Goodnight and Goodmorning

I have a headache.

It's really not how I expected this blog to start. Fact is, I started it hours ago and just deleted everything to start over.

Why?

Because I'm tired.

I just don't have the energy to be clever I suppose. So you'll have to settle for the candid version of me and not the belligerent one.

I'm looking forward to 2017. It's already started in other parts of the world and I am hopeful. I want to quietly close the door on 2016 and leave it alone for awhile. Maybe talk about it later when I'm old and wise. Maybe.

I know it was a hard year for all of us. I never knew how a single year could be so heavy to so many people. My ignorance on that is apparent is last year's blog.

I still maintain it's up to us to make the most of it. How we handle the terrible and hopeless and heart-crushing is completely in our hands.

But I hear you.

And the daylight will break across the horizon in the morning. Like always. With the promise of newness and life. A new year, with all new adventures.

I get it now I think. Or at least, I'm starting to.
The hope of new beginnings. It's more than an arbitrary calendar change. It's the promise of rebirth. The reminder that all things end, and new things begin.

We need it. The end of the year. We need the symbolic closing of a chapter and we need to share it universally. We need to know it's okay for things to end and for new things to begin. And no time is that more felt or shared than the New Year.

2016 wasn't awful for me. But it was full. 

Stories were written and published, friendships were strengthened, new relationships forged, bad habits broken, loved ones were lost, tumors were discovered, hugs were given... And love was there. Through it all.

 Happy New Year.
Here's to hope and sunrises.
May we have more than we can measure.

So I Have a Brain Tumor

 

Don't freak out.

The good news is, it's not cancer. 
I feel like I need to tell everyone that right away.
Not. Cancer.

I also keep telling people it's not that big of a deal. Because, in all reality, it's not. It's a very small deal. 4mm to be exact. Just a tiny little deal that's affixed to my pituitary. 

I'm not sure how long it's been there. My guess? A long time. Judging by my ongoing symptoms. But the stress of the past year or so seems to have really punched those symptoms into a whole new galaxy. 

Fatigue, brain fog, continuous weight gain (despite working out and eating healthy on a regular basis), inability to lose weight in my chest, pain in my joints and muscles, messed up menstrual cycles, migraines and more. 

I was sad. Unnaturally so. I like being happy. I strive to be happy. I chase down happiness with a harpoon and make it my trophy. But it was getting more and more difficult to get out there and hunt for happiness every day. I kept telling people I knew something was wrong. 

[And I think that's a really important thing to recognize in yourself. If you know you're not okay, if you know something's not right, please, please, please, go to a doctor. If your doctor isn't interested in listening to you, go to a new one. Keep going. Figure it out. Don't stop until you have answers.]

My first couple of doctor visits were incredibly discouraging. They did blood work and listened to my symptoms and sent me out the door with a, "Well, you're fat and tired." Because when you put on double digit pounds between doctor visits, they look at you with professional disbelief as you tell them you do eat healthy and exercise. 

I can't even begin to explain to you the frustration with working out and having every workout feel like it was my first. There was no progress, no real muscle growth, absolutely no weight loss. 

And the harder I tried, the worse it got.

Until I finally went to an endocrinologist in Sioux Falls. I was referred by my dad and brother who both have Hashimotos. I thought maybe that would be my answer. I mean, why not? Both my dad and brother have it, we have very similar symptoms. It makes sense. 

So this new doctor ran all new tests. Within a couple of days he had scheduled an MRI. 

Because. Tumor.

After years of feeling like I was just crazy, everything was suddenly moving very fast. I had a doctor who not only believed me when I said something was wrong, he was excited to help me figure out what it was. Though I can't say I was super happy about thinking it might be a brain tumor.

But then, two days ago, I got the results. 
Relief.
So much friggin' relief it was unexpected.
And while the problem really is (literally) in my head, I'm not crazy.

