Well now…

So, I just logged in here for the first time in, oh, I don’t know…..a really long time.  I have felt kind of foolish having a blog called ‘startingwritenow’ when I am not really writing anything lately.  What a joke, right?  And, how very typical of me-to start something and then drift off. Then the longer I stayed away, the easier it became to not write, to not focus on this.  Truth be told the things I wanted to write about, to empty out of my head and my heart and dump out here on ‘the interwebs’ where my words are just a few in a sea of words that no one would really pay attention to, were really personal.  And I got scared.  I am not one of those people after all-the ones that can strip naked on a page (or in a post) and leave it all out there.  Or, I am, except I worry about the fallout.  I worry about the tales I tell and the ripples they cast not just in my life, but in those around me.  If I share here things I said or did in my twenties, my kids may stumble across them and some of those things-not so pretty.  And that is just a small part of it.  Writing as a way of exploring my past and working through the things I needed to meant telling the truth about not only myself, but about others too, and who am I to shine so bright a light on someone else’s walk? Who am I to point a public spotlight on someone else’s life.  I think when I wrote about Lena Dunham it kind of hit me.  She wrote her book, and in doing so brought her sister into a very vulnerable place, one she did not ask to be in, one where she would be judged and criticized and examined by millions of people.  Now, I don’t believe that millions of people will read this little blog, but, my kids might, my husband does, you do.

So I haven’t written.  But I have worked on me. I have become more me than ever before.  And I have let go of this feeling that I ‘failed this too’ because I haven’t.  I did ‘start write now’ and I started a lot of things in the last year or so.  I started focusing more on my photography, I started working full time, I started learning again, I started volunteering.  I started quite a lot. And while it was not all writing, it was all good and that is all I can really ask.

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Want Not Need

My mother and father just left.  They were here for a weekend, which sounds long, but in reality when you account for travel time, is not.  When your visit consists of the hours between Friday at 3pm to Sunday at 11am, it is in fact one full day and just a few bits.  We make the most of our time for sure.  Laughing, eating, being ridiculous-and of course shopping.  It is what we do best.  Saturday was full from one hour to the next as we tried to squeeze every ounce of ourselves into the 16 hours we were awake.

I find now that I am older that while I need them less-my life is simple by comparison to the years I had small children and a few bumps in my marriage-I want them more.  I want to spend time with them, whether it is shopping or eating or playing with Snapchat.  It doesn’t matter what we do-I just miss the space they occupied in my life now that I live four hours from them.  I miss the ability to swing by for lunch or crash in for dinner.  I miss calling my mom for anything-and everything.

When I was younger I could not wait to leave them.  Could not wait to move out, which I did at the age of 17.  And while I moved in and out over the course of those next nine years before I met my husband, I would not have considered myself close to them.  I was perpetually angry and fitful with my life and my relationships with them and those around me.  I was dating a man they despised and knew was no good for me, and I was determined to prove them wrong.  About him, about me, about everything.

It wasn’t until I was married and pregnant with my first and my parents decided to move south, 1500 miles south, that I realized I wanted my parents.  I wanted them close.  I wanted to be close to them, and not just in proximity.  I spent so many years pushing and now there they were leaving….

I lasted 15 months without them before my husband and I packed our things and moved forty minutes away from them.  It didn’t help that my sister had moved shortly after they did.

We tend to take for granted the things we have everyday-food, water, your parents.  And I am no different.  After a few years living in Charleston just a few exits up the highway from them, the weekly visits stopped.  The kids got older, life got busier and then we were just like a normal family-visiting each other on holidays and birthdays.  But the fact remained that I could visit them anytime I wanted and that was a security I wrapped around me on a daily basis.

Now that I am here in Georgia seeing my folks requires planning and scheduling.  Time off and coordinating.  And the time flies and is gone before I know it.  I hate it.

This weekend I tried to convince them to build a tiny house in my backyard to retire in.  I would rent it as a studio in the meantime.  I had it all figured out.  But I know it’s not realistic.  I know that this is how life changes.  We change. And I know that as we get older, myself included, time spent with them-hell with anyone-will become more precious.

I will hold on to that as I look forward to my next visit with them.

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It’s Personal

I just finished listening to Shonda Rhimes “The Year of Yes” and I am still lost somewhere in its pages.  I am still listening to her rhythmic voice move around in my heart.  It is still talking to me, teaching me, reminding me that I have more to do. More to say.

