“Lean in,” I heard. It was a simple, quiet statement. I knew what it meant instantly and it scared me. It meant:

\ Stretching a little farther in embracing (even the idea of) joy and hope for the future.

\ Releasing more fear that the bottom might drop out. Again.
\ Trusting that the worst is behind and the best is yet unfolding.

Lean in. Drink deep…

...I still either have to brace myself or forget and get spin-cycled through the day/week/whatever.

Is that you?

I’m praying for you - for us - today so you know you’re not alone. You’re not forgotten. You are loved.

So what’s the last thing you heard? Do you remember? Have you finally stopped long enough yet during this quarantine to ask?

My routines were safe. They kept me secure in my mind even as they kept me fastened to my bronze-version life. I’d asked for this. I didn’t know it at the time of my asking. It didn’t sound like that at all. It sounded like groaning. Deep, unsatisfied, guttural groaning. And it wouldn’t stop. 

She’d gone out with this man several times and, try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to get into him. On paper, he was great. And she knew it. So did he. But she was a vibrant woman still ascending into her prime (btw…those old beliefs that a woman HITS her prime in her mid-30s are horribly misleading. if truth be told, sliding into the midpoint of your third decade signals the START of hitting your prime, ladies, and, from what I hear, it goes on and on and on from there... You’re welcome 😉) and he…well he was a guy who knew he looked good on paper.

When I moved to Cabo in Oct 2017, not really knowing a soul save one person, I approached it the same as I had every vacation over the past 20 years to the same locale: I LOVED IT!! But after almost a year of globetrotting from this country to that, I was nearly broke. With no desire to return to accounting in any form and with no clear idea what was to happen next…

I realized then that I had continued to hold onto one residual thought; one remnant feeling that was very effective at preventing me from moving forward with any sense of urgency. That residual remnant was this: that there was something to ‘go back’ to.