Tuesday, December 20, 2016

If We Knew It Was The Last Time

I've been thinking a great deal about endings...the end of the year...the end of a book...the end of a life...the end of a relationship...endings.  

If we knew this was the end, would we do things differently?  If I knew this would be the last thing I ever wrote, would I write something different?  If I knew this conversation would be the last conversation with you, would I say something else? If I knew this was the last kiss, would I kiss you differently?  If I knew this was the last time I was ever going to have sex with you, would I do something else....more of something... less? If this was the last book I could ever read, would I still choose to read this book?  

They say endings are just new beginnings, but sometimes endings are just endings.  Sometimes there is no new beginning, no do over, no chance to speak again, read again, kiss again or be naked with a person again.  

So, if you knew, if I knew, this was the last word, is this what I would write?  If this is the last conversation, is this the one I want to have?  If that was the last kiss, was it a good one?  

Yes...this is what I would write.  No, that conversation probably wasn't the one I would have chosen to have if I knew it was the last one.  Yes, that kiss was amazing and even though I didn't know it was the last one, it was a good one.  No, if I had known that was the last time I'd be naked with that person, I would have made it more special.  A better place...a better atmosphere...a better ending.  

Yet, I know that when I speak to people I care about, they know for sure I care about them.  My family is sure I love them.  My friends are sure I value them.  I left my job today in good spirits and they know I enjoy it.  That last kiss...it was good.  That last naked time...as perfect as every time before.  Late at night, when the world is quiet, I know my kids are confident that I love them.  Late at night, when the world is not so quiet and thoughts scatter, my friends know they can call and together we will gather those scattered thoughts.  Late at night, when sleep won't come, and life feels anything but perfect, there will be memories of perfection and there can be confidence that one person out there in the world thinks that you are exactly perfect.  

There has to be endings.  But if we take the time to have true conversations, write the right words, kiss with our whole self, tell the people in our lives how much we love them, and show appreciation for perfection, those endings can be good rather than bad, peaceful rather than full of loss. 

I believe it's better to say all the mushy, ridiculous, goofy, girly, sentimental, over the top things rather than reach an ending and not have said them.  So, if these were the last words I ever wrote, then know that I love my family, chose the book, kissed with my whole soul and experienced perfection.  

This is an ending.  But just of this...it's not the end of everything.  

Sunday, December 4, 2016


In 7th grade, by my calculations somewhere around 40 years ago, we took a field trip to the state capital in Sacramento.  Even then, I loved old things.  I bought a super old, ceramic medicine dispenser and a Vaseline container from an antique shop.  At age 18 when I got married, those items, an old thermometer and usually a candle have sat on the back of the toilet everywhere I've lived...which has been a lot of places!  I've raised five kids, had rambunctious boys in my house, had tons of people use the bathroom and that little antique ceramic medicine dispenser has been unscathed...until I lived with people who didn't respect me, value my things, or understand the meaning of memories in symbols.

Someone in that house broke it.  And left it.  On the ground.  Next to the toilet.  And never had the decency to say "Hey, Steph, I broke your thing on accident."  I found it..and I cried.  I picked up the pieces that could be put back together.  When I left, I brought the broken pieces with me.  In this apartment, the broken pieces have sat on the back of the toilet...with a candle, the Vaseline container, the old thermometer.  Today, for some reason, I decided to super glue it back together.  There are some chips missing, there is a huge crack, but it's as whole as it's ever going to be.

Two years ago today, a decision was made to turn off my sister's life support.  By far, the hardest, worst, most painful decision I've ever made in my life.  I broke that day.  And for two years I've been broken in pieces.  I may look like I'm not broken, but I am.  I may sit in the place I'm supposed to sit, where I've always been, but I'm broken.

What is the super glue that puts me back together?  There's a huge crack where my sister used to be.  There are chips gone that will forever be missing.  But what's the glue that puts the pieces of me back together?

Is this as whole as I'm ever going to be?