I have not been here in a long time. I have not read a post of yours nor written one of mine.  I have been busy-aren’t we all busy? But that is not it, and I know it.  I forgot my YES, as my new friend Shonda would say.  I forgot how to believe in my voice. My voice was questioned and that made me want to be quiet.  It made me want to be small and simple and it made me want to keep the waters smooth.  Don’t ruffle any feathers.

Some of the things I want to write are personal, that is true.  But does that mean I should not write them? Does that mean that I should type them in Word, and then Close and Save?  I don’t know. That doesn’t feel right.  It feels incomplete.

So here I am today. Writing. Posting. Sharing.

I am going to say somethings here that are just me. Open. Honest. Personal.  That is who I am, it is who I fought to be.  For years I have been the perfect little yes girl, the people pleaser, the proper codependent making sure that no one got upset, no one was offended, no one was hurt, and you know what? I am done with that. I don’t want that. It makes me tired and sad, and resentful. Who wants to live with that?

I keep thinking of all of the blogs and Facebook accounts and Instagram feeds I follow faithfully because their authors and owners are REAL. HONEST. Present and accounted for, and you know what? The world has not ended because they shared their shit.  They have not been scorned into exile, no, quite the opposite-they are loved.  They are supported, and loved.

So I am going to write again.  To commit myself to it again.  I am going to come here and stare at the screen and whisper my yes until it makes my fingers dance on the keyboard.

Because I can.



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The people keep moving. Legs, feet, shoes shuffling down the street. Destinies unknown. Don’t stumble or trip, just keep moving. College town, lectures, meetings, lunches to get to, to be on time for. We’re busy. So, so busy. Does it end? The sprint to the finish line, I think. Does it feel like this until the very end? Tell me no. Lie if you must. Tell me there is more-more stories to tell, more life to live. We need to think outside of the box, to sit in the sun, to look out beyond this bustling city. We need to be still.

100 Word Challenge: A minus

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Starting Write Now

I am writing today from a tiny office in a large hospital.  I am working here-photographing newborn babies, something I would have NEVER in a million years thought I would do. Never.

But I started.  As my blog says, ‘If I don’t start now, I never will’ and so I did.  I started writing and from there I picked up my camera.  It seemed so natural, I wanted beautiful pictures alongside my blog posts so I loaded up and went for a drive.  And soon I was driving every weekend-top down, camera on the passenger seat-looking for things.  Looking at things.  Breathing.  It became meditative to me.  And I started to think I was good.  I could do this.

And so I did.

I hung my prints in a few shops, I booked a few clients and bought myself some business cards.

I was starting something else.

I saw an ad for a newborn photographer and I answered.  Who did I think I was?? I could take pictures of dogs and cows and landscapes, but BABIES?  What did I have to lose? So I started this too.

Turns out I can really do this.

So I left my writing, or set it aside, but it is always in my head-a vague narrative that I want to pen but I always think there will be more time later.  There never is of course.

But maybe now my photography will bring me back to my writing.  I am sitting here waiting somewhat impatiently for my last patient and found myself here.  And it is in the stillness and peace that I look for my words, so naturally….here I am.  Starting again.





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Losing My Religion

Last week C announced that he had gotten in trouble in social studies.  Not trouble, really, but called out by his teacher for making a joke about something-something that to her was sacred and serious.

The Pope.

I asked C what exactly happened and after twenty minutes of wandering through the story, the gist of it boiled down to this-they were watching and discussing the Pope’s visit in class and C innocently asked ‘Who is the Pope?’.

His teacher, a devout Catholic, nearly lost her head, and assumed C was being sarcastic and disrespectful.  She yelled at him (his words) and told him it was wrong to make jokes like that.

But the thing is, he wasn’t joking.

In yet another great parenting fail, my child did not really know who the Pope was.  I mean, he has seen him on TV, and knew him by sight, but he did not really know WHO he was, and what all of the fuss about his visit to the US was.

My family is not Catholic, obviously.  I consider us to be Christians, but we do not attend church, so I don’t know if I can truly say that anymore.  We did for a time, before we had children, and then for a short while after, before leaving the house took over an hour and what should have been a peaceful and spiritual start to our day became a struggle.  We have drifted in and out of churches over the course of our lives looking for a perfect fit and have yet to find one that feels like home.  Today, I consider us to be more spiritual than religious.  I believe in being kind and authentic, in helping others when you can and being mindful and grateful always. I believe in mistakes and forgiveness, and love, lots of love. I believe we are human, flawed and beautiful. I believe I see God on a long ride on a country road, in fields and flowers so beautiful they take your breath away.  He is  in the ocean, and the sound of the tides lapping the sand and in the smell of the pluff mud. I hear Him in my children’s laughter, and know He is present when they come to kiss me out of the blue, hug me unexpectedly, or take my hand as we walk through the store.