After so many years of blaming myself and trying to fix the problem on my own, I have this thing that is wreaking havoc with my brain and body. (And Hashimotos isn't ruled out. We just have to treat the tumor for a few months and then check things again.)

So, the is my life with prolactinoma. I start cabergoline tomorrow and I'm excited. Maybe that sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth. I'm looking forward to fighting back now in the right way. I don't think it's going to be easy. In fact, I expect it to be the hardest thing I've ever had to do. 

I'm going to keep writing. The stories may just take longer for a little while. (Brain fog is no joke, yo.) I'm not going to let a little tiny brain tumor stop me from chasing my dreams. But I do ask for your patience. You've all been so amazingly faithful to me and my stories. It's overwhelming at times when I think about the love you've shared with my words and with me and with each other. I am truly thankful for each and every one of you.

So, don't freak out. 
Everything is going to be fine. I promise. 
Some days will be harder than others, but I'm more than willing to put in the work to make this the best life I can. 

One more adventure.



 

The Writer and the Pirate

I feel general discouragement when I think about online book piracy. It's frustrating and kinda ticks me off. But I mostly think about people who steal books online as rather faceless. Which is how I'm sure they think of me and all the other authors they're stealing from.

But none of us are faceless, are we?

These past couple of weeks I have gone beyond discouraged to disheartened. Because people I know participate in piracy. I'm taking it personally. I know I'm not supposed to and I never did before. But when it's a friend, co-worker, colleague or even in this case a fellow writer, it burns in my chest. I think it's my heart. Possibly indigestion.

Piracy is so big right now, it is affecting whether or not writers are going to make it. In some cases, it already has.

But that's the bigger picture. And there's about a dozen blogs and articles going into great detail and depth on online piracy as a global issue.

 

Tonight, I'm feeling personal.

Writing, telling stories, putting my heart out there...that's my dream. It's a big one. It's the kind of dream I never wake up from and am always chasing. It has it's own pitfalls and milestones. It's already full of heartache and hard work.

When you download a book illegally, you're sending a message, passive aggressive as it may be. Your actions stand in the way of my dream. Your actions make my pursuit harder.

None of this means I have any intention of stopping.

So you've made it personal. You figuratively spit in my face and called me unworthy.

Hear me when I say you're wrong about me.

You're wrong about a good many of us.

We won't stop and we thrive on challenge. 

 

What I want to know is, are you really comfortable being that person? Being the one who stands in the way of someone's dream? 

 

Think about it and get back to me.

Love Letters Part 2

It happens in the small bubbles of time between the day-to-day events. The boring transitions that occur, connecting my life from one moment to the next. 

I remember these transitions in my past being filled with a homesickness. A longing to get through with this next thing and get home. If the lull lagged and gave me even greater pause to think about the underlying emotion that existed in those spaces, I would whisper, "I wanna go home."

It seemed nonsensical. I felt it. As soon as the words passed my lips, my heart would tumble into foolish reprimand. How ridiculous to want to go home when I was very often already at home. 

Still. These pauses existed. And the ache remained. 

I don't know the exact moment they changed. I think I became aware of the switch slowly and suspiciously. 

At first, I thought you were perhaps a fantastic distraction. An exuberant example of how life ought to look when it is well lived. Maybe my pauses were  hurried now, anxious to join you in the next moment. I held onto you, while in the back of my mind believing the homesickness would eventually return. 

It's been more than a decade. 

My transitions from one moment to the next are now filled with a very real sense of peace. A knowing that at the end of every day, you will come home.

To me. 

I no longer wish for a home I've never known. Because I found it. Or, more accurately, it found me. It found me in those boring, empty pauses that hold life together like stitches in a blanket. 

Now, when the lull lags, I take a deep breath and let myself feel it. The knowing of where I fit.

I don't wait for it to pass. I don't dread the tedium. I thank God for one more perfect stitch in our life.

