Portugal...

I see these places in Portugal and meet these friendly yet unobtrusive people. I find myself waking up the next morning having the most restful sleep I have had in years.  Waking from this sleep, I wonder if the experiences in this country and with these people are a dream;one which I hope I can revisit at night. Portugal seems to be able to balance the ancient and the modern; the rugged and the refined; the just cool enough yet still warm climate. To me, it is the perfect, magical place.

Hugo and the ocean...

While in Ponta Delgado in the Azores, we met and got to know our tour guide, Hugo. We spent most of the day with him, and because the island of Sao Miguel is surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean, we saw sites related to it.  One stop was near a particularly rough, rocky area where the ocean crashed against the boulders resulting in explosions of white water at least 200 feet high.  The water was initially a deep blue; one would describe it as azure. When it hit the rocky coast it quickly became startlingly white. Powerful waves against the stoic coast.

Hugo remarked on the “energy” of the waves as they crashed against the coast.  He said that he was born and raised on Ponta Delgado and at 58 years old still was amazed at this phenomenon.  He said he could watch these waves crash against these rocks every day of his life.

Hugo said that he moved away from the island for a short time in his late teens.  He said that he began to lose himself and who he was.  He quickly realized that he needed to be by the ocean, the sea.  Hugo said that the ocean was part of him.  It was in his nose as he smelled the salt and the clean air; he breathed it and he became it.  The ocean was part of him.

My intentions to simplify my life...

       Spend more time with people who truly matter.  Invest my time in   people   who support me and who I am; support them in growing our relationships and loving them for who they are.

     Spend money on things that truly matter.  To me it is travel,   learning/expanding my mind, giving to others in need.

 Spend more time giving away stuff and less time getting stuff.

  Spend more time outdoors and less time indoors.

  Spend more time walking and less time driving.

  Spend time working on a flexible schedule and less time  overworking on a rigid schedule. Work to live and not live to work.

  Spend more time in solitude to fill my cup so that I have more for others.

  Spend more time loving myself for who I am and less time  criticizing  who I  was.

  Spend more time giving thanks and less time wanting more.

  Spend more time being mindful of the present and spend less time living in the past.

It has been worth it...

I don't think those nuclear, middle class and/or affluent families get it (or want to get it) about what it is like to get their kid through college. To be that single parent who does not want their child to complete their degree with the burden of student loan debt. You are the one, the only that puts together the financial aid package of grants. You work those extra hours to pick up the rest of what is owed, of what the college demands you pay. 

My son, intelligent and ever inquisitive, made good grades but changed majors numerous times.  I told myself that I must provide for him a two parent support system, both emotionally and financially. 

It has been worth it.  I realize it has been worth it. Despite this I thank God it is to an end, at least for now. I wonder if those two parent, affluent families realize that the most difficult part of their child's education are just the hurdles that they do not have to endure?

We made it!!!

Q. has officially completed college! He (and I by default) are releasing a grateful sigh. A milestone for him; a milestone for me. Some bumps in the road, but we made it. We made it!

A letter to my son...

I may not have been a perfect mom, but I tried to be. I may not have disciplined you enough, or sometimes maybe too much. I suppose only time will tell. I fed you, I clothed you, I bought you toys.  I sang to you (however off key). I bathed you, I taught you. You were my precious boy. 

My dear friend referred to you as my work of art.  I have always thought of you that way.  You are the most important thing I will ever do. Not the education, not the job.  It is you.

I got up with you to send you to school.  I made those breakfasts for you which were hearty.  You never liked cereal, but preferred homemade omelets or pancakes.  I made these because I loved you. 

I stroked your forehead when you were sick.  When you began to experience migraines in your early teens, I took you to the neurologist to ensure you had the medicines to cause you some relief. It broke my heart to see you in pain.  I stayed up at night to ensure you were asleep, finally relieved of that pain.

You were never that cuddly child and you still are not.  I do not blame you for this. It was who you were and who you are.  I always respected that and have tried to give you that physical distance.