Monday, October 3, 2016

Less Than Perfect

Most people would tell you that perfection doesn't exist...but it does. I've felt it.  I've felt it so deeply that I was left speechless, without the ability to think and quivering from the sheer realization that perfection does exist and I just had it.

Knowing that perfection does exist, knowing that I will never again search for it because I've had it, what matters for me now is less than perfection.  I want the fight, the passion, the vulnerability, the rawness, the mess that anything less than perfection requires.  Perfect is wrapped up neat, tidy, not messy, not a struggle.  Perfection is easy...simple...not complicated...it's purely perfect with no downside.

Having experienced perfection, I know what I want is the downside.  I want less than perfect.  I want messy, emotional, laughter, loyalty, vulnerability, friendship, passion...all the ups and downs that anything less than perfect requires.  

For ever, for always, I will have perfect memories.  I will smile when people say perfect doesn't exist because I know it does.  I will smell certain smells, hear certain sounds, see certain sights and know that perfect exists.

Last night as I walked away from the sunset, I looked back over my shoulder and saw perfection.  A beautiful, amazing and perfect picture.  I smiled.  A deep, from my soul, smile full of gratitude for having experienced this perfect sunset after a perfect day.  And I yearned for more...in the moment of perfection I yearned for me.  I yearned for less than perfect.  I yearned for something that doesn't always have to be tidy and neat and perfect.  I yearned for the ability to be messy and say everything in whatever way it comes out knowing that being less than perfect is okay.  I experienced perfection last night...and it was perfect.

I want more than and less than perfect.  I want to be left breathless with wonder.  I want to be curious about what comes next.  I want to have the unpredictability that less than perfect brings.  Raw humanity...tears, struggles...the stuff that passion is made of...that's what I want to experience.

I want to sit at a table with someone I just met and laugh until tears come. I want to be so anxious to know more that even after five hours of non stop talking, there' still way more to say and hear. I want to be surprised by the shared imperfections.  I want my less than perfect self being welcomed by another less than perfect self.  This is the stuff that less than perfect brings.

I have been blessed to have experienced perfection and it is perfect.  More perfect than my wildest imagination.

I want more than and less than perfect.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Standing On The Edge - Part II

We were standing on the edge, looking at the wide expanse of the future in front of us.

'Take my hand' he said.  'Take a leap of faith with me.  Jump in.  Both feet. I got you.'

I took his hand, took one precarious step in his direction, then stopped.  I stood still for a moment.  I could feel the warmth of his hand, could hear the timbre in his voice saying "I got you". 

For the longest, that's what I wanted - someone who got me. Someone who chose me in every circumstance.  Now, here I was, being offered exactly what I'd asked for. No equivocations, no compromises, no games...just a straight up commitment to choose me every day.

'Take a leap of faith. I got you.'

I took his hand, took a step in his direction and then, like Lot's wife, I looked back.  I looked back to my recent past and realized there's a ghost lurking there.  There's a ghost of 'what ifs'.  There's the lure of perfection. There's the ghost of a different choice...a choice I'm still making every day. 

I could feel his hand, see his eyes meeting mine, feel his breath on my skin, hear his voice in my ear: 'I got you'.  

The sound of that was like a siren calling a ship to crash on her rocks.  It was passionate, enticing, surreal, and exactly what most people wait to hear. 'I choose you in every circumstance.'

I walked away from the edge, turned my eyes from the vast expanse of the future, felt the moment from the inside out.  I could feel the warmth of his hand, I could feel his breath on my skin, I could hear the sound of his voice in my ear, I could see his eyes pleading with mine...and could feel my heart beating to a different rhythm, could feel the sound of another voice, the lure of perfection, the embodiment of an ideal.  

I dropped his hand.  I moved away from the sound of his voice.  I found the sound of my own voice.  I felt the beat of my heart.  I heard myself say:

"I choose me.  I choose to look at the vast expanse of the future and take a path that makes sense to no one but me.  I choose to follow the beat of my heart and see where it leads."

