-
Flailing forward
You painted a pretty picture of me
The type of girl you hoped I’d be
A model citizen
Who fits right in
I held on to the frame displaying the girl who boxed me in
My grip too strong for too long
It suddenly slipped from my fingers
Tumbling down and shattered in pieces all around me
It wasn’t at all remarkable
The crash
In fact, I felt so light after it dropped
That I just walked away
Like it never happened
Leaving the pieces all over the floor
I did want to be her
Tried to be her
But I failed
Oh, what fun it’s been to finally fail!
Over and over
Making a mess
Laughing at myself
While discovering the true version of me
How intimidating it must be
To approach a woman
Who is starting over from a place of strength and independence Who is free
How special it is
To be chosen by someone like this
Because they don’t need you at all
They want you
If you pay attention to the difference
One represents a careful choice
The other flows out of desperation
Quite a difference in sensation -
Out of the woods
Deep, deep in the woods
is where I was left
A remote part of the forest where you can only hear whispers
but not make out the words
A dense canopy overhead
Not a ray of light would dare travel so far or so low
as to find me
I knew I wasn’t alone
but I felt so far from where the people were living
in quaint little houses
Civilized
Together with their put-together families
There I stood
eyes wide
sensing danger around each corner
I’d be eaten if I stayed still much longer
Sure, it would be an easier route out of here
And yet, if I had to choose to eat or get eaten
I wouldn’t become someone’s meal
to be chewed on and spit out
When you lose one of your senses
you aren’t left defenseless
Because, you see, the others wake up out of sheer necessity
Would you be surprised if I told you
the first one I leaned into
was touch?
When felled trees were left to rot
they became the deadwood I stepped over
never to meet again
I learned to feel for the trees with sturdy roots
standing firmly
Their branches greeting and guiding me
to the next
The forest was full of chatter
Too loud
It felt deafening
Every wild animal, it seemed, had something to say about me
“You’re wrong,” I said, at once
Startled by the sound of my own voice
It sounded louder than it ever had before
Stronger
Less shaky
And that’s when they quieted down and
allowed me to hear my inner teacher instead
I’d like to say I stumbled upon some wild berries to munch on
But I wasn’t hungry
never hungry
until
from the distant houses
came the perfect breeze
The smell of bread baking
coffee brewing
made by those perfect people I imagined in their perfect little houses
However, as I inched closer
their words become more distinct
and they weren’t always happy, or perfect, but had real conversations
I could hear their loss and regret and heartache
They were just like me
I wasn’t proud to be eve’s dropping
But I knew then I wasn’t alone
People everywhere in all the houses are struggling
Like me
And so I became hungry for life again
I looked up, eyes forward, instead of behind me
where I could finally see one ray at first, then another, and another
A well-lit path away from past darkness -
Pretty little bow
Don’t forget to
tie up the year
into a pretty little bow.I’m not suggesting
you gloss over
the lows.
Rather, I want you to consider
doing yourself a big favor
by remembering
the little moments
that brought you levity and brightness.
It’s within the recall
where you’ll finally find
what it all means.
Throughout the year
you are gathering moments
like picking up sticks from the ground.
You hold them
not knowing exactly why
or where they came from.
All you know is that you can’t just set them down. Not yet.
And by December
they feel heavy and more than awkward piled up in your arms.
Now is your opportunity
to place all the branches down.
Give yourself a break because
scattered in front of you
are the building blocks for authenticity and joy.
What do you see?
Did you gather enough wood to make a fort?
A shed?
A bow?
Or maybe there’s just enough to start the foundation for something more solid next year.
It’s up to you
to sit with
and find meaning
in your stockpile this season.
As I stare into the fireplace this morning
flames dancing
I’m doing just that.
Remembering
Appreciating
Figuring out what I’ve been channeling.
It’s not clear to me in this moment
what shape or size my structure will be
but
I will say
I’ve never considered building anything like it before. -
Sweater
Sometimes I wonder why I’m so compelled to write. Why have I always been?