Love Letters Late at Night part #1

I love you now.
I've loved you for a long time, but it's always been in the now. I love you in an ever present state of being. 

I loved you back then. 
When we were young and we said ridiculous things about the sunrise and what we thought it might represent. 
When we were sleepless and careless and every little trip in the car meant more than the last. 
I loved you during all of it.

I will love you tomorrow, of that I am sure. 
Every day I know I will go to bed loving you and wake up the same. 
Therefore, I know I will love you in a month, in a year, in thirty years. 

But it has never felt like I loved you in the past. 
And it will not feel like loving you in the future. 
Because, and this is significant so pay attention, I will always love you now.

 

The Weight of Your Life

I lost someone this week.
Technically, the last day of last week, on Easter Sunday.
And also technically, we lost her.  As a collective group of humans.  

We all lost her together.

 I never know how to respond to moments like this.  They seem to be happening more often as I age, which I think is normal.  At least, people say it is.  People who have been there.  People who have had the unwelcome and unfortunate experience of losing.

It's a strange thing, the word "lost."  Especially when used in the context of death.  Because it's not as if they've been misplaced.  We know exactly where they are, it is we who are lost.  We are the ones suddenly without someone who had just been there moments before.

My thoughts often tumble around, mixing with my feelings on the matter, getting stuck and tangled.  I sometimes blurt out a random memory or idea at the strangest times.  Just allowing my mind to process it the way that it does, because fighting it would be tragic and even more painful.  I keep thinking about the very obvious absence of her.  The movement of the earth as she departed it—subtle, yet undeniable.

It's odd... the weight of a soul.  Especially a soul such as hers.  When alive, you are aware of their soul, of their life and heart.  It's clear in their eyes and speech and expression.  But I have never felt the weight of a soul like when it departs.

An absence exists.  One that I feel on every level of my conscience.  Someone was there, and now they have left.

And the weight, the abstract, beautiful shape of their soul...  Have I taken the time to enjoy it while she was here?  Did I notice the big and little details that added up to all that was her?

No.

There were things I missed.  Things I ignored.

Until I felt the weight of her soul suddenly lost to me.

But of course there's more, I think to myself.  Of course souls do not simply cease being.  They're too grand and too important and too heavy.

My faith is such that I absolutely believe in more.  In better.  In paradise.  I believe that the weight of a soul, unable to be measured by our meager and limited sciences, finds, at last, perfect rest.

I believe this goodbye is temporary.

And I am so looking forward to seeing her again.

Being In Love With You

I had never planned on falling in love with an explorer.

I had no idea how to prepare for such a thing.  I had believed love would always be messy and painful and a terrible thing to find yourself in.  Explorers love the adventure.  They don't give their heart to anything but the wind and wherever it wants to carry them next.  How does an explorer fall in love when they've been in love with the unknown since the day they were born?

But how quickly your lips became the only place I ever wanted a kiss to land.  How incredibly fast was the decision in my heart to follow you into oblivion if you so chose.  Your tendency to run first and look later has always had my stomach in knots.  But I would be a fool to let go of your hand.  

I began this journey with you intending to love you even if you never loved me in return.  Even if I was the only one risking my heart, I told myself I didn't mind.  That loving you was a privilege.  That loving you would be galaxies better than not.  Your mind is complex and its depth is immeasurable.  I wanted to walk among the forest of your soul for as long as you would allow.  I swam in your stories of discovery and music and I pretended like I could make a home there.  I could hide a piece of myself in your many layers and then even if we ended, a part of me would be with you always.  I loved you without being careful.  I loved you foolishly and obsessively.  I loved you in all the silly ways a girl loves a boy.

But then you started to love me back and a new chamber of my heart began to beat for the first time. 

Being loved by you has been the grandest adventure of my life.

You love me the only way an explorer can.  You love me in the questions and the lines drawn and crossed.  You love me in your constant quest of getting my laugh, my smile, my joy.  You love me in your careful yet unrepentant challenges to my comfort zone.  You love me in the push.  