But the ideal is not real. It's an idea I created in my head, willed to come true and know that perfection is just something to be enjoyed momentarily. Perfection happens...that I now know.  What I also know is that when love looks you in the eye and says 'take a leap of faith with me', you leap towards love.  You follow the beat of your heart as it learns to beat in rhythm with another.  You leave behind what if's and if only's and you move towards the vast expanse of your future.

So, I listen to the sound of my heart beat, recognize the sound of my own voice saying 'just breathe and trust the path you're on. Trust a journey you may not understand.'

Friday, August 26, 2016

A Reason, A Season, A Lifetime

When we learn the lesson, we say thank you and move on. 
When the season changes, we say thank you and move on...or...
We spend a life time giving and receiving gratitude.  

It's important to know the difference between people who are intended to teach us lessons, or see us through a season, rather than spend a life time with.  Sometimes we - meaning me - confuse the teachers or seasonal companions as life time people.  It's in trusting our gut when it says 'hey, you've learned all the lessons you can from this person'...or 'hey, the season is over, you don't need this crutch anymore'.  Listening to what my Soul needs versus what my body or material needs may be. 

Even though it can be difficult to tell the teachers goodbye, when the lessons are learned the purpose is served and it's time to say gratefully and graciously say goodbye.  Knowing that the lessons have prepared me to be a better woman for the lifetime people.  

When the season is over and it's time for a change, like cleaning out the closet, no matter how long the task is avoided, eventually it has to be done.  When the fit no longer works, when the comfort is no longer there, it's time to say goodbye.  You wouldn't wear a wool sweater on a 90 degree day...it's important to know what is appropriate for the season and act accordingly.  

When my soul is too wounded for deep emotional connections, people come into my life to attend to the physical and material leaving me space to heal my soul.  There's no demand for me to give anything of my soul, my heart, or my emotions.  But when that season of healing has ended and my soul is ready for meaningful connections, the season for light and breezy is over. It's time to cuddle up, get close and get deep.  

The lesson people, the ones here to teach me something, can last a day, a week, six months.  Six months...six months of lessons learned. Maybe six months is a season and a reason...lessons learned, healing created, gratitude given. 

The season is changing, the reason is clear.  Thank you...thank you...thank you.  It's time to head for deeper waters.  Deeper waters where the surface waves don't have such an impact.  Deeper waters where a myriad of life sources are waiting to be discovered.  

If you're afraid of the water, I'd recommend not getting in.  My waters run deep. 

Friday, August 19, 2016


How many times can something break, before it's broken?

Beyond Repair

Can broken be beautiful?

There is a Japanese tradition called 'kintsugi' in which broken items are repaired with either gold or silver plating making the object more beautiful and the brokenness becomes part of the object's story and beauty.  Without the brokenness, it wouldn't be beautiful.

While I continue to break, stuff around me breaks and I stay broke, I'm learning to repair the brokenness with something more beautiful. Making my brokenness part of my beauty.  Filling in the cracks with kindness, respect, perspective, gentleness, forgiveness and compassion...for myself and those around me.

Life is amazing and beautiful and hard and joyful and sad and perfect - in equal measure.  There are moments where I feel pure perfection and those moments allow me to escape...to stop thinking...to just be in this moment at this time.  While I'm so incredibly thankful for those moments, I know they are temporary and cannot sustain me.  Conversation, connectedness, compassion...those are the things that are the gold to fill in my cracks.

Collage is an amazing art form that takes pieces of things that seemingly don't belong together and creates something beautiful of the pieces.  My life is much like a collage...a collage of moves, and love and success and failure and passion and humor and people who seemingly don't belong together and yet have helped to form the collage of me.

I'm thankful for the perfect escapes. I'm thankful for the friend who seems to text - out of the blue at the most amazing moments - to say 'you're a beautiful and amazing woman and I love you'.   I'm thankful for the friend who I call to say 'I was thinking about something you said the other day.....' and he says "No one has ever thought of me that way before".  I'm thankful for my family who continues to love in such an unconditional manner that it amazes me.  I'm thankful for my friend who calls me just to tell me she loves me...after more than twenty years, she still loves me.  Those the kinds of connection, compassion and conversation that are the gold in the cracks of my heart.

