The Most Important Love Story I Ever Told...

“Love is an ever fixed mark…”

I woke up late…much later than I normally do.

I like to rise around 4:15, just to make sure I have time to journal, meditate, or sit with the early birds if it’s warm enough. That head-clearing time is the best start to my days.

When I started this new job, I created a small ritual that has helped me tremendously. I lay out my clothes for the next day, prepare my coffee, breakfast, and lunch… and remind myself, even when I’m tired, that “my future self will thank me.”

And she always does.

So when I woke up at 6:15 on Tuesday… I didn’t panic. Not even a bit.

I started the shower, threw on a shower cap, got dressed, put on my makeup, and pulled part of my hair up… messy locks that my students adore.

As I walked into work five minutes late instead of fifteen minutes early… still no panic.

I stopped to look at what was left of the blossoms and thought to myself:
This must be what it feels like to have a regulated nervous system.

Because in years past, my life was nothing but panic.
Everything felt like a five-alarm fire.
Every pebble in the road meant catastrophe.

My parents had dear friends that I absolutely adored... Alice used to say,
“It’s like pole vaulting over mouse turds.”

That was my life.
And I could never understand why.

Today, I had the day off… appointments with my girls.

When I dropped my youngest son off at school, kids and parents alike were waving. I even heard one kid yell, “Where are you going? We need you!”

This came on the heels of notes left behind after our art show… kids telling me they love me, that I’m “cool,” “nice,” and apparently the “G.O.A.T.”

And sitting at a red light, it hit me:

My whole life, I have just wanted to be seen for who I really am.

And somehow… all the love I’ve poured out into the world
has found its way back to me.

I felt like I had arrived.

Not in the way I imagined… but in a way that made me pause and realize:

Life rarely shows up how we expect it to.
But sometimes… it shows up exactly how we need it to.

Over the past few years, my perspective has shifted so drastically that my grief had to turn completely around.

I used to believe I stayed and tolerated so much because fate had knocked on my door.

But what I’ve come to understand through therapy and a stubborn “can-do” spirit is this:

I was the one standing in the way
of the life meant for me.

I had a chokehold on proving to people who discarded me
that I was worth loving, cherishing, choosing.

It never occurred to me.. not once in 27 years…
that what was meant for me would find me and stay.

Not because I proved it.
But because I already am..
sweet, funny, thoughtful, smart…
a chill, cool girl.

I’ve always been.

And then the dam burst.

And I was left standing in the aftermath… a partial foundation,
downed tree debris scattered in only one direction:

Truth.

My grief changed.

It was never about losing someone who loved me.

It was about realizing
I had never fully loved myself enough
to let what wasn’t meant for me
fall away.

I made myself small.
I walked on eggshells.
I took responsibility for someone else’s emotions,
someone else’s harm.

Mark Twain once said:
“If it’s your job to eat a frog, it’s best to do it first thing in the morning. And if it’s your job to eat two frogs, it’s best to eat the biggest one first.”

This was the biggest frog I have ever swallowed.

And if I’m honest… the hardest part has been forgiving myself.

When Rube was clearing out the house in Florence, preparing to move in with my Aunt Marianne, she gave me a number of things.

One was her college textbook… the complete works of William Shakespeare.

It’s worn now. The binding frayed from years of being held, opened, returned to.

Near the back lives the collection of sonnets.

One of them - Sonnet 116 - became my anchor nearly sixteen years ago, when I found myself discarded for the second time.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments; love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom:

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

 

I knew then that what I had experienced was not love.

I even wrote about it.

What I didn’t know yet…
was how to forgive myself for staying.

That part is still unfolding.

But I understand now:

I made mistakes.
And I am still here… living, breathing, and more than okay.

These days, my life is full.

Family.
Friends, old and new.
Men whose eyes light up when they see me.

Every interaction reminds me…
it is safe to try again.
To believe again.
To begin again.

Every hug from my children, my students, my people…
it all tells me the same thing:

Love has always been here.

Steady.
Present.
Unmoving.

An ever-fixed mark.

And now…
so am I.

I have written.
I have loved.

And finally…

I am learning
how to include myself in that story.

Let this be yours, too.