Yesterday my neighbor hung a plastic bag on my front door. Inside was a sweater she thought would look good on me. I didn’t notice her pass by my window to deliver it.
The sun had gone down without me noticing—my fingers furiously writing a poem no one will ever read.
Later, when I spotted the gift, I walked next door wearing the sweater, to give her a giant hug.
She asked where I was earlier. “There were no lights on,” she said.
“I was home,” I told her, “writing poetry in the dark.”
“I write poems, too,” she said, “but they all start with roses are red, violets are blue.”I laughed. Mine aren’t at all romantic, I thought, remembering a sad one I wrote the other day about a sapling growing up all alone.
My neighbor lost her husband suddenly a couple years ago. I still remember the sound of the siren. I quickly changed the subject and asked how she was doing.
She told me she’s okay on her own because she’s begun to practice gratitude every morning—the way her mom taught her. Her mother was 102 and a half when she passed, but never complained, and remained focused on what she did have instead of what she didn’t. When her feet hurt she’d say, “Well, at least I have feet!”As we sat and drank decaf tea together, I was reminded of how grateful I am. For you.
When I lose sight of why, you tend to find me in those moments.
You’ll ask me about my book, tell me you felt less alone after reading my blog or that you lingered over a word I chose. Because of that, I do keep going.Thank you for reading, my silly (and oftentimes dark) musings.
-
A Halloween
Alba’s elementary school chooses to call her Halloween parade an Autumn Walk. Her teacher says it is Noche de Brujas.
I call it the first Halloween ever when I won’t go trick or treating with my kids.
I can’t quite stand the thought of doling out candy in my doorway, each little face reminding me of what I’m missing. I suspect you won’t find me at home tonight.
There were other opportunities to dress them up last week and this morning, and yet I still feel gloomy.
There’s magic in the dark streets this time of year: leaves crunching under hurried feet, flashlights leading the way toward the next house, my neighbor who revs his chainsaw to send the children screaming, the sound of disappointment when that one house looked as though there was someone at home, but there wasn’t, and precious seconds were wasted.
I want it all. The ups and downs. The thrill of the candy. The 8 p.m. meltdowns when it’s over. The sibling sorting and trading on the floor back at home. The impossibility of putting them to bed after all the excitement. The eating of all the Reese’s while they are snoozing.
I’m told I have sad eyes. They’ll ask me what I’m thinking, confused, impatient with my lack of response. I often don’t know until I write it down. What I’m realizing now as I’m typing is the beauty in allowing myself to be sad when I feel it.
Because it’s Halloween, I’ll call it the simple trick I learned over the past year. You don’t trick yourself into feeling positive by telling yourself, “It’s not that bad, cheer up”. You treat yourself to an outrageous heaping spoonful of kindness, reminding yourself you are just human and feeling is part of the experience.
Maybe it will get easier to miss these holidays, or maybe it won’t. That’s not for me to decide. I won’t be writing my future any longer. I learned my lesson from past mistakes. I used to paint beautiful futures for myself, thinking I could will them into existence, ignoring the current reality.
Now I choose to sit deeply in the present. I’m alert and waiting for what’s next for me.
I guess this was a long-winded way of saying, have a Halloween, whether it’s happy or not.
-
It’s more than just the miles
It’s more than just the miles
It is what they represent
A metaphor for this pretty little life of oursStarting on shaking legs
walking often
In time and with perseverance
leads to power and confidence
Great big stridesMuscling through
until I catch myself
sprinting madly in pitch-black streets
no street lamps for miles
but I no longer fear the darknessI see it as a necessary evil
It once engulfed me completely
and spit me out
a different shape of meFrost’s words,
“and miles to go before I sleep”
Speak to me differently
now that I’m older
A person pondering the end
but not yet ready
still inspired by what they can still achieveI will be the first one to say,
“I’m too old for this”
but time and time again I see it’s not true
never trueBecause there’s so much I thought I couldn’t do
wouldn’t live through
and proved myself wrong -
Treasure hunting for the fairy
For Rafe and Alba, for being my magic every day.