So I may be broke, but I'm not beyond repair.  My repairs are making me more beautiful as I learn to embrace broken and create a life-collage out of the pieces.

Monday, August 15, 2016

Am I Safe Enough To Say No?

Many times in relationship my insecurities have dictated my behavior rather than my security.  One key question when asked a favor I now ask myself:

Do I feel safe enough to say no?

Am I saying yes to this because I fear your rejection? Am I saying yes just so I feel necessary?  It's not important to me what the intention of the person asking the favor is.  It took me decades to figure out that your intention is not my business. I don't need to analyze, second guess, ask why you're asking, or wonder what your next move will be.

The question is: 

Why am I saying yes? 

I was asked a favor today...an incredibly difficult favor that created a sense of vulnerability and exposure in me.  The second the question was asked, my heart raced, my throat caught, my arms got tense, my eyes teared up.  Why, oh why, with this person standing right next to me...within inches of me...did I pray a full moon prayer to practice vulnerability this month?  

Why, last week, when sitting next to him did he say a jackass thing that made my heart race, my throat catch, my eyes tear up?  Why is the Universe pushing so hard to answer my prayer this month?

Because I trust myself.  I trusted my Self enough to ask him why he said what he said and be prepared for whatever the answer was.  I learned a long time ago to not ask a question if I wasn't completely prepared to hear the answer.  It took me a while, I had to contemplate whether to ask and create understanding, or sit in silence and create distance.  I had to decide whether I was strong enough to make whatever decision would honor my Self the most after hearing the answer.  I asked the question, listened to the answer and sat in silence again for a while.  Learning to trust my self and taking chances with vulnerability, connection and truth is risky business.   

I trusted my Self enough to say yes to the favor - unconditionally - without a single question.  I feel safe enough to say no, which allows me to say yes.  Yes, because I care about you.  Yes, because you matter to me.  Yes, because I'm willing to take a risk.  Safe enough to say no, allows the openness and vulnerability required to be me, to grow beyond my own limitations. 

So, while my heart races, my throat catches, my eyes tear up...I practice vulnerability and say yes because I feel safe enough to say no.  

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Behind These Walls

My walls are made of punches that left dents in my face, slaps that busted ear drums, empty bank accounts, rejection, denial, exhaustion, hard work, sacrifice, investing in the wrong people, more men's voices when asked 'who's that' answering: no one, my own self limiting beliefs, losing my sister to her love of alcohol...a myriad of bricks packed with the mortar of blood and tears.

Still, I reach over the walls now and again. You need a ride, I'll be there. You need lunch...what is it you want me to bring? You need to borrow something I have, here you go.  It's not that anyone has taken the time to look over the walls I've built, I've just been courageous enough to reach outside of them and be vulnerable, honest and open.

I've spent the last nine months building walls,  tearing them down, reaching over them, adding a few bricks, filling in the mortar with more tears and fears, struggling to not believe the answer: no one.

If there was someone strong enough, tall enough, courageous enough to look over the walls I've built, they'd see compassion, commitment, love, humor, hard work, vulnerability, honesty, willingness, generosity, intellect and dichotomy.

This week has been spent - with trepidation - coming out from behind these walls.  There's rubble, busted bricks, messy mortar, material no longer necessary that needs to be hauled off but the walls are no longer hiding who I am.  The answer to 'who is that' is NOT no one.

I may be your friend, your lover, your co-worker, your sister, your mom, your ex...but the answer is not no one.  In order to be seen, I have to be able to be seen.  It was too easy for others to keep me hidden behind those walls. It was too easy to allow myself to be unseen from behind those walls.

I am either someone in your life, or you are no where in my life.  I haven't made it easy for people to see me or know me.  The walls create a facade that hides the tenderness in my soul. The walls were grand at protecting me from hurt, but they were also grand at keeping me from living and loving fully.

From behind those walls, I've felt 'perfection'. For that I'm eternally grateful.  From behind those walls, I've felt joy.  From behind those walls, I've felt fear.  From behind those walls I've maintained hope. From behind those walls, I've worked hard to grow beyond the need for the walls.