Let the play,
and the prose,
go on.

Voir Clair: I Was Never Meant to Be Afraid

For a split second, I expected him to hang up.

In years past, I was a very busy, mostly stay-at-home mom. And while people who have never taken on that role might assume it makes for an easy life… with three little ones and one older child, it was anything but. Making sure diapers were changed, food was in the house, and the home didn’t dissolve into utter chaos was a full-time, all-consuming job.

Occasionally, I would get phone calls from the primary breadwinner, updates about a difficult client or whatever was happening in his world. And occasionally, I would be interrupted mid-conversation by tiny voices that needed something right then.

What followed was predictable.

I would get screamed at and told I shouldn’t have answered the phone if I didn’t have time for him… and then he would hang up.

That was my normal.

And it changed me.

It changed how I showed up with my children, depending on where I landed on the scale of emotional aftermath. Some days I was steady. Some days I was unraveling. Eventually, I just stopped answering the phone altogether.

Little moments like that quietly shaped the landscape of my life for fifteen years.

Some days, I still feel like a trained dog. My nervous system bracing on command. And maybe it will for a while… until I can teach myself that I get to sit, stay, and soften in my own time.

So, when I paused to respond to my child during a recent phone call… I expected the same ending.

Silence.

Too much of it.

I asked, cautiously, “Are you still there… or did you get bored and hang up?”

And he said, simply, “Why would I hang up? That’s kind of a douchey thing to do.”

And just like that… something in me cracked open.

I cried… not because anything bad had happened, but because nothing bad did.

Because my nervous system had been waiting… for softness.

Do you know how exhausting it is to brace for life?

I am so tired of bracing.

In 1697, Charles Perrault, wrote a piece titled Le Petit Chaperon Rouge.  It was what the Brothers Grimm used as inspiration for Little Red Riding Hood in 1812.  In Perrault’s version, there is no happy ending.  The wolf beats Red in a race to grandma’s house.  Eats the poor old woman, then climbs into bed dressed as grandma.  He then invites the girl to remove her clothes and jump into bed with him.  At the very last minute, the innocence leaves her and she realizes that what she is, in fact, laying next to is the wolf. Staring that beast right in the eye…  One gulp.  It was written as a cautionary tale to young women not to talk to swift talking strangers.  This was the softest landing for a sexual metaphor in 1697?

I have always preferred the 1812 version that we all read today, where the hunter comes to the rescue, splays the wolf open to release Red and Grandma. 

Second chances in life seem more deserved. 

For a long time, I thought the pivotal moment in that story was seeing the wolf.

But now I think… sometimes the real moment of awakening is something else entirely.

Sometimes, it’s realizing you were never supposed to live in fear to begin with.

I’ve known for many moons now, that in order to REALLY regulate this old nervous system of mine, I would have to experience things in this life that have not been my normal.  I’ve begged for it.

Its little moments, like not getting hung up on.  OR… get this… a little “I’m thinking of you and can’t wait to get back..” card sent in the mail… I have talked and texted with this man multiple times a day.  The card was truly unnecessary… But it is MY love language that he had no clue of.  I often write myself little notes to be read at a later date… I haven’t received a surprise note such as this in over 20 years. 

I think I could feel my heart open just a bit more…

At the beginning of the year, I thought seriously and deeply about what I wanted in my life… in my love life too, if ever given the opportunity to be a part of a relationship again.  I made a list of all the things I’ve kept in my internal treasure box since the dawn of knowing anything about love. 

Adventure

Motorcycle rides

Softness

Hugs

Holding hands

Long hair

Muscles

AND Love letters were on that list.

 

A girl can dream…. Right?

 

If I had half the mind, I should have made a Poppet Doll… the spur that started the idea of Voodoo dolls.  It seems ancient enough to encompass the fairytale type of vibe I’ve been going for.  

Before the year ended, I had what I can only describe as a “come to Jesus” conversation with the Universe.

A real one.

I remember asking, very clearly:

Please let me allow softness into my life.
Please don’t let me push it away just because I don’t recognize it.

I lit my candle and burned 12 intentions for my coming year… and the one left for me was this: “I know I am held in love by life, others and myself.  I will allow love to find me easily.” 

