Afloat

She didn’t know how to deal with the new reality she was stepping in to. There was so much energy a buzz around it and she found it hard to settle her mind and heart. She couldn’t even get a handle on her breathing.

She felt lost at sea, stuck in a tiny lifeboat requiring her to be present in each moment. There was nothing left to do but trust her story. She might not end up on the shore; sharks might come and tear her apart; or she could die from dehydration: too much salt, the sun burning her light skin red and blustery. The sea was never her home. Land, dirt, plants were her true place and so even more so she felt afloat in her surroundings.

She searched the horizon, always. She watched the long line laid out before her and felt drawn as if something magnetic was calling her home. Each day she woke looking for a bump in the flat distance, a difference in the space around her. She was hopeful something would show up in her purview and once again she could funnel her efforts towards a point.

Why was it that what laid before her, unreachable, always seemed to pose more promise the where she currently sat? The question comforted her and she finally relaxed a bit; settling in to the flimsy fluid place she sat. She bobbled in the not knowing where she would find land or if she would land at all.

She was hopeful and trusted somehow, once again, she would step forth on something solid. Even more enticing was the idea of sprouting wings and flying away all together. It would be a faster solution, if she could in fact find land before her wings failed her with exhaustion.

The silent flat water spread out in every direction and she felt stagnant, no oar to even take her attention. She was lost in her mind, which decided to no longer dance with her instincts. How could she pull the two together to mingle again?

She called herself forward in daily tasks that kept her alive. She fished in the water and watched for signs from animals. She felt restless, no room to escape. She was in it and liked to trust she would get out. Oh but what could she do to get out?

Releasing old stories


It took me a long time to dig out these books from boxes in my closet. I had to let them finally go though I've been carrying around for years. These are some that I released into the wild this year. I find sometimes the book is more about when I read it - where I am in my life - than what the book was about. 

2020 Reads

  1. Lead From the Outside by Stacey Abrams
  2. Joyful by Ingrid Fetell Lee
  3. The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey
  4. The Wisdom of the Shamans by Don Jose Ruiz
  5. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
  6. The Wind is My Mother by Bear Heart
  7. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb
  8. An American Sunrise by Joy Harjo
  9. Finding Chika by Mitch Albom
  10. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert
  11. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
  12. You are the Guru by Gabrielle Bernstein
  13. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling

Merry Christmas

Since December 6, I've been waiting for my holiday cards to be delivered. Each day  I've been disappointed when they don't arrive. Still, other friend's cards come in and it makes me feel lighter, like somehow I'm surrounded by friends who we really haven't seen much of this year. 

Some day our cards will be delivered and I'll bet the timing will seem like a joke or have some strange coincidence. I don't even know if I will mail them out once they arrive, since the moment seems to have passed already. 

This year... I promised myself I wouldn't try to quantify it... but a lot CAN happen in a year. If you're out there, I hope you're still finding a feeling of hope in your heart for what's to come, because I still am. Don't let this crazy game get you down too much. There is still much joy to be had and connections to be made; there is always hope.

24. Set in motion

Christmas Eve to me feels like what most people feel about Christmas Day. As a child so much happened on Christmas Eve: my family decorated our Christmas tree, we ate fondue and went to midnight mass, and opened all our gifts late into the might. Then of course, Santa would come and would hang magical silvery tinsel on our tree so when you woke up the next day, it seemed to glow. 

Christmas Day was much more mellow and low key. We had a big turkey dinner usually but otherwise, everyone was on their own outside opening stockings. As I got older, I remember going to see a movie on Christmas Day a few years, just to do something. 

So I get excited on Christmas Eve. I feel like it's the true finish line to this crazy season. Today felt like the first time I was truly missing something because of the pandemic. I don't honestly know how I made it this long not thinking too much about it all, but today we opted out of a gathering as my sisters and that sucked. It just felt eery in a way, low, like something wasn't right. I found myself mustering my own joy and trying to fit the down mood. We went for a drive just to get out of the house and played along the frozen river in Deckers; we even got to see a eagle fly by. Moods greatly increased on the way back and I got to take Willy for a quick walk, including a run on the golf course so he could flush out all the geese hanging out - that might have been one of the best gifts of the day. I think we did okay. The girls benefitted from opening a few gifts to break up the day. We sat and had wine and cider by the fire out back. 

 Tomorrow will be filled with much more energy, at least in the morning. I'm now dozy and off to sleep. Ready for the magic to wake me up early and to kiss this season goodbye. 

22. Christmas Flurries

This season is a beast of it's own making. I'm convinced, none suffer worse from it than moms. There are high expectations, most cooked up in my own head my husband reminds me. These things include all the decorations, moving the elf daily, the Advent calendar, buying the gifts, the gift wrapping, the super secret Santa stuff, buying more gifts because kids saw the super secret stuff in my Amazon cart, the homemade treats for neighbors, and the family holiday card - perhaps my favorite part - but ours are currently lost in the mail. Each day when I update my USPS tracker like a stalker, it tells me they will be delivered late today. It's bullshit and I'm trying to not let it ruin my year. 

Add to that my internal struggle to design and build my own Gingerbread house, mixed with procrastination and running around to three stores today only to discover what I already knew from years past: they were sold out. I'm working harder not smarter. So it is 11 p.m. and I am pulling homemade gingerbread out of the oven to sit over night and harden before I construct it tomorrow in time to decorate it with the cousins. As Maddie just said to me when I was tucking her in, I don't really have to have this on my list. To which I responded that I wanted my kids to have a happy childhood. But I know a Gingerbread house won't make that true. It's more about how I show up, which is why I had to remove my project manager hat as much as I could and let her cut the pieces of dough house before we slide them into the oven. We found a brighter spot as she dug out my mom's old cookie cutters and we made a tray of embellishments for this house, our house, a very, very, very fine house. 

It is my own undoing and I try to not judge it too hard, like my lack of creativity with elf positioning this season or how I've indoctrinated my kids into this consumptive culture that will kill our planet sooner than later. It's all our undoing. Why do we choose the quietest time of the year, literally when most animals are hibernating, to have the busiest holiday? We should be cuddling in bed and giving our loved ones sheer presence in their day. I think that's what I need too. Or maybe just a quiet moment in the early morning hours and at night too, to bookend all the other things.