I knocked on the fairy’s house and she said she wasn’t home.
But I heard her voice clearly echoing off the walls.
“You can’t fool me,” I said. “And besides, I’ve only come back to play.”
“You don’t remember how to play,” the fairy said.
I took a step back
wondering what her words meant.
Wasn’t I just here yesterday?I was building a path of stepping stones that led up to her door
and every time I wobbled and my foot hit the ground
I’d start over again from the beginning
until I made it without falling.
I was just digging in the dirt
looking for shiny treasures
to present to my fairy.
She always enjoyed the treasures.
I watched her as she sprinkled them in her tea
or displayed them in her home
and always asked for more.
It filled up my afternoons
treasure hunting for the fairy.
I was controlling the weather with my fairy spells she taught me
spinning madly in circles
the sky darkening.
I summoned thunder and rain.
When I’d recovered from her words I took another step forward
closer than before.
Maybe she hadn’t heard me the first time.
“Fairy, are you ready to play?” I asked.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Late for what?” I wondered.
“While you were out there growing and changing, and feeling and falling down, I was here waiting for your treasures. Your stories,” she said.
All of a sudden I felt confused
nostalgic for something I couldn’t put my finger on
and began rambling to the fairy
telling her a story I’d once heard
about a baobab
that simply would not shut up
and so
he was ripped out of the ground
put back in upside down
with its roots in the air
head under the dirt so no one would hear him.
When I looked up I saw the fairy’s face change.
She laughed a bit at first, but then began to cry.
“Your stories,” she said, “they used to be full of joy, wonder, and delight.”
“Okay,” I said, “I can tell you about the time a giant rainstorm flooded my backyard and the kids swam around…”
“Wait!” said the fairy, interrupting my story.I assumed I’d disappointed her yet again and began to feel I’d never see her smile.
“You have kids?” she asked.
“I do,” I said.
“And, are they like you?”
“Very much so,” I said. “They laugh all the time. They bring me art projects and treasures from school. They tell me stories. They make my world brighter.”
“Oh,” said the fairy. “That’s what I miss the most.” She paused, looked at me and asked me about their names.
“Rafe and Alba,” I replied.
“Would you send them over to my house sometime?” she asked. “The place is not what it used to be, my treasures have lost their shine, but I’d like to share some new spells I came up with.”
“Well, sure,” I said.
All at once she turned around and began to fly back to her home and that’s when I saw it, her smile. Instantly I remembered everything from years ago and I knew in that moment she had forgiven me. -
Relentless
The words
“In a year things will be completely different”
have been ringing in my ears all these months.
In my lowest moments the timeline taunted me.
It forced upon me a deadline
to be changed, better somehow.
What if I wasn’t?
What if I was still broken in little pieces?
What would that say about me?
On better days I found hope in the idea of using it
as a place to stop
yet again
and reflect.
To understand my past year
you have to know how
I reached in and found motivation
in my two little loves
who were looking up at me
wide eyed
with curiosity and confusion
needing me to steer the ship
even if I didn’t know exactly which direction to go
even when I was acting like a drunken sailor slurring my words after another sleepless night.
I kept my eyes on them
never losing my focus
and
I am here now.
The basics are now back in place.
The easy things I took for granted like
sleeping and eating
running
writing
laughing
have all returned to me.
I don’t recommend having your life shattered
but if one year showed me anything about myself
it was to see
that I was bold enough to admit
how deep I was in the darkness
and that I simply could not keep going on as normal.
I had to be as selfish as possible.
For the first time ever
I was looking after my own welfare
as the only avenue
I was willing to take to save myself.
I fear that even writing this
makes it seem like I don’t fully comprehend
that worse things could have happened to me.