Maybe a billboard featuring a picture of me dressed as Bob Ross?  Will that allow it to find me easily enough?

“…So beautiful appeared my death - knowing who then I would kiss,
I died a thousand times before I died...”

-Rabia al Basri_

The Acorn Knows...

This morning I did my hair and my makeup… I loved how soft, sensuous and bouncy my curls came out.  And then my warpaint laid down on my skin today like it was meant to be there.  One final look in the mirror before heading out to herd cats, and I was stunned as to what was reflected back to me as Coldplay’s “Magic”  played over the big speaker - not the typical findings on my shuffle.  A soft, sweet, slightly spicy… luscious and divine creature.  Interesting and fun.  Smart yet humble.  Heartbroken yet healing.

Call it magic…

The End is Present in the Beginning…

The acorn theory says that the entirety of the Oak tree is present in the acorn.  My entire life was present in the embryo.

When I think back to dreams, aspirations and visions I’ve had for myself since I could remember… I know without doubt, that I’ve been coded to love.

It was an odd moment for me this morning.  I usually have complaints.  But today was different.

Odd, because I’ve recently met someone that has reflected back to me things that I know are there in my mirror, but I often ignore or criticize. 

I feel like we all need a nudge from time to time, and boy have I received it….

I told him about something I found interesting and wanted to experience in my future.  He instantly downloaded a book with all the information…

All of my children fell ill at some point this week, but particularly Tuesday.  We had planned to hang out before he headed out to a completely different state for several weeks.  And the most peculiar thing happened.  He wasn’t mad.  He didn’t yell.  He didn’t blow me off for spending what should have been OUR time to take my munchkins to the urgent care.  Instead, he showed up at my doorstep with a dozen roses and a box of the most divine Japanese chocolates.  My heart skipped a few beats.  There was no guilt. He didn’t force or beg.  He just didn’t want to my entire day to be stress…

The peeping eyes of my children and their sickly palates covered in chocolate are rooting for this guy.

In the first weekend of February, my children and I went to a local Chinese Lunar Festival.  We sat to watch the Lion Dance, a tradition to banish all of the negative energy of years prior to make a clean slate for the new year to arrive.  As I sat and watched with bewilderment… drums so loud, I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts, pounding so hard I could feel the beat in my bones.  My kiddos and I watched in amazement as the lions preformed feats of theatrics and acrobatics. We loved every minute of it.  And in that moment I felt the rush of new, positive energy flood my landscape. 

Since that moment, I have felt very thoughtful and intentional.

Looking back now, it feels a little like the universe was sweeping the stage. The lion dance clearing away the dust of old seasons… the acorn quietly holding the blueprint for what comes next… and somewhere out there, a red thread stretching patiently through time, waiting for the right moment to pull two wandering people into the same room.

The next weekend, I met up with one of my best gal pals for a “Galentines” day celebration.  I was reunited with new and old friends while making a quaint little art piece.  Drinking a fancy Raspberry Chocolate cocktail, we discussed woo-woo sorts of things… just as wild women should.  A mutual acquaintance that sees the world a bit differently, as I do, was concerned with my absolute denial of dating apps.  I explained that I’d rather meet someone organically… except I never do anything cool but work and work and mom hard.  By the end of the evening Corey had me convinced that I should try… and so I did… half-heartedly.  I didn’t fill out the entire profile.  I threw up some really dumb pictures.  Before I knew it, I had 397 emails from gentlemen that thought I must be the bee’s knees. 

I responded to some of the emails so heinously, that I thought for sure I’d become the crazy cat lady before next year.  I asked one dude if we were on the titanic, would he be a “Women and Children” first kind of guy… or would he be paddling away on a door singing Celine Dion songs?  Not kidding.

I did make friends with this one guy who is an honest to God wedding singer. 

And I did accept this one guy’s offer for a quick coffee meet up.  Something in me told me it would be okay.

The man showed up with flowers and chocolate… That’s not normal, right?  I mean, I haven’t REALLY dated that much… not really.  I figured he was a try-hard and instantly became suspicious.  But then we talked… a lot… even closed down the café.

