and noise, the judgement and justifications, the promotions and putting aside.

I’m firmly fixed on telling my stories.

On rediscovering peace.

On rebuilding the reality I almost abandoned.

On keeping my daughters safe while finding ways to make sure they still feel free.

Perhaps I should take them to London.

Your turn. What’s a landmark of personal significance to you? What did it mean? When were you there? And in what ways have you embraced (or abandoned) the “you” who initially observed that sight?

Until next time…

A photo from our Shakespeare showcase during my Cambridge Summer program (1999)…

…I reconnected with that same friend from the program years later. She went on to become one of my dearest friends and my daughter’s godmother.

High tea between board meetings.

If you’re in need of some extra credit reading on how to slow down and find more joy, you may enjoy The Monster’s Worst Nightmare, Slow Down, Savor More, or Happiness in the Hallway.

Mentally centering for the battle and need a piece that packs a punch? Got you. Take a look at Dear Columbia Law School or Still Short of Breath: On George Floyd, Memorial Day & Continued Dream Seeking.

And if you’re new to The Writer’s Block Party, Welcome to the Party, I (Still) Have a Brain Injury & An Unforgiving Minute give great context on who I am and what we’re building.

I’m so glad you’re here!