As scary as it may be, here I am...exposed with no walls.  I'm someone to be reckoned with.

Monday, August 8, 2016

I Know What We Are

I know...I know...and still...

Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Thistles are considered 'pernicious' weeds and the only way to get rid of them is to dig deep, pull the entire root and fill the hole created with something else.

There's a thistle in my heart...it's pernicious, painful and needs to be pulled from the root.  I've let thistles grow in the garden of my heart for much too long and avoided the dirty work of getting on my knees, putting my hands in the dirt and pulling it out by the root.  The garden of my heart is beautiful...I love passionately, I give generously, I'm forgiving, funny, kind, intelligent and curious in astounding ways.  Yet, in this glorious garden of my heart there are thistles strewn throughout.  They poke me, catch me unawares and it's time to get rid of them.

I'm down on my knees, ready to dig in the dirt and pull them from my garden.  As I understand it, thistles, just like heartache, will reoccur over and over until you get to the very root of them and remove them completely, replacing them with 'competing ground cover'.  In this case, competing ground cover might look something like art, a good book, walks on the beach, amazing sex, good food, laughter, sleeping in a tent, cooking fish I caught, yoga...a myriad of things to fill in the holes being created by my digging.

Yes, it's a dirty job.  There are thistles that poke, dirt gets moved around, my shoulders are sore from the tension, my eyes are tired from the tears, but the garden of my Soul is worth the work.

Maybe, at the end of all this, I'll invite someone special into my garden to plant some seeds!

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Anniversary Reflections

Thirty three years ago today I got married.  At ages 18 and 21, we were naive, uninformed and ill prepared to deal with buying a home, paying bills and handling the emotions that type of commitment took.  I, particularly, was ill prepared.

We are no longer married and not even friends.  Friendship with him would be so fun. He's intelligent, talented, hard working, super funny and the father of four of my children.  He'd be somebody I'd pick for a friend now.  I would love to call him and chat about our crazy kids, our super cute grand kids, the stupid shit we've done over 33 years of knowing one another...but we're not friends...we're ex somethings...ex spouses...ex parenting partners...ex friends...ex lovers.  We share four kids and memories of fishing and four-wheeling and fun and work and remodels and learning to be grown ups.  We share hurt and growth and somewhere deep down in the depths of our souls, when we look at our kids who look so much like 'us', we share love. For me, it's impossible to love so deeply the humans we created who look like such a reflection of him and not feel love for him as well.  Something in me believes I know him well enough to know he feels the same.

Thirty three years ago today I changed my name and lost my Self.  My life became about being what others expected of me.  I've done things I didn't really want to do, didn't do things I did want to do, in order to be pleasing or right to someone outside of me.  I've done some interesting things, had astounding accomplishments whilst raising five kids, have failed miserably at relationships, kept trying when the odds were against me and struggled to get back the name, the voice, the path I veered off of 33 years ago.

Today, I take back my name.  The name the original man in my life gave me.  The man who from the day I was born until now has been consistent, constant and never changing.  My father remains the most steadfast, predictable, habitual and committed man I've ever known.  I am emotional, outrageous, out spoken, curious, and loud like my mother.  Yet it is my father's influence that constantly shows me the path to take, the way to live a solid life and the character to be who you are all the time, no matter what.  My father is unwavering in his commitment to be him and live his beliefs.

The day I got married, my dad held my hand, said 'Shorty, you don't have to do this' and I wish I had been courageous enough to say no...to find my voice...to say 'I'm scared Daddy and I don't think this is right'...but I didn't.  At that moment, my voice, my Self, was lost and has struggled to re surface for years.  That voice, that Self, appears randomly and then gets silenced by rejection, fear, need for acceptance, self doubt and recrimination.