When you were born, I stared at you, unable to look away. I didn’t want to miss anything.  I adored, I adore you. I always kept you safe, I soothed you when you cried or when you were hurting.  

Do you realize that you mean the world to me?

I argued with you as you matured.  I still do.  We differ in our world views.  You to the right and always conservative. Me very much to the left and a social liberal; diametrically opposed.

You formed opinions of your own and I am quite proud of you for this. I love the man you have become. I tried teaching you  right from wrong. I wanted you to respect others however different they were from you; however different their life experiences or circumstances. 

I came from a stoic, somewhat inexpressive family.  We never really talked about those sometimes uncomfortable issues. I promised myself this would not be the case with you.  I hugged you every day and said I loved you at least 3 times a day.  It was important to me that you knew this; that I loved you. I  loved you, I love you unconditionally.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter if we want different things for your future.  What matters to me is that you are happy with who you are and the way you live your life.

Growing up, we sometimes had to move due to life’s circumstances.  A divorce on my part, a job relocation.  I always tried to discuss this with you as I wanted you to feel safe.

I remember that when you were in your early teens, you pretended that you didn't know me when you were on an outing. A few years later, however, you and your 2 friends hugged me as we cried at the fact families broke apart.  Those times were uncertain, and we all shared that loss.

We both went through the most difficult time in our lives when you lost your grandfather and I lost my dad. Sometimes I didn't know if we'd make it through.  We did though, and we came out the other side.  I do think we are both stronger for that. We are somehow stronger in those broken places.

I suppose what I am trying to express to you is the deep love I feel for you as my son. I love you.  Always have, always will.

Oxtail soup....

It’s funny how food, our memories and our experiences with it, are so intricately interwoven into who we are. Over dinner tonight, my son and I were talking about the first time we tried oxtail soup.  

Q and I had made a trip out to San Francisco when he was 10 or 11 years of age. It was a sunny day in early June so we decided to explore the city. In late afternoon, we came upon Chinatown and were instantly bombarded by the unfamiliar sights and sounds. It was literally as if we had entered a foreign land, in the best sense.  

We were ravenous, our appetites whetted by the delicious smells emanating from the surrounding eateries. We spontaneously entered a small, narrow-ish restaurant.  I would like to say that it was due to our extensive knowledge of authentic Chinese cuisine, but this was not the case.  Truth be told, the restaurant was a few steps away, was not crowded and the smells coming from within were both exotic yet somehow familiar.  The menu was in Chinese only,  but thankfully for us had pictures of the foods offered.  We chose quickly as we followed our stomach’s demands:  niú wěi tang/oxtail soup.  Meat of a cow’s tail. 

A good book...

A good book on my lap. A quiet afternoon.  Perfect.

The compass...

I bought a compass for my son as a graduation gift for completing college.  I found it in an antique store a year ago when I was walking by myself in the small town of Arles, France.   I don’t normally buy these things which I consider an extravagance. In this case, however, I wanted something that signified the confidence I had in him for the young man he was and the adult man he was becoming.

The owner of this small shop said the compass had belonged to a sailor who used it over a hundred years ago when at sea. He said the compass guided the ship in the direction in which it was meant to go.  

My son loves these things which are quite old and have held up to the test of time.  I hope he will hold this compass as a symbol of the direction he has chosen to take in life; to remain a man who is strong, steadfast and true.  Headed in the right direction in which he is meant to go.

Early riser...

I am an early riser.  I used to describe myself as an early to bed, early to rise type of girl, but such is not the case anymore.  It hasn’t been this way for several years.  I’m tired when I go to bed.  Experts tell us that for good sleep hygiene we need to adhere to a schedule.  Go to bed at say 10 pm and rise at 6 am.  The thing is, I go to bed at 10 pm but just as I begin to relax enough to doze, my mind begins to think of all of the things I have yet to do or to say on paper. So, I open my notebook and begin to write of things I have experienced, thought of or things which have transpired in my day.