That weekend after meeting, he came and picked me up… took me to an amazing restaurant… then we walked around and talked.  If you had been a fly on the wall listening in, you wouldn’t have guessed that we just met. The conversation was deep and soulful… like talking to someone you’ve known for years.

Then… I went to dinner at his place… with friends and family… all in the first week. He cooked an amazing meal.

This connection has an ease to it that is one of the most comfortable things I have ever been a part of.  And while it seems ridiculous to say at the very beginning… the acorn knows.

He told me that it's really easy to be sweet to me... Dang it.  I always thought so... 

My question for the last few weeks has been, what is too fast or slow?

When do I allow myself to just trust the flow?

How do I keep my brain from overthinking this whole thing?

Over winter break, when I was alone one night… I startled from my slumber… a dream that had me believing the thread that was tied to one of my toes had come undone because I could not feel the tension on it anymore.  Straight up out of bed, I woke in a panic.    

The ancient Chinese believed that an invisible red thread connects the people who are destined to meet. It is tied by the gods, binding two souls long before they ever cross paths.

The thread may stretch across years.

It may tangle itself through heartbreak, bad timing, wrong turns, and long lonely seasons.

But it never breaks.

In the earliest versions of the story, the thread is tied around the ankles of two people. In modern tellings, it is tied to the pinky fingers. Either way, the idea is the same: certain people are meant to encounter each other.

No matter how far they wander.

No matter how long it takes.

Maybe the tension faded because the thread was no longer tangled and taut.  Maybe the other end is closer than it ever has been…

I don’t know if it’s anything more than friends.  What I do know is that I feel like I’m standing on the threshold of something that will change the trajectory of my life.  Maybe it just pulls me up and out of whatever this life has been lately.  Maybe it’s one of the coolest friendships I’ve ever had. Maybe it’s the start of something totally new.  Another human being willing to slow down with me, not force me to react to every pebble in the road...

Maybe the acorn already knows the oak tree it will become.

And maybe the thread already knows where it leads.

For now, all I know is that I have a bounce in my step and I’m laughing a lot more lately.

My shoulders have dropped and my breathing is deep and relaxing.

And that, my friends, is pure gold.

My newest painting...

Two steps forward.
Three steps back.

Khalil Gibran once wrote that joy and sorrow drink from the same well.

My therapist says I’m sensitive. She says I probably didn’t get the attention I needed growing up.

Maybe both things are true.

It was December 20th, 2024. I had just survived my first week before winter break as a public school teacher.

If you’ve never experienced the week before winter break in an elementary school, imagine the stress a mom feels right before Christmas trying to make sure everything is magical and perfect… and then multiply it by about a thousand. Kids bouncing off the walls. Noise louder than a Van Halen concert in the 80s. Energy everywhere.

By the time I got home, all I wanted was a hot bath, earplugs, and a blackout mask.

Except I still had to make the Christmas magic happen at my own house too.

Instead, I collapsed on my bed and didn’t move.

When my partner got home, there was no “How was your day?”
No “Can I get you anything?”

If I’m being honest… he never did that. Not once. He never asked what was going on in my life.

Instead, he started in with the same old complaint: my new job took attention away from him.

He said he “can’t do this anymore.”

The argument turned to Christmas. Apparently, I hadn’t communicated every detail of everything I had handled for the holiday.

The irony?

I had handled Christmas every single year. Every stocking. Every plan. Every little piece of magic.

One year he had exactly one task… something we’d talked about weeks in advance…and he forgot. I ended up running to the nearest open gas station at 2 a.m. trying to find candy and little things to fill stockings.

But somehow, I was the problem.

I even showed him the text message thread marked “read”… listing everything I’d already taken care of.

It didn’t matter.

Because it was never really about being good enough.

Honestly, I still don’t know what it was about.

What I do know is this:

As I lay there on the bed, trying to calm my nervous system after one of the craziest weeks of my life, I realized something very clearly.

After everything I had done year after year… being a full-time mom, a brand-new public school teacher, and running a small business…I did not deserve what he was laying at my feet.

What I deserved was a hug.

What I deserved was empathy.

So I told him something I had never said before.

“I can’t do this anymore either.”

I told him I had never felt more lonely in my life.