Sometimes you reach for me in the middle of the night, just to be sure I'm still there.  It wakes me, and I don't mind.  Because it's a midnight reminder that you even think of me in your dreams.  A thing I never expected, but now find I don't want to live without.

As time passes, I grow more accustomed to your ways.  It doesn't scare me when you ask to see inside.  Because, even though you may appear to be a brash and bold conqueror of things unknown, you are gentle with me.  Protective.  You stand guard outside my heart and you will fight to keep the dark from penetrating.

And these actions have only made you more desirable to me.  I never grow tired of the new discoveries I make as you let me shamelessly explore the forest of your existence.  I had no idea a person could be so complicated and vastly beautiful.  If I go too long without seeing you, I begin to crave you.  The way a person craves fresh air after having been penned inside for too long.  I need your ideas and words and dreams.  I need to feel you growing and building and exploring.

And you give yourself to me.  

I know I'm the only one allowed to see the raw and untamed portions of your heart.  I know that I'm the only person allowed to run with you, side by side.  Take me with you always. 

As we grow older, I realize how rare it is what we've found, what we fight for.  I am thankful.  I am humbled.  And I am very much in love.  With you. 

I never planned on falling in love with an explorer.  Looking back, how could I not?

Dear Tacos (a parody poem and heartfelt goodbye)

Right after Thanksgiving and just before Christmas, I found out I'm gluten and lactose intolerant.  YAY!  Super fun! *snort* 

I've slowly been coming to terms with what this means for me for the rest of my life.  As someone who's entire life revolves around pizza, it's been a heart breaking acceptance.  And before you think I'm exaggerating about the pizza being my entire life thing, I will remind you, we served pizza to our 200 wedding guests dressed in lovely evening wear before our wedding.

I keep thinking that I wish I would have known the last time I had pizza that it was the last time. 

It's not all that horrible.  There are some truly amazing substitutes out there.  

But let's be real, it's not the same.

I prefer using humor to help me deal with new developments in my life.  It helps to be able to laugh about the tough stuff.  And laugh, and laugh, and laugh...

But tacos, man.  Tacos.  I love tacos.  And pizza, obviously.  But tacos.  Tacos are my one true food love.  I would marry tacos if I could.  I could show tacos a good time.  All of my noms are taco related. 

And I have to say goodbye to tacos as I know them.

 So I've decided to write a parody farewell poem based off of Kobe Bryant's farewell to basketball.  Because hilarious, that's why.  (Kobe's original poem can be found here.)

 Dear Tacos,

 From the moment
I started building my own soft-shells
And adding loads of cheese
with fresh green bells
And layering in extras
I knew one thing was real:

I fell in love with you.

A love so deep I gave you my all —
From my mind & body
To my spirit & soul.


As a six-year-old girl
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the burrito.
I only saw myself
Eating another one.

And so I ate.
I ate any and every taco
After every one I wanted more.
You asked for my appetite
I gave you my heart
Because it came with so much more.

I ate all the variations and versions
Not because challenge called me
But because YOU called me.
I did everything for YOU
Because that’s what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you’ve made me feel.

You gave a six-year-old girl her taco dream
And I’ll always love you for it.
But I can’t love you obsessively anymore.
This fall was all I had left to give.
My heart can take the pounding
My mind can handle the grind
But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye.

And that’s OK.
I’m ready to let you go.
I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we had together.
The good and the bad.
We had given each other
All that we had.

And we both know, no matter what I do next
I’ll always be that girl
With the cheese laden tortilla
and the happy, happy smile
all of the sour cream
taco in my hands
one... more... bite...

Love you always,
Heidi

Obligatory Year End Blog Post OR Eddie Vedder is Swoonable

I'm trying to find a nice way to tell this year goodbye without sounding like I'm too excited for the arrival of 2016.  Really, it's not like I despised 2015, I didn't/don't.  I'm not even sick of it.  I actually kind of liked 2015.  But the calendar is the way it is, and 2016 is going to be here no matter how fond I was/am of 2015.  And 2015 will be no more.  I'm fine with this.