Today it was the woman who was in the memory care unit in the assisted living where my mother resides.  I walked around the circle to my mother’s room and as I glanced to my left (this is where the door to memory care is secured) there was a woman who was gently pounding on the door.  She mouthed, “Get me out of here.” I stopped in the hallway, unsure of what to do.  I knew I couldn’t help her, both in a physical sense and in the emotional sense.  She wanted out of there.  Was she referring to the memory care unit or to the disorganization which dementia now caused?

Tonight, I lay in bed thinking about that woman.  Was there some way I might have helped to decrease her fear, her cries for help of things imagined?  Perhaps not, perhaps so.  My mind then thinks about my mother, now spared the inevitability of that move to memory care.  I do not want her to become that woman standing on the other side of the door. 

Stars...

I went for a long walk late last night which isn’t like me.  Meaning I do enjoy a long walk, but typically not late at night, or not at night at all. I stopped in a small patch of grass and sat down to look at the stars. As cliché as it sounds, I realized how small we all are in our existence in the universe.  As humans, we see everything in relation to ourselves. With self-assured hubris we know this to be the case. In reality, this is not so. The stars are not above us. In the infinite universe, we are beneath them.   

Here is the thing about love...

Here is the thing about love.  You don’t love someone because you feel validated nor love someone because they complete you. (Shouldn't you be whole in and of yourself?). It isn't a complicated thing. You simply love someone because you love them.   If you are one of the fortunate few to love someone, to really love them, you realize that they hold a piece of your heart.  For me, those who I  love live deep in my heart, where only my soul and God reside. 

Simple, quiet, happy...

This life is transient.  Spiritual thought leaders tell us that in the infinite universe our entire lives are equal to 30 minutes. The blink of an eye.  When I consider that I review, I briefly scan how I have lived my life thus far. It seems I was just a small girl.  Now I am a woman in middle age.  I do not take a large amount of time reviewing the past however. Doing so is not warranted.  Buddha teaches us that to live in the past is to carry a raft after crossing the river.  I do not wish to carry that raft.

Perhaps the genesis of my letting go of the past, being mindful of the present yet planning the next steps are due to my present circumstances.  I am in the middle of my life.  Some may argue that I am past that marker as I have lived 55 years.  My father has left this earth over 12 years ago, my mother is deteriorating due to dementia and my son is soon to launch into onto his own.  It is time for me to move forward.

I must take responsibility for living my best life. As such, I have chosen to let go of those material things which do not matter.  I have let go of things, circumstances and people who do not serve me. Soon I will sell the majority of my belongings (my furniture, my car, my household things). I will store those things which really matter: photos of family and friends, my son’s things from birth to present. 

I am moving to Portugal along with my 2 animals.  Portugal is exquisite. It is beautiful with its rocky Western coast along the North Atlantic Ocean and the warm Mediterranean climate in the South. It is steeped in old world European charm.  Moreover, it is safe for a single woman and it is quite inexpensive as compared to the U.S.  I will be able to live a very good lifestyle on a modest income. I will take public transportation instead of dealing with a car. Lastly, it is a place in which my family and friends will be able to visit me and share in the beauty of this place and its people.

I will be living my life as I see fit.  Few possessions/many experiences.  Simple, quiet, happy.

A good heart...

The last thing my dad said to me before

he passed away: "You have a good heart."

Unfinished business...

Recently I began reading a wonderful book. It was uncanny when I read this quote. Just the other day I had a discussion with a friend. We talked about the intergenerational passing down of behaviors. An individual can make or not make the choice to continue these behaviors or break them.

“I once interviewed a New Age guru who spoke about how unfinished business from ancestors can trickle down to generations twice, even three times, removed. Actions in the present can help to correct the mistakes made in the past. And even if there is no absolution to be had, an understanding may help keep the same mistake from being repeated.”   ― Sejal Badani, The Storyteller's Secret

A good book...

I recently had a lunch date with a nice

man I had met while buying a cup of

coffee.  We talked about what we enjoyed

doing in our spare time.  He ticked off a

few things.  I asked him if he enjoyed reading

a  good book. He replied that he never "got" people 

who felt compelled to so.  I was quiet as I wasn't

sure how to respond.

