Running Naked in a Library

Writing about difficult life circumstances is like running naked through a library—there's just no doing it halfway. Now, I'm not advocating for the practice of "streaking" public spaces, but I did just that on more than one occasion with my college cross country team.

You might assume that we were just exhibitionists, but for me, streaking was more about testing my courage. Not everyone has the guts—or desire—to be that vulnerable, and I certainly couldn't have done it without the camaraderie. When a dozen women shed their clothes in a tucked-away restroom of the campus library, a nervous energy starts to build, and before you know it, you're dashing past studious comrades, donning nothing but a stocking cap and sneakers.

I think you'll agree that the act would have far less impact—for both the streakers and the "streaked"—if compromised in any way. For example, running through the library in jeans and very revealing tops might raise a few eyebrows, but who really cares? But take it all off and you've really done something. Maybe nothing admirable, but something nonetheless.

For several years, I've felt compelled to write about my so-called "starter marriage," but I was too self-conscious and afraid. I'm finally ready to bare it all, starting with "blogoir" post #1: "How I Left My Husband on My Lunch Break." If my story resonates with you, I hope you'll play the roll of my teammates, encouraging me to write with reckless abandon.