“The transformation of the heart is a wondrous thing, no matter how you land there.” ~ Patti Smith
I lost something
when I lost you.
It seemed to have slipped through my fingers.
was a comfortable
and familiar air of optimism
the world around me
And for some reason I thought
it was my job to find it.
To fix it.
To fill the void.
Somehow I thought
I had to make it all better.
through my broken pieces
I gave myself
in the clumsy mess
and muck of it all.
Only then did I realize
that the beauty of the loss
lived in its very void:
and empty space.
The beauty of the loss
that it was not mine to fix
with other people
It was not my job
to pad that spot
to make it more pleasant
I’d been working so hard
to let go of the things
that weighed me down through the years –
the things I had
attached to you.
Attached to us.
Only then did I realize
that I created that space
to make room
for everything to come
after I lost you.
So I finally self-published my first book (not my last, I promised myself). The initial proof wasn’t what I wanted it to be. The size and feel: something was off. And the cover art was less than professional-looking. And so I tweaked. With the second proof, things felt better but there was something funky happening on one of the pages. A minor detail that, to this day, I can’t seem to ‘fix’. It finally went live on Amazon and with the cover image still not uploaded to the listing, I sat here thinking that I couldn’t let the world know about it until that little detail was fixed – until it was all just right. I was waiting for perfection. And that’s when I reminded myself that waiting for perfection often means we’ll be waiting forever.
So here it goes. I made you something. And it’s ready for you. It’s flawed. It’s raw. It’s extremely uncomfortable to put out in the world because it’s so close to my tender heart. And that’s precisely why I want to share it with you. Now.
Grab a copy. And if you love it, share it with others who can relate to it. And if you love it, I would be eternally grateful if you could leave a comment and rating on Amazon to get it out there some more. Because I truly believe that the more we share ourselves with others – the more we’re vulnerable, open, real, and raw – the more we encourage others to open up and share. And sharing is healing.
Do things need to be difficult to be worth it?
Do we have to claim our greatest achievements by their corresponding weight and struggle?
Do blood, sweat, and tears have to be the elements by which we define the importance of our actions?
And does pain have to equal gain?
What ever happened to ease?
To focusing on the moments, people, places, and things that make us feel connected, inspired, and whole?
What happened to flow?
To working, living, and breathing in spaces where we feel in sync, settled, understood, seen, and heard?
To finding gratitude for the souls who get us and support our movement in this world?
What happened to being real and not competing with each other about who’s busier, more tired, most drained and most anxious?
Gratitude for the good that falls into our laps without us having to control things.
Cheers to the people who find their way into our lives to lift us up and drag us out of routine, the hustle, and the grind.
Knowing that the more we appreciate the good, simplicity, and a natural unfolding of events – we invite more of the same. The more we grow. The more we settle into a solid sense of self and a sense of calm that can only lead to more ease. Oh. And more love.
xoxo Happy New Moon.
It’s been a month since I sat down at my laptop to write and two weeks since you passed.
My journal is full of handwritten scribbles and reflections, punctuated with the roller coaster of emotions I’ve been experiencing as I sort through my thoughts.
I faced every day knowing this wouldn’t be easy. I faced every moment knowing it could all end without notice. I faced every minute hoping it would all move through me.
And somehow, I feel like I should be over it all. That the thought of seeing you slowly slip away before us would be healed quickly because ‘it was time’. It was like I gave myself the permission to grieve for, like, a week. Because, you know – as they say – life goes on.
But I’ve dreamt of you for the past two nights and I struggle with the contrasting feelings that come along with losing a parent – someone tied to me by blood – and at the same time, someone I barely knew. Someone I only became reacquainted with at the end.
Because it was only at the end that I was able to see you again for what we all are – souls traveling in human bodies craving connection, acceptance, worthiness, purpose, and love.
I asked you at one point if you were scared and I could tell you meant it when you said you weren’t. I could tell you knew it was time. I could tell you were ready to go.
And so for now, I live with the slowly receding memories of the smell of your hospital room, of us listening to The Beatles while I feed you vanilla pudding, of you leaning in to ask me when you would be leaving, and your face the morning you took your last breaths. Knowing that time heals. Knowing that time is all we have. Knowing that time flies. Knowing that it’s our job to make the most of this life.
Until I see you again, xoxo