I told him the way he spoke to me made him feel more like an enemy than a friend… let alone a lover or husband.

And if my efforts weren’t enough, maybe he should go find someone who could make him happy.

We only live this life once.

He looked stunned.

“That’s not what I was expecting,” he said.

Why?

Because every other time he had said he couldn’t do this anymore, it had worked like a threat. A way to make me scramble, to prove myself, to try harder so he wouldn’t leave.

But in that moment, something had shifted.

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

The pattern was suddenly crystal clear.

Gaslighting. Manipulation. Full stop.

A few days later he asked if I still felt the same.

Nothing had changed.

Not one thing.

He still carried around the same chip on his shoulder, as if I had killed his puppy.

What followed felt like jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire. I went from overwhelming stress at work to overwhelming stress in my own home…the one place that’s supposed to be a safe haven.

The place I had always tried to make safe for him.

After bad days at work, I gave him space.
I supported him at competitions, events, wherever he needed me.

But that support never came back the other way.

Some of the things he said in those weeks felt like they might break me forever.

He told me he had only married me because it was “the right thing to do.”

The irony?

I had told him I never wanted to get married again. I was perfectly happy the way things were.

At the time, he insisted he never wanted to be with anyone else.

So what was true?

He moved out quickly.

Left the kids with me.

Emptied the bank accounts.

Not once did he ask if we would be okay.

Not once did he ask if I needed help.

But what he tells people about me now is… astonishing.

The truth I eventually had to face was simple.

I gave myself to the wrong person.

He was always the wrong person.

Still, some weeks the grief shows up out of nowhere.

Weeks like this one.

I find myself crying out loud sometimes:

Please let this go.
Please let me go.
I just want to move forward.

I don’t love him anymore.

I don’t hate him either.

I just want the hurt to stop.

Some days I tell myself the grief is about never really knowing what it feels like to be loved fully and completely.

Some days I tell myself healing just takes time.

Other days I think it’s simply my nervous system returning to old pathways.

But there’s another truth too.

I have been loved fully.

By myself.

And something else is true.

Enough time has passed.

When you realize you didn’t actually mean that much to someone, it becomes surprisingly easy to flip the switch on them too.

I never long for him.

In fact, my body is physically repulsed by him now.

He doesn’t even look the same to me.

Love blinders are real.

And once you see clearly, it’s hard to put them back on.

Still, grief is strange.

Even when life is going well, it can tap you on the shoulder at the most inconvenient times.

Standing in line to pick up food for the kids.

On a date with a very handsome, kind man.

Greeting students at the door in the mornings.

Explaining to a room full of kids how art changed the moment the camera was invented.

And then one day it hit me.

Maybe this is okay.

Maybe all of it is okay.

Just like art evolves over time.

You can see the wind in The Starry Night.

This grief is just teaching me how to paint my life differently.

With creativity.
With whimsy.
With bold uniqueness.

I have faith in my future.

I can feel it evolving.

Learning to stand on my own two feet.

Making choices that are right for me… without shrinking them to protect someone else’s fragile ego.

And something tells me the painting ahead is going to be beautiful.

Why, Hello Sophia!

Carl Jung proposed that we move through archetypal patterns… symbolic energies that shape how we experience ourselves and the world. These archetypes are not fixed identities, but states we live in and out of over the course of our lives. These theories have been used for decades… even down to the divination cards I use on the titled, “The Wild Unknown Archetypes,” by Kim Krans.

Then comes Erich Neumann who expanded on Jung’s ideas, outlining symbolic stages of feminine psychological development. While these are not lab tested maps, they have become working metaphors for a woman’s working psychological evolution.    

I’ve had a chance to dive into this deeper over the last several months… pulling information from my dad’s old dusty “Psychology Today” text book and even several of my own from my time at the big kid school.  You won’t find much… It’s almost as if the patriarchy was in charge of the information relayed to society.  You have to dive deeper…

The framework is as follows:

Eve Stage – A woman will center her identity on relationship to survival, belonging, sexuality, attachment, and will largely identify herself through her partner bonds.

Helen Stage – Named after Helen of Troy, this stage is the awakening of personal attractiveness, autonomy and power.  Here, her identity will shift from, “I belong!” to “I affect!”  This identity is still strongly tied to how one is perceived.

