Susan LaffertyPhrases from other cultures land in our sentences and frequent our conversations.
One of those? “Same same, but different.”
We are the same. But different.
In our trek across oceans and sojourns in other lands, we see this.
Face to face. While talking about family. Life. Hopes. Dreams. Pain. Struggle.
Same same, but different.
Last year, I saw a random ad for a writers conference called HopeWords. In Bluefield, West Virginia.
Glancing at familiar and not-so-familiar names of presenters, I somehow knew—I’d be there in April 2024.
I recruited my friend and fellow writer to sign up. It’s not like other writers conferences, we were told. But then, having never been to one before—what did I know?
This past week, I’ve been reflecting on those 24 hours of HopeWords Writers Conference 2024. Remembering Bluefield’s generosity: homemade desserts, excellent musicians, rides on the trolley. Considering the words of Travis Lowe, Daniel Nayeri, Mitali Perkins, Jackie Hill Perry, Hannah Anderson, and more.
And feeling thankful for that not-so-random ad.
Arrivals and departures. Travel patterns of individuals. Families. Groups.
People of various languages and cultures and ethnicities. In the ebb and flow through airports.
Walking the halls. Rushing from one terminal to another.
Or sitting. Wandering. Sleeping.
While they wait.
