When my son threw himself off the side of his bed and smacked the side of his face on a bedpost, he bled and cost me $500 for an exhilarated amount of bedside sweating in the ER and stitches. As he was mid-air, flying through the sky, with nothing hindering his joy, he had no idea what was going to happen. He only felt the surge, the excitement, the rush of doing something 100% awesome!
Sure I had told him not to jump on the bed. Sure, every sharp and pointed object startled awake in a frenzy from all corners of the house. Sure he did, in fact, bleed a lot. But to him, all that mattered was a single moment of letting it all go. Not caring what was going to happen next. He was living in the moment with no regrets and ending an epic story of risk and a reward of a never-fading battle scar.
When I sat down to process that hospital visit, I realized that there was some sort of symbolism in the "jumping off a bed to my death" story that I just couldn't shake. That no matter the risk, if you believe in it, you should try it (even if you are rewarded with bill payment plans, bruises, and concerned strangers giving you the "I told you so" lecture.)
What is my jumping status? Writing. Well, to be honest, writing and sharing, because I have always written and kept it to myself. I have always wanted a place to shelve my stories. A place to feel like I was doing something with them. The hundreds of notebooks in my house rarely are re-opened. My stories on social media slip away and are lost to the sea of memes and political-cat videos. There has to be more. I never want a single one to slide between a sliver of space then cease to exist.
So I am going to shelve them. I am going to write them, then place them lovingly out in the world for others to laugh and enjoy. We all have stories to tell. And most of the time, those stories end with bleeding and laughter once the stitches heal.
So, hello, I am Caitlin Casillas, welcome to my book shelf.