So back to my struggle.

This week between Christmas and New Year's when you have no idea what day it is, the date is irrelevant, and you probably ate too many peanut butter sandwiches while you were attempting to figure it out.  This last bit is especially troubling if you, like me, just recently found out about your new life stipulation that wheat and dairy be eradicated from your diet.

But it just drags on.  This never ending week of posts from friends and coaches and colleagues titled things like "Closure and Cloister, Ten Lessons You Should Have Learned in 2015;" "Call to Action: What 2016 Needs From Your Digestive Tract;" "The Coming Trend of Eyelash Removal and the Brave Pioneers Behind It;" and my personal favorite "Failing at Flailing: Your Inner Fangirl's Loss of Nerdido." <-- (a nerd's libido, obvs).

I'm just ready for it to be done.  Goodbye, 2015, it's been a real slice.  But let's get on with it, shall we?  

What is this last week of lamenting all about?  Think about it?  We do it every year.  Okay, not we.  You.  You do it every year.  I don't do it every year because, frankly, I'm kind of a jerk and half the time I don't notice that the year is on its way out until is over and done and it's calling me asking if nothing we shared ever meant anything to me.  I hang up and roll my eyes at the obvious wrong number and feel bad for the poor bastard who has to deal with that clingy handful.  When it's over, it's over, am I right?

*clears throat*

It's statements like the above that are the reason people cry when I talk, isn't it?

Moving on.

Why all of the emotional attachment to a numerical based system of measuring the passage of time?  Every January is the same:  "This year is MY year!" and it ends the same:  "Screw last year!  Last year was the worst!"

Hate to break it to you, but you're kind of being a little bit slutty with your years.  Maybe if you treated them the way you want to be treated, you wouldn't feel so devastated at the end when it dawns on you that it's just a number and is not, in fact, an all powerful Oz promising to make your dreams come true.

I spend this week rolling my eyes a bit and trying to figure out how I can cram one more gluten free cookie baking session into my daily life without drawing a lot of attention to myself.  And also, planning a birthday (he's turning five this year. Star Wars the theme).

Stop putting so much pressure on the year to do and be great things for you.  Do and be great things for yourself.  That's right, I said it.  Do it FOR YOU.  The year doesn't matter, it's a way to mark off the passage of time and remind you to pay your bills so that you don't freeze to death in February when winter finally shows up (it's coming. it always does).

Say goodbye to 2015 with a blown kiss and a jazzy wave.  Have your party if you must, but curb your hatred.  If 2015 let you down, that's on you.  Maybe your New Year's Resolution should be to place less responsibility for your emotional happiness on a Stardate, yeah?  Maybe, just maybe, this year *rolls eyes so hard it hurts* you take control of your life and make it yours.

Yeah.  I like the feel of that.  This life is mine.  The dates don't matter except to mark the beginning and end on my gravestone of where I started and stopped.  

But the in between is mine.

 

 

Running Through the Next Field

Every month I have an anthem.  I play it loud and I sing it louder— much to the dismay of my child and neighbors.  I am not a good singer.  And more often than not, I really play up that fact by doing my best Adam Sandler and/or Fat Albert impression at the same time.

October begins in two day (less than that at this point), and I'm already singing that month's anthem.

Before I tell you what it is, let's talk about what happened this month.

I released BRAND NEW SKY into the wild.

It's the sixth and final book in the Double Blind Study series.  It wasn't an easy book to write.  So it's completion was both a relief and a heartbreak for me.  I didn't want it to be over with.  This entire series was a big deal for me.  Huge, in fact.

I've told the story many times about how and when and why I started writing, so there's really no need to go over that again.  But this series was the beginning of something new.  It was me finally getting those stories out there, instead of keeping them to myself. 

