let go.

how are you? really.
how. are. you?
(let it out.)

(and know that anonymously is okay too.)

define.

little forest, olympic national park . april 2009

When you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself.

Wayne Dyer

today.

this morning was full of darkness.
literally because i somehow found myself sitting with one light on and no blinds open as i worked on a document that was pretty thick (which is my personal "editor-speak" for a bit over my head and difficult to read).
i found myself not opening the blinds and pouting a bit.
missing my friends.
wishing for a different sort of day.
i felt silly that my video blog posted yesterday was me in the darkness...in a witness protection sort of lighting. and i kind of wanted to take it down, even though the message i shared is very important to me.
but i mean seriously. how silly of me to post me in almost darkness.
so then in my pouting i just sat in mostly darkness.
i mean it was grey out anyway, so it wasn't like opening the blinds would matter.
but clearly, coming close to pitching a tent in that darkness was not going to be a good idea.
and a friend insisted via email that opening the blinds was a must.

so i did.

which helped for a few minutes.

and then a bit later i took millie out.

and noticed.

and was reminded.

and while standing outside, a hummingbird swooped in right next to me.

and then later, just before dusk, the blue made an appearance.

though i am still feeling a bit pouty...a bit stuck in some feelings of missing and wishing...i am trying to just sit inside the feeling and notice.

and i forgive myself for needing to just be me inside these feelings. i forgive myself and feel the light begin to fill the space around my heart.

with each breath, i feel the light.

and i give myself permission to be here.

you take a breath...

Well, I'm writing this while sitting in a tow truck. I'm okay...my car is a bit bruised as I hit some pretty major tire debris while driving on the highway late this evening.

You know those scary moments as a driver where you know you just have to hit what is in your path to avoid creating a bigger accident.

And as I sit here, I am thinking about how we do this as we walk on the path that is our life. How you can be walking in the darkness, and even though it is dark, you think you know where you are because you have been here before...but suddenly something unexpected is there and you don't have time to stop or protect yourself...you must keep going. And you find yourself unable to stop even after you hit it. And as you keep going, maybe you are a bit battered and shaky...but you are okay and (deep breath) you know you are okay. And suddenly there is light and solid ground again.

And you take a breath again.

And you just keep going.

(Or you stop and call for help, but either way, forward momentum while just staying in the moment and breathing seems to be the only answer.)

thoughts put to screen.

the ceiling fan whirs and spins and shakes the pull that clanks insistently against the glass lightbulb cover. millie sighs into sleep at my feet. jonny shifts in his chair as he checks email and plays with his new computer....i hear the hushed tinkling of a piano as barry manilow sings, "...and when october goes, the same old dream appears, and you are in my arms to share the happy years...i turn my head away to hide the helpless tears...oh i hate to see october go." music has a way of invoking a memory, a time, a place. of course.

and this album, this sultry, jazzy, smoke-filled room of an album that barely pauses between songs puts me right back into the hot tub on the back porch of our house on oak road. that hot tub...a fortieth birthday surprise for my mother. i can see us, the four of us, sitting in that hot tub with the snow surrounding us...daniel the cat and his brother silver jumping up to peek into the water. my parents talking about their days while i soak up every word and my little brother plays with something, a matchbox car perhaps...or a he-man character...

i know every word to each one of these sad, heartwrenching, foreshadowing songs. my ten-year-old self knew the words to every one of these songs. not understanding that people really did leave one another. not knowing the pain that could exist alongside love. not knowing the pain that was to come. but these songs knew. these songs knew that love could end.

when i opened up a new blog post tonight, i planned on writing a "senses post" about this moment. about how my hands smell like brass because i have been playing with wire and creating. about how the water tastes and feels as it falls down my throat. about the beauty in the midst of the nest that is our home. about the softness of the my new linen bloomers against my skin. i planned to share the senses of this moment.

but then this music began and my thoughts turned to more than twenty years ago. twenty years. to a time when my heart didn't know much other than love and hope...in that house, the music would flow throughout...into almost every room...and sometimes my parents would put this album on and i would be alone in the living room and i would begin to dance with an imaginery partner and pretend i was in the midst of a "baryshnikov on broadway" sort of scene and i would pretend i had my own partner to love. i would dance and sway and live inside the hope of my own love...i would dance inside my own future.

here i am.
i am that future.

and i reach for my partner's hand and dance in this place, in this time, to this music. as i am living inside the hope that is my life.