Mary Stage - Inspired by the Virgin Mary, this stage of feminine identity corresponds with sublimating personal desire with acts of service, moral purpose and higher calling.  It is the spiritualized feminine. 

Sophia Stage – Sophia means “Wisdom” in Greek.  In Jungian archetypal symbolism, she is divine feminine consciousness.  She is not naïve, seductive or self-sacrificing.  She is inwardly grounded, self-knowing and self-actualizing. She does not split her sexuality from her spirituality. She does not abandon herself to secure love. She does not weaponize independence. She can desire without needing.

These aren’t ladders we climb and leave behind. They’re lenses. We move in and out of them depending on love, loss, ambition, motherhood, heartbreak, healing.

I’ve been contemplating where I fall on this unofficial map.  I don’t know that I am fully in my Sophia identity. I still feel the pull of Eve’s longing, Helen’s sparkle, Mary’s devotion. They haven’t disappeared. They’ve just grown quieter. What feels different is that I can see them now. I can choose when they speak.

If Eve is “I belong to someone,”
and Helen is “I am desired,”
and Mary is “I serve something higher,”
Sophia is “I know who I am.”

Where am I today?

It’s been interesting to lay these over the top of my life thus far and see how I have moved in and out of Eve, Helen and Mary at various times. 

Here’s some truth… When I set the intentions that I plan to live my life by this year, I had no desperation. What I truly wanted for myself this year was to experience this life, fully, knowing that I don’t “need” anyone… Just to enjoy the beauty of myself.  To love myself unconditionally.  To know that I am held in this life through love by others and that love has a funny way of finding me… new and old stories… family and friends… Mostly, my mission was to define my identity on my own.  Not tied to a single soul. Allowing myself to understand that love is an underlying current in my life took the pressure off and has allowed me to calm my nervous system, moving forward in confidence.

So when someone asks me, “What do you do?”  My heart beats slow, but hard in my chest (you can feel it,)  as I say “I am an elementary school art teacher and mother to four glorious babies.”  But my identity is more than that today.

When I look back over my life, my ability to travel through these archetypes, my willingness to over-perform to win the appreciation of others (received or not) is why I have this amazing list of experiences I’ve had in my life.  My life has been truly exceptional and blessed. I stand tall today able to hand you a list as long as Santa’s of cool things I have done, things I have accomplished, places I’ve been, people I know, things I do…

Yet I find myself in this liminal space unwilling to perform for others anymore. It scares me a bit. If I am no longer striving to be chosen or applauded, will I still chase the mountains? Will I still gather exceptional experiences? Can desire rooted only in personal meaning carry me through the rest of my life?

This doesn’t mean I’ve mastered anything. Some days I still catch myself reaching for applause. Some days I want to be chosen. The difference is that I notice it. And noticing feels like the beginning of wisdom.

What I understand of the Sophia stage is that a woman in this archetypal identity is not closed to love nor armored.  She is specific, yet open.  She is very precise as to who her door opens for.

A suitor of this woman in her Sophia stage, will not find the key through pursuit or performance, but the ability to meet her at this level.  Someone who has done his own emotional work and carries his own direction and sense of meaning without expecting her to provide these things for him. 

In essence, I have longed to be in this stage for most of my life.  When I look at love through MY lens, I have always seen it as two people, not necessarily standing together, but each as a pillar standing on their own working together, but separately to maintain the structure of life.  To share the load of living. To see the sunrise each day together, but to allow each to find the meaning of it within themselves.

When I pull archetype cards, one that has always stirred something in me is The Crone. In Kim Krans’ interpretation, she represents deep, earned wisdom… the woman who has lived, loved, lost, burned, and emerged sovereign.

I don’t believe I am The Crone. Not yet. But I recognize her. I recognize the pull toward her steadiness. Toward her refusal to perform. Toward her quiet knowing.

Perhaps Sophia and the Crone are not destinations, but invitations. Not titles to claim, but directions to walk toward.  Not a woman who needs less love, but one who needs less proof.

What's your thermostat set at, Homie?

So, what’s next… when the past has taught you all that it can?

