The View From Here

How I've Come to Value Persistence Over Perfection

Happy Sunday, Writer’s Block Partiers!

Before we hop in, I’ve gotta admit something…

I almost stood you up.

Now, I’m not proud of this admission, and it’s in no way reflective of how much I value you. Quite the opposite, I felt creatively tapped out. Like I was incapable of putting anything worthwhile on paper.

And then, I stopped myself and realized my error. I write to you about commitments, consistency, and the joy of the journey. And yet, I almost took a pass because I was tired and feeling unsure.

Nope.

Not how this goes.

Thankfully, I came to my senses and found the “Again and Again” Effort I promised.

In a week packed as tightly as the two-day-old snow in Atlanta, I remain incredibly grateful for this exact moment:

My writing study group reconvened after a holiday break, and we set our mission statement and goals for the year. I also had the privilege of sharing “An Unforgiving Minute” in an open writers’ forum where the organizer interviewed me about my work, my inspiration, and my accident. And I hosted the inaugural session of Writing Out Loud! with some amazing attendees. (If you’re looking for a creative community, consider joining an upcoming writing group session with me.)

By the end of the week, I was thankful but tired. But there was no time for rest.

After Friday morning’s sledding session with the girls, I rounded out the week with my favorite NYC-based writing group. And in the time between sessions, I met with a few brilliant collaboration partners on some upcoming projects. Sadly, I also received a rejection from a fellowship I’d hoped to get. Of course, I’m disappointed, but I’m also proud of how far I’ve come in accepting rejection as essential. Hello, growth and progress.

My creative heart (and calendar) is full! And it’s all because you’ve inspired me to show up and do my best to continue to build something for myself and all of you.

In accepting a new version of who I am, I’ve continued to grapple with the question of my legacy, and the final exchange from Wednesday’s interview has stuck with me since then:

Interviewer: What do you think your kids are learning from you through your journey and your story and the way you’ve made these bold decisions and bounced back from a horrible [accident]?

Me: In a world that may never represent, love, affirm, or support them, I believe that by watching me, my girls will know they’re enough. They see that it’s not easy, but I’m always going to keep fighting. And in doing that, I empower them to do the same.

As the week closed, I allowed myself (or rather, my husband forced me) to take a break and realize…I’m doing it! I’m here. I’m standing strong. And I’m shockingly satisfied with the life I’m building, brick by brick.

Because I’m so close to it all, I haven’t been able to appreciate the way each small step—each book I studied, each piece I drafted, each class I took, each time I read my work aloud, and every excruciating session of speech and physical therapy—has led me to this moment. Those experiences, even the most painful ones, were the preparation necessary to produce this version of myself.

After an endless effort, what remains is a life I deeply care about, surrounded by people who share and support my passion.

Worth it!

With all the joy of the week, there is also unimaginable heaviness as wildfires rage in southern California. No words encapsulate the grief of complete loss. My thoughts, prayers, and hope for healing go out to all impacted as they begin the long, grueling process of rebuilding. If you haven’t already, please consider contributing in whatever way you’re able.

Amidst destruction and despair and as we ease toward another inauguration, we’re all desperate for humanity. For community. And for help.

And as I’ve reflected on the significance of my arrival, I’ve also wrestled with how history will remember today’s reality. This struggle bled over into a writing session earlier this week, so I’m sharing a draft piece:

“What Goes Around…” (working title)

by Malaika R. Simmons

Memories unite us. They help us confront history with a communal soul tie. A societal group hug of sorts. And when we look back, we put aside the past in hopes of never repeating its pain or redoing our missteps.

The truth is we cling. To memories. To shared histories. To our stories and our sense of stability. And to a version of humanity that might finally arrive and unify us after all these years.

But so many memories are misremembered. Tampered with and reengineered. Corrupted by nostalgia and corroded by our need to feel justified.

And so, how will history remember this moment? How will we spin reality to reconcile how eerily familiar right now feels to the times we got it wrong? Our boldest mistakes. Our biggest blunders.

How will our collective consciousness make peace with how polarized we’ve become? Who will tell our story when none of us can agree, and so many of us are silenced or silent, in the aftermath of a crushing defeat?

Will we evaporate? Or will we evolve?

Will we agree to forget or find ways to forgive?

How can we make peace with the hate that burns like wildfires in so many of us? How will we walk forward when the bridges we built over the course of history are unrecognizable and unsalvageable?

How will we make sense of this to our children? Don’t we owe them more than this version of inhumanity?

Will they remember or will they block us out? Bury us. Burn us at the stake. Cut their ties to a time when we chose war. With one another. With justice. With truth. With ourselves.

Will they tell our story?

Or will we be relegated to the fragile, foxed pages of an unread book in the dusty corner shelf of an antique shop.

Until time crawls forward, and to no one’s surprise, history repeats itself.

Again, and again.

While we may be incapable of bearing the weight of this collective moment, we are each accountable for the individual legacy we leave. Are you proud of the life you’ve built and the choices you’ve made? Who will tell the story of the risks you took and the times you bet on yourself that made all the difference?

You can most certainly get to your desired destination, but you must choose to show up and shape your reality—even on days, like today for me, when maybe you’d rather not.

I’m so happy I came back to our block. And I’m excited about the opportunity to keep building with each of you. Sincerest thank you for stopping by for another week. Another piece. Another party.

Until next time…