 Just
by Leah Connor If I just let things go If I just stopped to enjoy the show If I just made the shots If I just stopped the incessant thoughts Who would I be? If I just paid the fines If I just stopped looking for signs If I just let them go If I just stopped begging to know Who would I be? “Just married” “Just breathe” “Just sold” Just need “Just keep swimming” “Just have fun” “Just do it” Just run This just in…. I’m still here. I won’t disappear. I’m sincere. A pioneer. I persevere. Despite my fears. I take souvenirs. This just in I’m still here. Justice seeker. Imagineer. If I just let blame go If I just stopped made room to grow if I just stopped if I just paused If I just stopped the pain I caused Where would I be?  Pacifier
by Leah Connor To pacify or persist To renounce or resist I’m sorry but I must insist These problems be fixed Telling the truth is my only way So please just demand an NDA Give my friends a vacay Stop working to save me from the spiral The desperate dream that my complaints go viral My intent is pure Talking the cure I knew it wouldn’t be easy Unveil the secrecy Expect some decency My urge to save the next From a similar mess Was never obscure To be the change To know for sure When I did my best Shared my strengths, my sorrow, and all the rest In the end, ChatGPT showed more empathy Gave me hope in tomorrow I see the allure of its ease To fill some basic needs When the pursuit of what’s just is the hardest test In place of human morality Should I trust AI’s reality Fill the achy silence with any answer Accept generated words as my pacifier When I was an MFA student at GMU I remember a professor once told my class that if he ran into one of us years in the future and asked about our “work”, he’d expect to hear about our writing, not the job we had at the time to pay the bills. That comment occurred to me this weekend as I was both an employee and attendee of the Virginia Film Festival. An event that, in many ways, was 13 years in the making. In 2009, when I first attended VAFF, ecstatic to meet Alan Ball, asking him sign my “Six Feet Under” book and telling him the show saved my marriage because it gave us something to share together, I could have never imagined I’d end up being a seasonal employee and have the opportunity to meet another screenwriter, Meg LeFauve, who would inspire and encourage me to tell my stories. Before experiencing the magic of these five days in November, I had endured 100+ interviews and even more rejections from the countless other jobs I applied for but never advanced past the resume slush pile. I survived two years without permanent full-time employment (except for a three month position that ended with getting fired for the first time in over 27 years) and two years without resolution to a complaint I filed with the Virginia Department of Health Professions against a psychologist I saw over 1,000 times. It’ll take time for me to adequately describe how all of these things are intricately connected, but suffice it to say, it’s about facing shame and regret, needing validation, exploring vulnerability, quantifying worth, defining failure or success, seeking approval, wanting acceptance, and establishing connection. The journey from “I’ll pass” to “We’d like to make an offer.” This weekend I also recalled the advice from a coach who had said to runners training for a long distance race that the marathon should be a celebration for all the miles it took to get to the starting line. For so many runners it’s the hours on the roads, in solitude or with friends, that brings meaning to the sport, not the actual race. But when you earn the PR you’ve been striving for or finally get to the finish line in a race you’ve been struggling through, the completion of that goal is a feeling of joy and accomplishment that is like no other. There were so many meaningful and life-changing moments during the festival that as I write this now I don’t even think I’m ready to share all of them just yet. Maybe I can just start with a few of my favorite photos. I cackled. I cried. I danced. I panicked. I felt awkward. I felt pride. I was alone. I was with friends, new and old. And, most importantly, I shared experiences with my daughter and with my twin. So I’ve found meaning in all the pain I’ve experienced over the past two years and the memories from this festival are like race medals I’ll cherish forever.  Opening Night Gala with my Twin! Photo by Justin Ide  Working with Kat at a happy hour! Photo by Coe Sweet  My favorite photo! Photo by Justin Ide  Screenwriter’s Panel with Dustin Lance Black and Meg LeFauve. Photo by Justin Ide.  My daughter and me before a screening of “The Lost King”  Late Night Wrap Party, Photo by Eze Amos  I started this poem "Wellness Check" as a somewhat tongue in cheek reaction to a story I read about someone who was held captive and her family knew something was wrong because she wasn't sharing her Wordle score. I started to think about all the other things I could do or not do that would indicate I was in trouble. It took me all day to write and rewrite this and I'm still not 💯 satisfied but I'm so proud of myself. I haven't spent this long on creative writing since I earned my MFA from GMU in 2004. I loved reconnecting to that part of myself enjoys hunting for the right words to solve the puzzle 🧩 in my mind. #BeThe1To take a few minutes and reach out to someone you care about. #wellness#creativewriting #wordle #mentalheathmatters #suicideprevention  A related poem that I wrote when I was in college in 1993.  Another poem about identity from 2000.  To: Ani DiFranco From: Leah Connor Re: Thank you. Hi! I’m 50 years old and I haven’t written a fan letter to a musician since I was probably 15, but I need to personally reach out to say thank you, Ani. Long story short, I had a very toxic and damaging relationship with a psychologist from 2007-2020 and when I requested an appointment with him during the throes of COVID-19 he offered me dates, until I insisted on a tele-therapy appointment and then replied, “I’ll pass.” I reported him to the Department of Health Professionals 40 days later. There was an investigation, I provided evidence, and the report was submitted in December 2020. It’s now February 2022 without any resolution and it’s been unbearable to wait. I have an MFA in creative writing (2004), but I haven’t written much in the past 20 years. The only thing that helped me get through the roughest days lately was screaming out the chorus of “Untouchable Face.” That’s when I thought, wow I should remake this song especially for me. So I did and this is what I came up with so far: I know I’m not a saint I analyze and criticize with remorse, without restraint I know I’m not a fake Making enemies and allies Reliving my mistake I can’t take back my complaint So fuck you … and this unresolvable case Fuck you …for destroying a safe space And who am I? to dare call you out on your shit I said who am I? to win against a narcissist I sat on your couch Vocalizing my doubts Wondering what it would be like to trust Build intimacy without touch or lust Except fuck you … for denying my grace Fuck you …for cheating in this race And who am I? that I should want closure I said who am I? To lose my composure Early on, I dared to complain at sessions starting late the stolen minutes proved you didn’t care (enough) with so much at stake If I only knew how to wait when staying gets tough Fuck you …for the memories I can’t erase Fuck you …for making me feel out of place And who am I? To ask for boundaries and insist I said who am I? To deserve “I’ll pass” when you’re finished Couldn’t learn my lessons Couldn’t change my fate Couldn’t hide the stuff That finally made me break If only you kicked me out when I wanted to leave and needed a reprieve when I couldn’t believe I’d find water in a drought And who am I? If my complaint is dismissed I said who am I? If I don’t want to exist I said who am I? No more strength to resist Who am I? Tired from fighting like a darwinist Who am I? To blame myself for having caused all this I am going to write the verses, but that’s going to take a bit more time. Until then, I’ll be singing Fuck you on repeat. :)
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