As I take back my - his - name, I pray that the character he's shown me becomes more prevalent.  I vow to myself - on this day of remembering vows - to be Me.  To recognize the sound of my own voice.  To say no when I mean no. Say yes when I mean yes. To make some amazing art like I did when I was a kid.  To listen to the sound of my soul rather than the voices in my head put there by others who want to judge without knowledge.  To run on the beach. Have fires. Light candles. Read books.  Have amazing sex.  Eat good food.  Laugh with my kids and grand kids.  To be passionately, habitually, committed to Me.

Monday, June 13, 2016

Scars Of The Heart

"Scars show us where we have been, they do not dictate where we're going." - David Rossi

They say scar tissue is harder to pierce than unscarred places.  Scar tissue replaces 'normal' skin after a wound.  Physicians say that every wound results in some degree of scarring and thus scarring is part of the normal healing process.  Yet the new material formed by the scar is 'usually of inferior quality'.  If a wound takes more than two to four weeks to heal, a permanent scar will be formed.

So what about the unseen wounds? The wounds on my heart and my psyche?  What about the wounds that leave me fearful of strong emotions and create chaos in my life and those around me?  What about that scar tissue? Is it of 'inferior quality' leaving me incapable of allowing something good to happen to my heart?

If I could love the wrong person that much, shouldn't I be able to love the right person so much more?

Today I was told to not the let the wounds of the past ruin today or undermine what may come in the future.  The truth is, I don't know how. I don't know how to not look for the fake, the game being played...rather than seek the truth I look for the lie.  Rather than trust the feelings, I look for the hurt.  Maybe if I'm prepared for the hurt, the shock of it will be reduced and the impact less.  They say scar tissue is stronger than 'normal' tissue.  My heart disagrees...my heart is not strong enough to endure another break.  Henry David Thoreau says the only remedy for love is to love more...scary prospect...to love even more than I have loved before.

My response was: I'm trying.  I'm really trying.

"A final comfort that is small, but not cold: The heart is the only broken instrument that works."
-- T.E. Kalem

Thursday, May 19, 2016

The Road I'm On

Someone said to me the other day, when I asked him what he was looking for:

I don't even know anymore. I guess I'm just gonna follow the road and see where it leads.

Depending on the intention, the road you're on makes all the difference in the world.

If you have a specific destination in mind, with a time frame, the road you take to get there can be the one thing that causes success or failure. You drive to your end point without much observation of what's around you. The focus is the destination and what's going to be experienced when you get there.  You have a predetermined plan and getting there isn't part of the adventure.

If the intention is to enjoy the journey, the road is not such a pivotal player in success or failure.  Whatever road you're on, you find things to enjoy: the view, the curves, the smells, the tastes, the lessons along the way.  You slow down, you look more intentionally at what you're going through; you let yourself escape into the experience of what's happening, you find joy in the surprises, you enjoy the touch of new found places, you look at familiar but different views, you recognize some parts of yourself you'd forgotten existed.  The journey is the adventure.

I love road trips when I may not necessarily know where I'm going to end up.  There have been times when I've found exactly what's perfect for me at the end of those road trips.  There are other times where I'm so focused on the destination and getting where I'm going, that I forget to enjoy the process of getting there.

I'm choosing to stay on the road I'm on.  I'm choosing to have a destination in mind and still stay on this road with all of its curves and lessons and views. I'm choosing to know where I want to go and still let the road unfold before me. I have no idea where this road will lead or if I'll find what's right for me at the end of it.  But the journey is amazing, the views spectacular, the smells enticing and the unknown keeps drawing me further down the road.

Wherever the road ends, I'm enjoying the journey.  Learning to balance having a destination in mind while not forgetting that the route of getting there is as powerful as arriving.

Monday, May 16, 2016

Without My Sister

Learning to do things without my sister is difficult.  She was my person...I was her person.  When I couldn't figure things out, when I was scared, alone, wanting to go to my unhealthy habit places for comfort, she was the one I called. She was the one who understood, very deeply, my need for escape. She understood why I chose the things I chose as escapes.  I understood why she also needed to escape.