And yet I am convinced it is important to share
that even a common thing
such as a divorce
is so very misunderstood.
The messiness of it all and how it has rippling effects into every part of life
is so beyond comprehension for those who haven’t been through it.
How you must go on
the same way you would as if someone you loved had just died.
The world keeps on turning
and you just want to scream at the top of your lungs how nothing will ever be the same.
But, you can’t.
Your work is to just restlessly keep going.
If I had kept on being selfless
I would have never
ever
been here in this moment today.
I know the pausing, the focus on me
was what saved me.
Little by little
over cold winter mornings and soul-crushing nights
I filled up my cup with small, seemingly insignificant things that made me happy.
I did
follow my bliss
until one stale night in February
something shifted.
After six months of deprivation
deliriousness
I woke up
rested
after a full night’s sleep.
But also,
it began for me the type of waking up
where my senses weren’t so dull.
I felt more.
I allowed myself to feel
even if it was reckless of me.
The newer me
loves to risk it.
Just for the goddamn thrill of it all.
I can’t say for certain what’s next for me or what this next year will bring.
I do feel sturdier.
Centered.
Ready to handle all the ups and downs
that are sure to come.
I’m now better
though not perfect
at listening to my gut
or at least knowing when I’m actively ignoring it.
And so now
the work lies in following it
That beautiful intuition inside of me
to see where it leads.
I am far less controlled
by fear or the unknown.
I am confident about
who I am
and my ability to stand on my own.
I now know that it’s all these little gut checks
and gathering tiny bits of happiness
whenever you can
that keep you
on the path that was ready
waiting patiently
just for you. -
Dreamer
My best friend says
I live in another time zone.
She’s right.
Except…
I often feel I’m farther away than that
dreaming in a different universe.
I jump in without considering the consequences.
Starting with an 8 mile run I haven’t trained for
straight past a no-alcohol allowed sign with a whiskey affixed to my fingers
through an icy lake
and into love as if it hasn’t shattered me before.I’m so tired of following the rules with
my writing
in life
and
in love.Because I see where playing it safe dropped me.
There’s poetry in my loneliest hour
when I can laugh at myself
for being a walking contradiction.
One minute I’m so sure of the decision I’ve just made
and a second later I am suddenly feeling more clueless than ever.
This often leaves me dazed.
But, I think that’s the nature of
the dreamer.
When I’m not quite here or there
I know that’s my heart being wildly impulsive
and taking me on another self-imposed fool’s errand
which I decidedly won’t question
until it’s over
when I am cursing my heart
and wishing I’d just use my brain.
And yet, over and over, I’d rather risk it
to see where my longing leads
even if it doesn’t make sense
to anyone else
or even
to me. -
To be seen
I was cleaning out the memory card on my Canon and came across a photo my daughter took just a few days ago. In that moment when I saw myself I realized how rare it is to see a picture of just me.
I’m not doing anything special, but the mere fact that she wanted to capture me in the moment made me feel seen.
It’s just me—raw and tired—at the end of the day. I’m putting my house back together. It is my nightly ritual.
It is the part of the day when I’m most exhausted and ready to give up. The end is in sight. We’ve done all of our adventuring and there’s just baths, books, pjs and teeth standing in the way of me and my couch. And silence.
I see myself and I realize I have a way of giving off calm even when I am completely overwhelmed. The timestamp on the photo is 6 p.m.—the exact time each night when my brain is exploding. I haven’t had a single moment to myself or even one unique thought.
This mundane picture made me realize how much everyone just wants to be truly seen.
But to be seen would take vulnerability and trusting others with our deepest selves.
I often wonder when I’ll be able to fully trust again and yet I know the answer to almost all of my questions is right in front of me.
The answer I’m finding lately is usually just time.
I loathe and find comfort in this answer because as impatient as I am, I also know how time has already healed me and will continue to do so.
