I still don’t believe it—Eleven years ago today, December 27, 2014, I posted my first entry for this blog [https://baltimoreblackwoman.com/2014/12/27/christmas-past-the-toys-i-played-with-and-how-they-shaped-me/]. In all this time, I’ve only published 253 posts (including this one)—averaging 23 posts per year. Yet these posts have built a body of writing: Essays, Poems [https://baltimoreblackwoman.com/2025/09/07/published-works-by-jackie-oldham/], Reviews of Books, Music, and Television Shows, Videos, and Photographs, and a lasting legacy of friendships, professional partnerships, membership and leadership in numerous civic organizations, writers and musicians associations, and social causes that have enriched my life and enabled me to contribute to building a better world. I have also established a social media presence for the blog on Facebook and Instagram.
So, why have I titled this post “THE YEAR of UNWRITING”? Mostly, because I have only added three new posts on the blog, proper, this year(!), though I’ve still been writing—Facebook posts and comments, comments on online news stories, emails and texts to my loved ones. This year, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by life, the illnesses and deaths of family members and friends, my own mortality, and the incomprehensible state of the world we live in today.
I start each day with a cup of coffee in one hand, the phone in the other, catching up on the latest news in the digital newspapers I still subscribe to (The Baltimore Banner, The Baltimore Fishbowl, The New York Times, and The Washington Post). I scroll my social media feeds. I feed my face—snacking on fruits with cheese and crackers, salads, a sandwich, whatever I have on hand. I make To-Do lists and jot down ideas for poems and stories in my looseleaf notebook. I search for definitions of random words like “unwriting,” which isn’t a word, according to Google/AI Search. I kvetch over misbehaving apps and streaming services, cry over sky-high bills, and wait for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Then, household chores, reading a chapter or two of a book, and before you know it, it’s time for dinner and an evening of TV watching—mostly long-running series, old and new. Wash, rinse, repeat.
All of this to avoid facing the Big Question: What will I do next? You see, I’m stuck in a fork in the road. Much of the work I’ve done over the last 11 years is coming to an end. I even wrote a sad, sorry poem about it:
I'm ready to fold up my tent
and disappear into
The Wilderness.
Though this last Life Cycle
has been more fruitful
and enlightening
than ever I imagined,
There's nothing left for me
to do here, now.
The Music that once flowed
through my fingers
to piano keys and
guitar frets
now spring only to shadows--
my feet play notes
from my head
to a bare floor.
The Community Work
I engaged in for 9 years
taught me as much about myself
as it did the people I worked with
and learned from.
My heart, mind, soul, actions
have been tested beyond limits.
I'm still standing.
But the ground is quaking
beneath my feet.
Solar flares have upset
the balance of Nature itself.
Auroras boreales visible
across the nation.
I've overstayed my welcome,
used up all my credit,
given everything I possibly could.
I've got nothing left to give.
I cannot retreat to the past;
it is finished. Done.
I cannot move forward;
the road ahead is hidden
in a fog of uncertainty.
I am stuck in the present moment
Searching for the Exit Ramp.
In truth, though, it’s not an Exit Ramp I’m searching for. Rather, I’m looking for the next ON Ramp—to my next grand adventure: Life and Living as an Elder, aka, a Senior Citizen, a Seasoned Citizen, a Wise and Wizened Old Woman!
Here’s to YEAR 12 of baltimoreblackwoman.com! And THANK YOU, dear readers, for your support. I welcome comments, feedback, and suggestions on what I’ve written, and what I might write about next.
May 2026 be a year of Renewal and Rebirth for us all!
baltimoreblackwoman 