A few days later he called and asked if I

had time to grab a cup of coffee again. I told

him I couldn't. I was enjoying reading 

a good book.

Yoga is the medicine for living...

Yoga is the medicine for living.

Because she is at peace, so am I.

My sweet dog, Sadie, is laying in the crook of my arm
 as I  am writing this night.

Because she is at peace, so am I.

The degree to which you love...

I have been thinking seriously about living in Portugal for the next few years as an expat. I wouldn't give up my U.S. citizenship and would return to Texas often to visit. Since I have considered this move, I worried about being far away from those I loved. Always one with sage advice, one quite close to me said that proximity does not determine the degree to which you love. I do believe he is right.

Perfectly imperfect...

The older I get, and I think the older

 we get, I realize we are imperfect.

Perfectly imperfect.

A wonderful day...

I am the type of person who wakes up at 5 a.m. at the latest no matter what time I go to bed.  This has been the case for years.  This week I had a migraine lurking just below the surface and was severe enough that I had auras. Periodic flashes of light I don’t like to take my medication, Imitrex, because the side effects are nearly as bad as the migraine.Exhausted, I went to bed last night at 9 pm and woke up at 10 am without the lurking migraine. I hadn’t slept this deeply and this long for years.  I was able to do my Hatha yoga then had brunch with a dear friend I hadn’t seen in a few weeks.  When I came home, I read for several hours and then watched a PBS special “The Homefront” which focused upon veterans and their families who are impacted by the absence of their loved one who is called to serve a tour overseas.

It was a calm, quiet, low key day.  My favorite type of day.  A wonderful day.

They helped me...

I began going to the VA for medical care several years ago despite having other health care options. I wanted the opportunity to meet other vets and hear their stories. It is true that there are sometimes long wait times before being seen, but I enjoy meeting other vets while doing so. I also must add that the health care practitioners are, without a doubt, the most skilled and the most invested in patients' care I have ever experienced. Last year I decided to volunteer to lead a group for vets experiencing PTSD. I began doing so in the hope in some way I would be able to help them. I soon realized, however, that the opposite was true. By helping them, they helped me.

Every dreamer knows...

 I was conversing with a friend the other day and

I told her that I wanted to move to Portugal in a

few years to live as an ex-pat.  Not to give up my U.S.

citizenship, but to get my residency visa and live there

for several years.  She asked me how I knew this was 

where I intended to live as I had never been there. 

I told her that I had researched it and I would know

more after my trip there in December. 

The truth is that I know, intuitively, that this is

where I need to be.

When reading last night, I stumbled upon a quote

which sums it up perfectly.

That is just how the universe works...

If you treat people with kindness,
 the same will be returned to you.
 That is just how the universe works.

5 + 2 +1 = 8 pieces (a whole) pie…

If I were to divide how I felt about you into pieces of a pie,

and there were 8 pieces, I would say there were 5 pieces I loved,

2 pieces I felt lukewarm about,

and 1 piece that was not my favorite.

If I’m correct in my math, I do believe those pieces would

add up to 8 pieces (a whole pie).

I had always lived my life...

I had always lived my life as was expected.  I executed each step flawlessly, to create what was deemed to be the perfect life.  Every rung up the ladder seemed to validate my place.  I ticked off every box which society demanded. The power in my accomplishments were contingent upon the height of each achievement.  The thing is that this seeming perfection may be an illusion and its resultant power a liability.

My Aunt Doris brushing my hair...

I remember the one time someone brushed my hair.  It wasn’t by my sister, my mother or my grandmother.  In fact, I had never had this done before. I was in high school when my Great Aunt Doris, my mother’s aunt, visited us in St. Louis. 

From the time I was a young girl, I was fortunate to be able to spend a few weeks each summer with my grandparents in this quiet, rural Iowa town. Bedford was idyllic in many ways: the red bricked streets with high curbs, the trees which bowed their branches over most streets, the slow pace in which the town seemed to move. Despite this idyllic environment, there was a tension that belied the seemingly smooth service, at least in my family. My grandmother had long standing issues with her sister in law, my Aunt Doris.  I am uncertain as to the specifics of these grudges held, but they resulted in my grandmother refusing to let me see my Aunt Doris when I visited.