Sharing the adventure.

So many of you joined me along the way and I will never stop being equal parts grateful, shocked, and humbled.

As BRAND NEW SKY made it's way into ereaders worldwide a couple weeks ago, I was struck by the fact that this was the least stressful book release ever for me.  I had an awesome team helping me get things sent to bloggers and readers, and an amazing support system that kept my head focused and didn't let me get overwhelmed.  I normally freakout the night of a release by drinking wine and eating chocolate.

Not this time.

This time, I was writing.

Because the next story begs to be told and I wouldn't dare to silence it.

So, while the release wasn't stressful, that doesn't mean that there wasn't/isn't still some very strong emotions attached to it.  

Because the series is done, and now it's a new beginning.

I'm running.  Towards the next story, into the next adventure.  Completely and totally clueless how it's going to turn out and I'm not scared.

I have this song pounding itself into my head and heart.  The anthem of things to come.  The song that's currently annoying my neighbors. => Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

I suppose this is what I get for falling in love with an explorer.  He makes me unafraid to chase down the dawn of the next dream.

Hell Yeah, I Rememeber Aurora

Photo belongs to Roswell Films/ HBO

The above quote is from me.  I said those words out loud to myself a few months ago and then added it to that stunning picture of Dave Grohl they kept using in the Sonic Highways promos.

I was in the middle of writing Sway and Ryan's story.  I was just at the part where they're really getting to know each other.  That fun, happy, you-know-good-and-well-it-can't-last stage.  And I was falling in love with them.

It was Dave's fault.

It's always his fault.

Every time I fall in love, he's playing the soundtrack in the background.

And I fall in love every time.

Each book I think that this couple will be the one, the ultimate couple.  I will love them the most and no one will ever replace them.  Then I get to the next story and the next soundtrack and it starts all over again.

Maybe that's just the way it has to be.  Maybe I can't honestly write their story unless I'm fully invested in the outcome.  That outcome being all the love ever forever.  With sprinkles on top.  

So here's the rub.  I'm working on a story right now that doesn't follow the pattern.

 It's a prequel (my betas have promised to not let me George Lucas the shit out of it).  

Ryan's origin story.

See, I got into this thing with her and Sway, and realized she was a very complicated woman.  So much so, that I couldn't get into all of it in Sway's book because it's Sway's book.  I floated the idea of writing her story and some of my pre-readers and close friends have encouraged it.  "Have at it, Plucky Duckling!  Hoist the mainsail!"

(They didn't use those words, that was in my head.  Judge away, there's so much more in there you don't know about.)

Ryan's story will be about who she is and how she became the Ryan we all meet in BRAND NEW SKY.  It's not a romance.  

But it is a love story.

Going through my notes, writing these first few chapters, I find myself falling in love with her. 

And guess who's playing the soundtrack? 

This novella's anthem is Foo Fighter's "Long Road to Ruin" because it's Ryan's song.  It's where she's at right now and it's not a great place.

But it will be. 

 

The One About Romance

It should come as no surprise that music is kind of a big deal for me.  Maybe it's because I have no musical talent whatsoever and so I'm drawn to its mystery.  Maybe it's because some of my earliest and most treasured memories are of my beautiful mother playing the guitar and singing me love songs.  I think those things probably tangled together to form a desire in my heart to explore it further.  Not the music so much, but the emotion behind the song.  The people, the story, the soul of the song.

I wanted to be a part of it.  

My small contribution to the writing world is my best attempt.  Yes, I write romance.  No, I'm not ashamed.

I want to take people on an adventure.  And if the slow, dangerous exploration of a person's heart isn't an adventure, then I don't know what is.

For what is more mysterious than the intricate layers and motivations of a man?  

What has led to more misunderstandings and more victories than the quiet diligence of his soul?  

What does he see?  What's the color of the sunset from out of his eyes?  What kind of memories are replayed with the sound of an old song on the radio?  Who is he?  Where is he going?  