I’ve been feeling for the last few weeks that it is imperative that I start looking forward instead of rehashing the past.  While useful information is there in days gone by, I’ve also found that the loop won’t carry me into the future. 

I’ve been working awfully hard on finding who I am now. 

Back in my college days, I had this amazing professor for Psych 101.  We discussed our own private utopia.  In essence, all humans have a set number for their thermostat.  If I like the temperature on the thermostat set to 68 degrees, all other temperatures will feel uncomfortable.  This has become very apparent to me this last week as my oldest daughter and I battled over the temperature of my house.  Sometimes I wondered if she was going though perimenopause instead of me.  I turned the temp up for her… only to be met with, “I’m so sweaty and every room is too hot.”  So, I turned it down. 

After visiting my past and scoring over 10 million frequent flyer miles for doing so, I noticed that I don’t have to scrap everything and start over.  There are still many things that make up my utopia today.  But there are some things new that have come forward.

I also decided that this isn’t my ride alone.  I have 3 younger ones with me on this trip into the future.  We had a beautiful conversation about what we want our future days to look like.  I found it comical that they reflected my own thoughts on many things.  I was also surprised about their ideas on other things.

I should add some framing for context first… I have been practicing surrender at an accelerated pace.  The biggest piece to this is radical understanding that NO ONE is coming to save me, I may never find love again… not romantically anyway… and I am okay with that.  The amount of Peace I have in my life presently… someone would have to be awfully special to allow them into this space ever again.  I still have hope, but I haven’t put my eggs into that basket.  My children have noted several men that are in my day-to-day life that MAY carry feelings for me, but I am completely oblivious.  I try to tell them, if I have to ask others if that’s true, that is confusion… I don’t want any part of that anyway. 

Their idea is somewhat rooted in the Brady Bunch.  Each child has asked for a step-brother or sister their age.  HA! 

They also want to make sure that the next guy spoils me rotten and can talk to me without yelling.  I almost cried on that one.  It means they saw it too, and I’m sorry to them for that one. 

We have collectively decided to tighten up the budget so that we can afford to travel – they’ve always wanted to take a ride on an airplane and splash in the ocean.  I am on board with this one. 

We talked about taking advantage of experiences rather than stuff… This made my heart happy.

Sometimes the work is harder to drop the baggage you carry and have been carrying for so long than it is just keep carrying it. 

It occurred to me that maybe, our own private utopia may not always be things that are “good” for us – just things that are comfortable for us… like the temperature on the thermostat.

My questions to myself as I try to fashion my way forward are, what other things have I adopted because they are comfortable for me?  I’ve abandoned myself for so long in so many places… what else truly lands on that list?

Where do I stay quiet to keep a connection?

When do I give freely without being asked?

When do I feel more like myself, even when it’s awkward?

When do my shoulders drop genuinely?

What environments allow my breath to deepen naturally?

What kind of love would require me to stop proving?

What would it feel like to be chosen without the non-stop auditioning?

AND, if I trusted that my aging body is not a liability, what would I stop apologizing for?

The list of questions could keep going, but I think this is a great start.  Finding my new utopia, my new thermostat setting is fun.  There are some things about myself that I forgot I enjoy.  Small comforts that make my heart open just a bit more and help me to realize that time plays no role in the understanding of self and living authentically.  It helps to make boundaries easier with myself and towards others. 

While we have plans to travel… I would like to think of my future less of a destination and more as the direction my nervous system now recognizes as home. 

In my next chapter, comfort will look quieter. It won’t have to be louder or shinier, but it will absolutely be less braced.  I’m learning to trust this life that doesn’t require CONSTANT vigilance and walking on eggshells.  I am looking forward to the softness. My next chapter, while my imagination runs wild, understands that my biggest win lives inside of me, it always has … but now has room to breathe. 

In my next chapter, love knows where to find me.  It won’t be confusion or anger… it won’t be dismantling or controlling.  Gratefulness for this spectacular life is my top priority, through highs and lows and all that in between.  I look forward to the slowness that creates space to feel and not just react.  I’m excited for the truth of who I am in this world allowed to emerge in this stillness…

This new season… new chapter feels so much more different than anything I have ever started in my life.  It feels genuinely authentic and intentional.  Not a destination… direction.