I knew of Aunt Doris’ kindness, however, by the stories my mother told.  I knew of her strength and her character.  Several years after my grandmother passed, my aunt traveled to St. Louis to visit our family.  One late evening we were all sitting in the living room.  It was the night before my aunt was to return to Bedford, Iowa.  We were chatting, involved in idle conversation.  I was sitting on the floor as the rest of the seats were taken by adults.  My Aunt Doris asked me to go and get my brush.  She placed a pillow from the couch at her feet and patted it, taking the brush.  I had long hair at the time and she began brushing it, slowly from the crown of my head.  She did so gently and with much attention.  It felt calming and had the soothing effect which was very much needed by me as a teenager in high school.  Somehow my Aunt Doris knew this.  She was always quite intuitive this way; sensing what people needed before they knew themselves. 

I will always remember my Aunt Doris brushing my hair.  It was done out of love, intimately, from one woman to another. It was a gift from her to me. One I will always cherish.   

That is what counts...

Todd is a small, compact cat on the outside,

but he's big on the inside.
That is what counts.

Magnificent...

Tall, short

Black, white or brown

Rich, poor

Slim; full figured

Straight, gay

Young, old

We are all magnificent.

It is not your time/you have so much left to do…

A dear friend was recently in a severe automobile accident.  It was so severe that his 20+ year old pickup made of steel was totaled.  When he called me today to inform me of the accident, he said that he was fortunate to not have any broken bones.

We picked up on the topic which we had discussed in the not so distant past. He had stated that although he didn’t truly feel he was invincible, he always managed to escape death, sometimes by a very narrow margin.   

Here’s the thing that struck me about his good fortune in escaping the odds. Simply put, I think that it was not and is not his time.  When an individual sidesteps death on so many occasions, chances are that he/she has life yet to live. In a word, there are experiences yet to be undertaken. 

So I told him, it is not your time/you have so much left to do.

A little discomfort, a little unease...

You gotta make that decision to live outside of the bubble.

You gotta feel a little discomfort, a little unease. 

You'll decide that the bubble in which you lived 
wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Time is a commodity...

Time is a commodity.

Every day you have less of it, so do what you love.

The life of a single parent/alone again, naturally...

I think we all, as a parent/parents really don’t ever stop wanting to take care of our child/children despite their age. We raise them, doing our best and hope they will launch into healthy, happy adults. We have lived this story ourselves and we know that there will be highs and lows.  That is the nature of life.  Our desire for he/she/they is that there are ultimately more highs than lows.

For me, I have been a single parent for most of my son’s life. His birth father, my first husband, opted out of marriage and of parenthood, quite early on.  I remarried when my son was 5.  He was adopted, and we lived as a normal, nuclear family for 7 years.  Normal and nuclear meaning that we lived in an affluent suburb, in a mini mcmansion and drove the cars we were expected to drive: various Volvos, Infinities and the like. We had trips to Costa Rica (2) whereby we stayed in resorts which Americans typically do.  Several vacations to Florida where we experienced what is Walt Disney World; Universal Studios; Banff, Alberta, Canada where we walked on Athabasca Glacier and drove through the Canadian Rockies—wild and quite beautiful. 

My son enjoyed a cadre of close friends in our neighborhood and his schools.  He played football (even had the opportunity to play in the Dallas Cowboys stadium one Saturday). Lacrosse was his love, however, and he excelled at it.

I say these things not to boast.  I do not mean to exhibit hubris. I am relaying this story to provide a context; a snapshot of my life/my son’s life for this 7-year period.  Suddenly, in my forties, this seemingly perfect life fell apart.  Our 2 family friends in the neighborhood divorced.  We divorced.  When people say that divorce can be amicable, I do not believe this can be the case.  Of course, you attempt to put your child/children first.  You can’t repair the loss though, for yourself and for your kids.