Every story is another cliff dive for me.  

I stand on the ledge, feel the wind whip harshly at my body, stealing my breath. 

I'm going to jump.  Every time.

I have to tell the story.  Their story.

It's my song.

On to the next one.

Right Behind Me, Everywhere I Go

Good evening, gentle readers.
 It's been a while, yeah?

Growing pains is the only reason I can give as to my absence.  I mean, I could go into the details of what this summer had been like for me on a deeply personal level—digging into the dark emotional abyss that is my heart and laying it out on the floor for all to see.  But I won't.  Because it's just not me.  

I will tell you that this summer has been one of discovery.  

In the midst of all the happenings in my life, I finished a novel and thus the Double Blind Study series.  It's currently with the editor and dare I say, I'm proud of this one.  More so than the others.  Not because the writing is the best (it's not), and not because it's going to change anyone's life (it won't), but because of all the things I learned during it. 

I might be back in a couple days to unpack some of those things.  Right now I'm just sort of savoring this feeling.  It's quiet and simple and I'm enjoying it. 

No matter how hard life can get, there's always these amazing people who shine their light right into my life and save me.  I guess that's what I'm reflecting on tonight— the bright lights.

And I am grateful.

 



 

 

The day I woke up in Birmingham OR Sweet Home Alabama

Maybe y'all noticed that I've taken a break from blogging for a couple of months.  I needed the break.  Too much was on my plate and I started dropping the things that seemed less important until I could get caught up.  

I recently attended my first book signing in Birmingham, Alabama.  I had been planning this trip for many months and it kept changing and morphing into a whole new beast.  It made me nervous.  Until it got to a point during the planning where I had to make some hard calls.  I had to call it quits on a few things.  I canceled a total of three photo shoots that I had been looking forward to.  I ended up taking Cap and Bear with me.  I didn't go to any of the author meet-ups, I didn't make it to the after-party.  I wasn't sure how I was going to feel about it until after.

I loved meeting all of the readers.  Truly.  And I've always thought of myself as not being very good at "peopling."  I really, really liked meeting all the new people.  Pretty much every person I came into contact with, I fell in love with just a little bit.  

We spent the day after the event walking through Birmingham.  And something happened.  Something peaceful.

If you know the history of Birmingham than maybe you can feel the weight of that.  


My recent personal life has been... difficult, to give it a word.  I was feeling tense and anxious and completely lost when I got on our first plane in Omaha.  But there is something about being high above the world that puts things into perspective.  It was as if my heart reset.  It cleared it's cache of negativity and I was able to fill it with new things.

I really like this life I have.  If that makes me arrogant or insane, I don't care.  I'm content with my present.  There's a peacefulness in acknowledging the space that your mind and heart are occupying.  I spent an entire day surrounded by art and history and science.  I had gone from feeling like my brain was a water-logged sponge, to feeling like my soul had finally set anchor.

And that feeling lasted.

Our flight out of Birmingham kept moving due to the weather in Chicago.  When we finally got to Chicago, the weather had made a fine mess there as well.  It was nearly midnight when they told us we finally had a plane but no pilot.  My friend Kellcie asked if we were in a secret remake of Airplane.  Still not sure about that one.  Our terminal was loaded with grumpy, tired travelers.  And I watched my four-year-old dance with his father and make those tired people smile.

So, yeah, I love my little family and the life we get to share together.  And I'm glad I brought them with me even though that wasn't the original plan.  I think having them there with me healed that scorched portion of my heart that had been fading quickly.  And now I feel whole.

My life is still moving.  I'm still running towards the future.  But some things that I had planned on, have changed.  At first, that was a scary and sad thought.  But you can't force something that wasn't meant to be.  I'm continuing this journey.  I want to see how it finishes.  I plan on doing my best, because it's all I have.

