Struck by the perfection of the scene, I grabbed my phone and took one photo. Flowers from last night's dinner guests, a mug from a dear friend filled with Barry's Irish tea, my paper calendar, my all in one journal, scheduler and dream keeper, and the sun streaming in to bless it all.
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There she is…
I'm not "cured" because I don't know that we're ever cured of the traumas, big T or little t, that we encounter in our navigation of life, but I'm feeling much better about having opened the door and faced my fears. I know I have other things to uncover and work through, but it will never again be as scary as the first time. And I will never again enter in afraid that my problems are beyond fixing.
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When in doubt, embrace the stuck bits
After getting over my disappointment, I decided to serve the cake as I had planned it, and it was imperfectly perfect. Nobody complained that parts of the top were missing because the central point of the cake was in tact—the taste was glorious, and the ice cream and berries covered a lot of the missing sections. Its imperfections and ugly edges were irrelevant in the final presentation.
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The bark of perfection aka looks can be deceiving
When Dr Marry was at the height of his drinking, I told no one. The darker the interior rings got, the harder I worked to maintain a healthy exterior because I was terrified of my reality being found out, of being deemed rotten and cut down.
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Getting from here to there
I was a big fan of Sesame Street when I was little; I still am. It’s uncanny how often a snippet from 45-years ago will cross my memory or be relevant to a conversation I’m having. For instance, do you remember this song, “How Do You Get From Here to There?” There’s a great lesson in this song, in addition to how cute it is (minus the airplane guy who looks a bit too much like if Hitler had been part of the beatnik era). The lesson is actually profoundly simple and so, so valuable. First, determine where you want to go, and then second, choose how you’re going to…
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The sun’ll (always) come out
Breathing through the anxiety of watching the sun descend below the endless horizon into utter blackness and waking up in the murky blue black of the early morning for two straight weeks didn't totally cure me of my fear of the dark, but two years later, I'm more comfortable with the unknown of night than I ever was before.
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June 28, 1972
This isn't a post about choosing life, despite the fact I am here and I am a mother because that decision was twice made. This also isn't a post about the pro-choice side; I have private feelings about abortion, but I intend to fight this decision in as many ways as I can to ensure that every woman has the right to make that decision for herself. If the Supreme Court can change its mind once, then it can change it again.
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1-2-3…LEAP!
I'm standing on the edge of a sheer, steep cliff, looking down at the endless ocean, gorgeous waves rolling in against the shoreline. Even as I marvel at the beauty, my stomach roils at the dizzying height. For a second, I imagine falling, tumbling down the steep drop and landing with a dull, lifeless thud at the bottom. My brain tries desperately to comprehend that the people, ant-sized from my perspective, are actually fully-sized humans. They are living their lives all the way down there even as I am living mine.
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Flip the narrative to find your spark
More than three years ago, I conceived of a pretty audacious vacation with friends and family to celebrate a big milestone in my life. Dr Marry and I are providing a fabulous opportunity for people to travel and stay in a big, beautiful house that we're renting as our gift to them. But they still have to get themselves there, pay for food and other accommodations beyond the house since it's just for three nights. While some people have decided, for various reasons, that they can't make the trip work, a number of people have enthusiastically said, "We're in!" Just because I plan something doesn't mean it will work for…
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Why walking not talking really matters
It can be overwhelming to realize that talking rarely changes things. And it adds to the shame you already feel for uttering something out loud that doesn't get better. That kind of "failure" can lead to making worse and more poor decisions.