So, my story continues. My son and I once again became a single parent household.  I dated a bit but was quite hesitant to do so.  I wasn’t that bitter divorcee that one reads about in articles attempting to define us.  I realized however, that my son needed me, and I didn’t want to spend time away from him.  During the brief time I did date (a movie, dinner out) I found myself longing to be home with my son. 

The divorce from my second husband was particularly difficult, for my son and I in several ways.  The change in our financial status was particularly difficult.  Equally impactful was how society saw us.  Also, how our cadre of friends who had maintained their marriages saw me; saw my son and me.  Single parent with single son—lonely; a sad story.  Here’s the thing though.  We weren't lonely. Previously there was the chaos and drama in our lives of a husband/father that begin acting out the second year of the marriage/fatherhood.  I think now, he felt the pressure of providing for us and the expectation of having a certain lifestyle.  That (outwardly) perfect family.

Don’t get me wrong.  My son and I had some serious bumps in the road as he entered his teens and I entered my mid-forties.  He skipped school and seemed to vacillate between distance from me and anger towards me.  I experienced the most difficult time in my life.  I lost my father from cancer.  I lost my job as an executive in a non-profit.  We subsequently lost our home which I was able to purchase myself in the same neighborhood so that my son would have less change.  Ultimately, however, and much to my shame (I have since come to peace with it), I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  It was severe enough that I was hospitalized for 5 days.  I was (fortunately) evaluated for medication and subsequently evened out.

So, here we are in the present. My son is 6 weeks away from obtaining his degree in business administration. It hasn't always been easy, but we've made it. When he graduates we will take a 3-week trip to Portugal and to Southern Spain (Andalusia) with a stint in Morocco. After that my son will join the military. I will miss him, but I realize this is what I should want as a parent. Such is the life of a single parent. Alone again, naturally.

Attention all women...

Attention all women! Love who you are, 
love where you are.

The world is wide open. I have so much yet to see...

This drizzly, foggy day…

I am uncertain as to why I’ve recently had a recurring memory from 28 years ago. Perhaps it is because it is the same time of year; perhaps it is the drizzly, foggy weather. The location, however,  is different. Now I am in McKinney, a mother in her 50's, winding down. Then I was in Galveston, a young woman in her 20's, gearing up and leaning in. 

I was working at UTMB in Galveston which was my first job after completing my master’s degree in Social Work.  I had relocated from Cincinnati to be nearer some family and to launch into my first “real” job.  My parents came to visit for a long weekend. We went to the Port of Galveston to site see. It was foggy and misting slightly so that everything was seen in a bit of a haze. I will never forget what we saw.  There was a flotilla of military vessels pulling out of the port carrying the machinery of war: tanks, hummers and the like.  I suspect they might have been carrying young soldiers as well.

I remember this image as if it was yesterday.  I furtively glanced over at my parents as they stared at this site. My parents and I never did speak of what we witnessed. I can’t imagine my parent’s feelings as my brother was serving in Marine Reconnaissance and had been in the Middle East for some time. 

It is difficult to put into words the feelings I had at that time.  It is 28 years later and there continues to be conflict in the Middle East.  If I were to wager, I would bet that it will still be going on when generations from now. People will stand at that port, watching those ships carrying military equipment and young soldiers across the ocean.  

My son will be entering the military after graduating from college in December.  He will most likely be working in psychological operations or something similar. I am quite certain he will be serving in the Middle East at some point.   I am proud of him for making the decision to serve our country.  I am equally proud of him for making the decision to continue our family legacy by doing so.  Every generation has served in the United States military since the Revolutionary War. This included my father, who served in the Army Air Corps in the Korean War.  He lost most of his hearing in his right ear. I am sure he witnessed things which most of us cannot imagine. Despite this,  I don’t recall him ever talking about what he saw or experienced there.   He was part of that stoic generation; that stoic and silent generation. They didn't discuss those things which were painful or images that may have haunted them. It just wasn't done.