 
   

Things My Father Taught Me

I am, by nature, a very private person.  I don't broadcast the most intimate details of my life because it seems inappropriate and frankly a bit tacky.  I have secrets.  Things that are mine and I plan on keeping them that way.  I'm always, still, surprised when I see people tell everyone everything about themselves ever. But I'm even more surprised when I see them tell everything about someone else.

Now, I'm not talking about gossip or backstabbing or slander.  Those are separate issues.  

I'm talking about those moments in peoples lives that are not and should not be treated as a spectator sport. Personal things.  Big news, tragedy, heartbreak, loss, ailment, intimacy, triumphs over obstacles, etc.  I'm not saying no one should share these things about their lives, that would be ridiculous.  What I've noticed is the blatant and boisterous announcement of news that belongs to others.

I don't get it.  But I think that has more to do with watching how my parents handled things like that.  And how they still handle things like that.  

There's a reason that my mom or my dad gets called first when tragedy strikes someone.  A trust has been earned.  A stalwart resistance against the curiosity of the world.  They're first instinct is to protect and serve.  Their circle is small, the information tightly controlled.  I can't even tell you how many times or nights they've spent in hospitals, on roadsides, in stranger's homes, traveling across the country. 

They have no desire to attract attention.  I think that if they did accidentally attract attention, they would consider their mission a failure.

Part of what they do is give the power to the person it belongs to.  If it's good news, then they should be the ones telling it.  If it's sad or awful or the worst thing ever, they should be allowed to reveal those things in their own way and in their own time. 

I remember asking my father once, during my rebellious youth, why he didn't want people to know what he had just done for someone.  I'd gone with him to help someone stranded. My father has been, and always will be, a Jedi mechanic.  I have no idea what he did to fix this car specifically.  I just knew that he had a skill set that was needed in that moment and he'd done just that.  

We were driving home and he was very quiet before he said something that stuck with me.  "That's not why I did it."

It seemed like such a simple answer.  But I never forgot it.  And it repeats in my head every time I see or hear someone declare something they've done for someone else.  I think, "Is that why?  So you felt justified in talking about it?  So that you were the focal point of this moment?"

It's a lesson I learned well.  I find myself doing the same thing.  Shying away from letting others know how much I know about an event or a person.  It's become second nature to me.  I don't just protect my own secrets, I protect the secrets of others as well.

I can promise you, I have been witness to events that you will never hear about.  I have seen the best of humanity in the most private and secret of places.  I have watched my mother be the most amazing and admirable woman I will ever know.  I have watched my father display the exact characteristics that make me proud to be one of his children.

I've learned that to declare yourself as part of someone's life changing event, you put the focus on yourself.  Is that appropriate?  Did you earn that position?  Or did the person whose life you just took a moment of credit for, make the mistake of trusting you to just be there for them? Are you doing good with your very loud words?

Maybe I was raised in a weird way.  Maybe my parents taught me to be more private than your average bear.  Maybe it's bizarre to you, looking from the outside in, as to why I would hold my tongue and keep things to myself.

Or maybe, just maybe, they taught me something invaluable.  Something I will never forget... How to keep it secret and keep it safe.

Life Inside a Box

I sat down today to write.  Then I decided that I should probably build a playlist.  Then I ended up distracted by the thoughts that the playlist created.  So I mostly ended up staring at an open document terrified that I was going to screw the whole thing up.

I haven't written in more than a week.  I needed the break and I needed to do other things, but I was really looking forward to getting back to it.  It's interesting how life can look at you and just be like, "No." 

But I will be writing later tonight.  It's burning inside and I have to let it out.

I guess I have to get my thoughts in order just a little bit first.  I have to put some things away and take out others. 

I'm starting here.  It feels like the beginning. 

I've spent a good amount of my life being afraid of beginnings.  Beginnings signified that something had ended.  And endings... I don't like endings.

I won't let you stop me again.

I have worth.

Endings are simply regenerations.

Watch me run.