But am I failing by not teaching my children about other religions? If we were attending church regularly, would they be exposed to more than just ours? I don’t recall in any of the Methodist or Episcopalian services I attended anyone ever discussing Allah, or even expecting my children to know who Allah is.  Do other churches talk of Buddhism and Siddhartha Gotama? In Sunday school do they discuss Hannukah? As a parent, I am supposed to share my beliefs with him, but should I be sharing all beliefs?  My parents did not, nor did we attend church as children, and yet I learned-so from where?

Part of me wonders if the internet and Netflix, streaming and DVR are part of the problem.  There was endless coverage of the Pope’s visit on TV, but I doubt we saw more than 15 minutes total of it.  There are so many other options, so many other channels, if you are not interested you just move on. Click! Simple as that.  And I can promise you, a 12 year old boy is not interested.  When I was a child and the news was so big that every channel covered that one event, you had no choice.  We didn’t have 500 channels to choose from, or a dozen shows DVR’d that we could turn on. We watched the news. It preempted regular programming and you suffered through it.  We talked about it and learned from it.

Today, I am lucky if I watch 15 minutes of news a day, and I can bet my children watch none.  Mine is limited to the Today Show, which is less news and more entertainment daily.  We don’t subscribe to a newspaper, though I do try to read(skim) the NYT on Sundays.  So where would my children see and hear anything about current events?  They are certainly not searching them out on their own.

I briefly considered emailing C’s teacher an apology, and explaining he truly did not know the Pope, and his significance, and didn’t mean t offend, but I didn’t.  Part of me was angry that she assumed he would, that she was so quick to anger over his simple and innocent question.  What if I was Muslim, or Jewish? Had she considered that?  And really, the boy is 12 for Pete’s sake.  Batman and Santa Clause are important to him. Not the Pope.

Part of me felt guilty and added this to my list of personal and parental shortcomings.  Some days I swear I have retained very little from my high school social studies years, and honestly I am not well versed when it comes to current events either, so it felt a bit like she was calling me out as well. The worrier in me assumed she sat in the teachers lounge that afternoon and told everyone that my son ‘didn’t even know who the Pope was’, while shaking her head and ‘wondering what kind of people’ we are.

I know none of that is true, and I know that C now knows perfectly well who the Pope is and why he is such a big deal.  We sat together that evening and watched the news, and discussed it.  We googled a bit of information and talked about other religions.  We reflected on past Pope’s and how this one is different and why that is important.  Could he write a paper on the Pope now? No, probably not, and that is okay with me.

But going forward I may just renew my subscription to the newspaper, and maybe even Time magazine or Newsweek.  Relying on the various apps I have to give me my news in 60 seconds or less works fine for me, but is leaving a new generation out in the cold and uninformed.

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Leave me alone, I’m lonely.

I miss my friends.

There I said it. Big breath. Exhale.

I miss my friends. My people. My bitches.

Some days I miss them more than anything and a text or a phone call just doesn’t help.

I miss my friends. It sounds crappy to say it, so I haven’t until now. I mean, it is nice to hear if you are the friends I am missing, but it sounds like a slight to the friends I have made here-yes? And I have made friends here. I have made many friends, wonderful and diverse friends. We share laughs, and cocktails; we do dinners and volunteer together. I am fortunate that in such a short time in my new home I have found so many women that I share so much with.

But I still miss my friends.

I had an unexpected day off the other day and had no plans and no direction. I couldn’t think of anything to do (yes, I suppose I could have cleaned, dusted or done laundry). Then I came up with a ton of things to do, but didn’t want to do them alone. So did I call any of the many friends I have made? No. I spent the day solo and melancholy. Wanting to be alone, but feeling very lonely.  It sounds ridiculous and I feel silly and petty for even saying all of this. I kept trying to figure out what my problem was, why couldn’t I just call someone?