My daughter told me this morning learn how to channel my sister so I could keep my head in the game and not run away from the hard stuff.  I'm trying. My sister said a lot to me.  She also held me accountable.  I knew that if we agreed on a boundary, she'd hold me to it.  I can hear her voice in my head, I can imagine what she'd say to me on days like today where I can't stop crying.  But the accountability piece is missing.  Since she's been gone I've been looking for her replacement.  Someone who knew all my secrets, who I could tell new secrets to and they would keep them.  She was my secret keeper - old ones and new ones.  She went to her grave holding my secrets...I live my life holding hers.

My very first boyfriend called me a few weeks ago.  It felt like life again...it felt like someone who knew stuff about me that no one else knew was here again.  I was so thankful, so grateful, so excited to have someone I'd been so intimate with at such a young age to be here and present.  I was trying to revive my relationship with my sister.  I was re-imagining what it was like to have someone that close, that intimate, someone with such longevity present in my life again.

But that doesn't exist.  There is no one like that in my life.  Eventually, I will accept the fact that there never will be again. I cannot re-imagine or re-create the relationship I had with my sister.  There is no one who will ever hold my secrets again...except me.  I'm my own secret keeper.  That kind of love can't be replicated.  There will never again be anyone who knows so much about me and loves me wholly for who I am.  That thought is so scary, so daunting...so excruciatingly painful that I am paralyzed with the grief of it today.

It's been nearly a year and a half since my sister died.  The entire year following her death was a year of repeated bad decisions.  A bad relationship decision.  A bad move decision.  A bad car purchase decision...A year of loss and grief.  Exactly a year after she died I left all the bad decisions behind and am making new decisions...although I still drive that bad car decision.

I have never felt so alone. I've never felt grief to this depth.  I've never experienced the loss of someone I love this much.  I don't know how long it takes to adjust.  I don't know how to live with out a secret keeper.

I miss my sister today.

Friday, March 4, 2016

Guided Towards the Door

My life is a story and just when I think the main characters have all been chosen, the story line changes.  Tomorrow, a chapter closes.  Last year, from start to finish, was an entire year of bad decisions.  It started with a memorial for my sister and ended with me being completely upended.  A year of loss, avoidance, denial, rejection and heart ache.  A new year begun with the realization that every thing I need, I already have.

Passionate, forgiving, loyal, constant love and belonging.  A safe place to live.  Someone (several someones) to hold me when I cry, to celebrate my successes, to call me on my shit, to let me love them back just as fully.  My family...my kids...their mates...this kind of love is so rare and such a gift. I'm blessed to have it many times over.

The last couple months of 2015 were spent in tears.  The beginning couple months of 2016 were spent questioning everything about myself.  After a year long experience of rejection and loss, those questions needed to be asked and answered.  The answers are all right here.  Like Dorothy, I have everything I need.

Last night, a man put his hand in the small of my back to direct me towards a door.  That simple gesture sent chills up my spine.  It's the little things, the simple gestures of kindness that remind us of our humanity, of our need for human touch and connection.  The simple act of guiding someone towards a door.

Tomorrow, a chapter's ending gets written.  I'm being guided toward a door that leads to the unknown and just like always, I'm insatiably curious.  What comes next? Who am I gonna meet? What am I gonna know a year from now that I don't know now?  What am I gonna learn?

I'm incredibly thankful for the friends I made this past year, the child who changed my life, the hand in the small of my back to remind me to connect with mine and others humanity and head towards the open door.

Monday, January 11, 2016


“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.” 
― Friedrich Nietzsche

It's true.  And what's worse, is that now I know you're untrustworthy and there are people who I love immensely who trust you.  More than anything, that's what bothers me the most.  I took a risk...I believed you...in fact, I defended you...Loudly..."I believe him" I said.  "I trust that he's telling me the truth", I said.

Now I know it wasn't the truth...If it was just you and me, I'd be perfectly okay...I would cry as I am right now this very minute; asking myself how I allowed myself to be this vulnerable...I'd get angry...and we'd move on as if this fiasco never happened.

But it's not just us...People who I love trust you and love you.  Ernest Hemingway says the best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them...I trusted.