The question is, "Do I support the choice my son is making?" The short answer is "yes".  Quite candidly, however, this would not have been my choice for his future. There is risk with anything a young person chooses to do. But there is risk, much more risk, for a young man who chooses to serve in the military in time of war. Here's the thing: I want to keep my son safe.  Keeping your child safe, no matter their age, is what a mother does. This is not reality though, and I realize it is not what I should do.  I know I cannot allow my fears to interfere with my son's dreams for his future. 

Here's the thing though: I am certain those ships will continue to carry the machinery of war. They will carry young men to fight on the other side of the world. I wander when this happens, will it be on a drizzly, foggy day?

Namaste: The divine in me bows to the divine in you...

 Things yoga has taught me:
Live in the moment

Be mindful/be present

Breathe deeply; breathe fully

Let go of those things which do not serve you.

Namaste: The divine in me bows to the divine in you.

It ends with us...

Talking around things instead of speaking the truth. Not dealing with real issues but talking about anything—the weather, our kids…anything except what needs to be addressed. That elephant is in the room.  It cannot be denied.

These patterns are analogous to walking around a cactus but never reaching out your hand to touch it. The barbs are sharp, and they may cause some bleeding and some pain. We avoid them at all costs. We fear those sharp edges as we know the possibility of a cut will cause us discomfort.

We were raised to be “nice” yet we are so resentful/angry/jealous that these feelings are there, just under the surface. They bubble up and spew out at seemingly unexpected moments.  These verbal expressions  which manifest our emotions, our feelings, are sharp barbs. They are hurtful sound bites.

If confronted with this behavior, they are denied vehemently. That did not happen; that did not occur. This is not what a “nice” person does. These patterns are formed over years in a family. They are like a smooth stone which is familiar in the palm of your hand.  Their smoothness and presence offer comfort.

Difficult, uncomfortable, I do not/I will not feelings are brushed aside.  They are buried deep so that no one (except you) knows they are there. I have decided I am breaking this pattern, at least in my life and in my time.  I am speaking my truth as I see it and and am my staunchest advocate. I choose to support who I am:  here, now and then.

Please know I am not resentful nor angry.  I know,  however, that these deeply ingrained familial patterns are not healthy. They may serve to smooth out a moment, but they ultimately lead to those knots in our stomachs. They are manifested in those sleepless nights. 

I have made the decision.  It ends with us. 

When my maternal grandmother was in her 80's, she told me that the one thing she regretted was not returning to visit the home of her family in Switzerland. She said to travel far and never hesitate to experience life. I do believe she was right.

I miss Anthony Bourdain...

I miss Anthony Bourdain. I miss his wisdom. I miss his sardonic wit. Most of all, I miss his wanderlust; his love of travel. "It seems that the more places I see and experience, the bigger I realize the world to be. The more I become aware of, the more I realize how relatively little I know of it, how many places I have still to go, how much more there is to learn. Maybe that’s enlightenment enough – to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom, at least for me, means realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go."

A slight shift...

There was a slight shift in me that day.  At exactly 4:35 p.m., at the age of 54 years and 5 months, it occurred.  This shift was sudden.  I am certain it was imperceptible to others. This shift was slight, akin to a second hand moving swiftly on a clock.  If not focused upon, that second would instantly be gone. Yet it was there.  I know this because a second must pass for time to move forward.   

There was no anger, no resentment at 4:35 pm. on that day. There was, however, a clarity in my decision to draw back and remove myself.  It has been 462 days since doing so. My life, though generally peaceful at the time, has become increasingly so. I can trace, month by month since that shift, an up ticking of movement as the days pass.  

I consider “happy” to be an overused word in our culture's vernacular.  Diluted down so that it has little meaning at all. A substitute for “happy” in describing how I feel now is "peaceful". I am light.  I am buoyant.

On rare occasions, past images flutter through my mind. They can be bitter sweet. When I reflect upon the genesis of these feelings, however, I realize the truth. That the thing which I thought I desired, in the way I had desired it,  had never really existed at all.