I finally realized that what I am missing is the relationships themselves, not necessarily a specific person or people (though I do miss them too). I am longing for the depth and layers that come only after years spent together.   I miss the intimacy of those friends that have seen me at my worst with snot and tears on my face. I am aching for the people who know my moods and will  come sit and watch Netflix all day and drink wine and not talk at all. I am missing genuine hugs, coffee on my porch; drop in friends that show up when you expect it least but when you need it the most. I miss sitting at my kitchen table watching ridiculous YouTube videos and laughing until I pee, dressed in my finest pajamas while our collective children run screaming through the house. I miss walking the neighborhood baring my raw and fractured heart and getting a much-needed pep talk , no holds barred, no bullshit with the one friend that would tell me EXACTLY like it is. I miss the stories and tall tales we all shared over a fire pit in the first days of fall.  I miss being lulled to sleep by the sound of the river, warmed by the sun, and surrounded by the chatter of women I have known over a decade. I miss the messy and dirty, the sad and moody, the calls for nothing, the silly texts, the beer in the garage, the cigarettes behind the house, the crying, the laughing, the highs and the lows, of those friendships I left behind.

There are things that only life and time can give you, and that kind friendship is one sadly of them. The women I have in my life now are amazing in their own way, but it is early in our relationship and we are all still shiny and new. We still look our best to see one another, and say the kindest things, and are sure to agree on mostly everything. Our kids are still perfect, our husbands amazing and our lives are full and vivacious. It will take time to drop the mask, the pretense, and the fear of being judged or not liked for who we really are. It will take time to be authentic, to be human and fragile, to trust and have faith in the foundations we are laying. But how ironic is it that I was so ready to move away from SC and away from people who had seen me stumble and fall too many times to count, I now wish I had someone here that knew me when…

Of course I could be doing more to foster such relationships. I could reach out more to the friends I have, I could initiate and try a bit harder. I could relax, drop my guard and open up. I have come to know and enjoy the people I surround myself with so why not? What is stopping me? I suppose it could be pure laziness on my part-extending myself with new and different people, being ‘on’ for long periods of time is exhausting to me-a side effect of my hearing loss. I have to concentrate and focus so much more on what is being said and what is going on around me which some days, just wipes me out. It could be fear. I have sat in the embers of a few female friendships that went up in a spectacular ball of flames, and I am in no hurry to do that again. (Women as it turns out, can hurt each other far more than any lover or spouse ever could.) Letting someone get that close again is not coming easy for me-arms length seems a comfortable distance for now, but I know it has its price and feeling like this is it.   It could also be that now I have to stand on my own as a woman, and as a friend, and that is a new and unfamiliar feeling for me. My children are grown (enough) that my circle is not being made up of the mothers of my children’s friends. I am not being thrown together at a  or Boy Scouts or some random school function where we can bond over too sweet lemonade and that one class our kids are all struggling with.  I am choosing my own friends now, and I have to be chosen as well, solely based on ME.  That makes things different-not necessarily harder or worse, just different. Finding a common thread is not a given anymore without my children as my little wingmen.

I love my life in my new home, and my new community. I love the many ways I have grown and changed since I have moved here-and I do dearly love the women that I have found and that I now call my friends. Of course I hope to never stop missing my friends back home-they have been my inside my heart for so long I cannot imagine life without them.  And I do look forward to making memories and building on the foundations I have with the new people in my life. But every once in a while I just need to say it out loud and not hurt anyone’s feelings.

I just miss my friends.

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What’s in a DISC

I took a DISC assessment last month, something I had not done in more years than I care to recall. It was for a job with a national company- job that I may, or may not even want. But I have little to lose these days so I took it and went to the subsequent follow up meeting as well.

The manager I met with is clearly trained to tell me that there are ‘no wrong answers’ and that these tests are just to be sure that I am positioned to do well within their company.  They say this politely while they scroll through all of the commentary in my file.  I  sat patiently until we got to the summary notes, the last page, the outline of whether or not I fit the profile they are looking for.

According to my DISC I am a strong IS and a not so much DC. This means that I am articulate, motivational, enthusiastic, as well as consistent, patient and loyal.  I am a good listener, and I am extremely helpful.  All good things and things that I think sum me up fairly well.

The flip side of this-because there is always a flip side-is that I am not strong willed or authoritative, nor am I analytical, precise or systematic.  This was not a shocker either.

I was surprised a little that after 20+ years my profile had not changed. Despite the many attempts at people to change these very core pieces of my personality, I am still me.

The job in question was a sales position, so based on these results I would do just fine. And  having been a Realtor for seven years I know this is true.  The reporting and forms that would need to be completed in this position? They would no doubt be a struggle for me. But I could do them, and would do them if need be, just as I had when I sold real estate.