This week was so busy. But it was really good.  I think including my children and allowing them to understand that their happiness and wellbeing is a big part of my own private utopia made a big difference.  I was checking my kiddo’s homework before he stuffed it into his backpack… One of the questions he had to answer about the reading he did was, “How can you relate this character to your own life experience?”  His answer was, “There are super heros in it and my mom is my Super hero.” 

Some days the universe delivers the perfect temperature.

Don't worry... I fixed the panel myself

 I am the necessary interference…

The harmonic anomaly…

Tonight, as I sit to write, I think about all of my NOW moments.
I think back to sitting here one year ago, three years ago, five years ago, ten years ago… shall I keep going?

The woman I was ten years ago was so confused. I was definitely on autopilot. I pushed myself hard to get a grip. I was exactly where I thought I wanted to be, but something was off. So off the electric company could have been paying me—the switch was tripped.

What do you do when the lights go down?

I waited. Patiently.
I could always feel in my soul that something big was happening. I just didn’t know what that something was. I was thankful for what I had and I made the most of it.

The woman I was five years ago was terrified.
Just a year prior, I had married the man who consumed every part of me... from conversations with people who didn’t give a shit to daydreams and aspirations. I lived and breathed nothing but him.

I should have been standing in an ocean of elation.
Instead, I realized that saying I do changed nothing.

He would stare at the ring on his finger and mutter about how special he felt that someone would choose him. I had always chosen him. He didn’t always choose me. He still fought to win, not to understand. He still stomped around like a toddler who didn’t get his way. He still said some of the cruelest things to the person he claimed to love.

Nothing had changed.
And I was afraid I had made a terrible mistake.

But I waited.
Some of the best wines get better with age. A wing and a prayer…

The breaker wouldn’t stay on.

Three years ago, the woman staring back at me in the mirror finally said, You deserve to be happy.

So I went looking for the things that made me happy. I realized I had placed all of my eggs in the basket of him... of us. I stumbled into an opportunity to hang my art in a gallery and worked for months preparing for it.

On the day of the opening, he stole that too.

I sat on my deck, smoking a cigarette, about to leave early. My parents were taking the kids so I could participate in my own life. He showed up just before I finished... armed with excuses, explaining why I shouldn’t be mad.

He made it.

I listened to him manipulate the truth, and this time my eyes were wide open. Every other time this had happened flashed before me. He had been spinning stories like this for eons.

I felt gullible. Foolish.
How did I not see this before?

The circuit was fried.

Still, I waited. I assumed it was me. Maybe motherhood. Maybe I couldn’t focus. Maybe I couldn’t communicate clearly.

I pulled my energy way back... not because I wanted to. I wasn’t built for that. When I love you, I love the f*ck out of you. I often restrain myself, afraid I’m too much.

My dad has a saying: “The worst kind of alcoholic is the one with a head full of AA and a belly full of booze.”
That was me. A head full of understanding and a blown panel of fuses.

The woman I was a year ago wasn’t surprised.

If I’m honest... even with all the hurtful things he did and said at the end... I know it had to happen that way. He had to be the disrupter. The one who caused the system I had been operating under for 27 years to revolt.

And I was grateful.

I was scared.
But I was free.

Today, as I write to whoever reads these words, I understand this: everything is frequency. Everything is a symphony. When all chords... even the ones that sound like nails on a chalkboard... are played long enough, they find other chords and create harmony.

And when harmonies meet somewhere out in the universe, they create the most beautiful symphony you’ve ever heard.

Nothing is a mistake.
Nothing is right or wrong.
Every possibility is a strike of the string of life, aiming to become part of the whole.

And I understand now:

I am the exact dissonance this symphony was missing.

Every avenue, wave, frequency, chord would have brought me exactly here... just as I will ride out of here in whatever shape or fashion comes next.

There is no right or wrong.
Just chords bumping into each other.
Chords tethering. Tying.

Chords freeing and releasing...

My lights are on.
I fixed the panel myself.

           Poem 1246

“The minute I heard my first love story

I started looking for you, not knowing

how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.

They're in each other all along.”

—Rumi