But I have tossed those results around in my head for a few weeks now, using them to gauge my successfulness or lack thereof at certain points in my life and I see where they have worked for me and against me.  Meeting scheduled? I prep the morning of, arrive in a flurry of papers and confusion.  But when I am called on to speak? I am ‘on’.  I can connect and convey my message without all that pesky data and those boring graphs. I am a people person, not a numbers person.  According to the charts I seek reward and praise, and I readily share praise with others.

But it also explains a lot of things. My lack of D and C-Dominance and   Conscientiousness now that I have given them some serious thought, has had some not so positive effects on my life. I have never been one to balance my check book for example. The tedium, the numbers, they don’t make sense to me.  Sticking to a budget? Forget about it. Combine those two things and I am a walking financial nightmare for my husband to keep track of. A food journal or diet plan?  For a day or two. Maybe three. Even with the ‘easy to use’ apps on my phone I find I am unable to stick it out. I am not ‘systematic’ nor am I ‘results driven’ though, I would very much like to see the results. Ha!

I am looking hard at this assessment not necessarily for the job I interviewed for, but for the work that I am doing now, the business I want to start on my own, the life and yes, the body I want to have.  I used to think it was my ADD, that I simply lacked focus and was easily bored, and I still do. But when I add the results of my DISC I am at a clear disadvantage in some aspects of life. If these traits are so ingrained in me that after twenty or so years they have not changed, how can I adapt myself so that I ensure my own success in more areas of my life? Now that I have identified them how to I make them work for me and not against me?

Clearly I have some more homework to do here.  Can I change? Who knows. One would have thought that I would have by now.   Do I want to change? Yes, very much actually. Not across the board though-most of the characteristics in my IS are very favorable and serve me well. But would I like to be more assertive in areas of my life? Would I like to be more independent and strong willed? Oh yes.  Would I like to be more organized in let’s say, ALL areas of my life? Yes! Please!

I don’t know where to start, and in classic IS form, I will fall back on my ‘let me think about it some more’ behavior, and go from there….

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I am Enough.

I had a dream this morning.  My alarm had already gone off and was set to snooze.  I sank back into the pillow and pulled the covers up tight around my neck making a cocoon of sorts and off I went.

In the dream I was curled up in the fetal position on the floor, my head resting on a pillow.  The pillow was a bright pink color and the room was mostly white.  It felt familiar, as though I had been there before, but it was not my room.  The space was full of women standing, sitting, listening to a tiny woman sitting on the floor. I knew the woman, I have seen her many times. I have heard her speak and been moved by the words, the spirit and the energy that flows from her.  Her lithe little body was sitting cross legged on the floor, knees not far from my face and she had asked me a question.

What are you afraid of?

For a moment I could not answer, fear seized me, glueing my mouth shut.  What am I afraid of? I knew she was not asking about mice or snakes or those types of fears.  She was asking about the hard stuff.  I could feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. This, I am afraid of this.  Of telling someone what I am afraid of. Of sharing my fears. Of being judged when I do. Of being judged period.

Why are you crying? She asks me.  I am sitting up and trying to muster the courage the answer her and the other woman are turning to look at me.

Of not being enough, I say.  It is barely audible. She is staring straight at me as if to say ‘yes, this is what I was waiting for you to say’.

Of not being good enough. Of not doing enough, I continue.

I feel like I am let things go, doing one thing in favor of another, that it is all never enough.  Therefore I am never enough.  It’s an endless cycle and I cannot get out of it.

I laugh, make some sort of joke of it-a typical response to stress for me and we all begin to disperse. The dream ends, drifts off like tendrils of smoke, and I am awake.

I carry those words with me all day, wondering why they crept into my subconscious.  I could start a list perhaps.  All of the areas in my life I do not feel like I am enough, good enough, strong enough, smart enough…But what good would it do?  I try to remember the last few days and what has made me feel like this, made me call forward this thought so much so that it took such vivid shape in my sleep.

Sunday I was sharing with a friend the idea I have for my next tattoo. A white one, simple typewriter font on the inside of my wrist-‘enough’. To remind myself everyday, I told him, that I am enough, I have enough, I am good enough.  I smirk at the irony of it.

Last night, I read with eagerness an article on ‘Impostor Syndrome’ and wondered if that is indeed what I am here-an impostor?  Am I pretending to be something I am not-a writer here, a photographer there.  This week I nervously handed my business cards out, wanting to draw in new clients, but fearful at the same time.  I emailed someone about freelance work-who am I to offer services?  Am I fooling myself?  Who said I was good enough to do all of this?

As I left for work this morning I kissed my son goodbye with guilt on my lips.  I hate leaving him home alone during the summer days. They should be filled with fun and adventure and memories.  Not spent home alone.  I looked around my house at the papers in disarray and the laundry stacked on the dryer.  I thought of the last time my husband and I were together, it seems like weeks ago now. Am I even getting this right? Am I good enough as a mother and wife?

The list is endless-the ways I feel less than enough. The ways we make ourselves feel inferior and smaller, our contributions insignificant, our efforts wasted-they could go on in an endless loop if we let them.  I have to draw myself back and find my faith, my balance, my center in all of it.  I have to say that word out loud and feel it, trust it, and know that I am, enough.

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Here and Now.

I haven’t been here lately. I haven’t written and I have not read.  I have fallen victim to my own lack of focus, my own pattern of distracted behavior.  It’s not that I don’t want to be writing-I do.  I have several half completed, partially edited essays on my laptop and a handful more in the Notes app on my phone.  Ramblings I’ve dictated to myself while I am driving that I fully intend to turn into something later-when I have time of course. (ha!)

But I have been busy. I am still creating, still opening my heart, still trying to convey a message, or messages, just with a different medium. I have picked up my camera after years of letting it catch dust or taking the obligatory pictures of birthday parties and bedrooms.  These days I am taking pictures of animals, mostly for the local shelter here.  I am trying to capture the personality of the cats and dogs that need homes, to help them shine and show their heart.  I roll around in the grass with them with my camera at all kinds of crazy angles trying to get just the right look-the look that says ‘take me home’.  It is rewarding and fulfilling in ways I have not felt in years.

I have been taking pictures of this new life I am living as well.  Four and a half hours now from the coast, I am surrounded by hills and farms and landscape that takes my breath away on a daily basis. In doing so I have been learning about my camera, my eye, my town and myself all at once.  I have found a part of me I thought I had lost and finally a part of me that makes so much sense.  I have been trying to squeeze myself into a mold-a career, a lifestyle that was the wrong size all along. I have finally realized I don’t have to ‘be’ anything. I just have to live this life.  LIVE IT.  The rest will come. It is coming.

Every week I take my camera out for a drive.  I don’t turn on the radio, and I don’t answer my phone.  I roll the top down on my little convertible and for an hour or sometimes more, I drive around and get lost.  Sometimes, really lost.  But that is when we are found, isn’t it?  I believe it is.

This past weekend my husband and I took the Miata up to the mountains.  We drove with the top down almost the entire weekend solid.  We had my camera in tow just about as much. We drove in silence, listening to the wind, the road, the trees and our thoughts. We never even turned on the radio.  We looked around at everything, pulling over so often it took us twice as long to get anywhere. We were in no hurry and had no plans.  We smelled every flower, every field, every farm and every cookout we drove past.  We even smelled the rain as it started.

Peace out.

Peace out.

I have read a ton of books on being authentic, being present. I’ve listened to podcasts and apps on mindfulness.  At the bottom of my worst days they each have helped me through-teaching me how to let go of anger and bitterness, fear and anxiety.  I have met women who inspire me and empower me and ended my struggles with those that do not. But this weekend, driving those roads and looking out at the glorious views with my husband of nearly twenty years by my side, was the first time I have really felt it down to my core, in my heart and soul, into my bones and back.  I mean felt IT. Present. Authentic. In the moment. Peaceful.  All of those catchphrases that we pin or post, I feel like I embodied every single one.

This weekend wasn’t a big romantic gesture, no grand plans for candlelight dinners or expectations of roses and jewelry.  I have come to a place where I don’t need, or care for those things.  It was just to get away, to connect with each other after months of running-or has it been years? Yes, probably years-with kids and jobs, health issues and even a lawsuit-it has surely been years.  And while I thought I needed a big grand plan-an island in the Caribbean, a week at least, a plethora of fruity drinks and someone to wait on me hand and foot-it turns out I don’t need any of that. THAT isn’t what touches my soul anymore.

It’s funny what life teaches you if you are listening, if you are looking.  I can’t put a number  on the amount of lessons life has taught me these last few years-it would be impossible to count. I can only say that I am thankful that my eyes were open.


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