Love and Farewell

Today is the final solstice of the decade. The longest night, the darkest day. I’ve been awake for hours (it’s 5:52a.m.), sorting through the details of the past ten years, sifting out and polishing the moments that have been joyful and wrapping up in gentle love the moments that have been painful.

In the last ten years…

I met my second son. He was born just moments short of Mother’s Day.

I moved away from Charleston, to Birmingham. Then I moved back to Charleston from Birmingham. A big part of my heart remains in the Magic City.

I traveled to new cities across the country for work. I traveled to France and to Portugal.

I became a yoga teacher.

I started a business. I closed a business. I bought a business. I endured a heartbreaking business divorce. I leaned into and walked away from several incredible career opportunities that tested and taught me.

I struggled to hold my marriage together. I tottered between believing in my ability to fix everything to believing in my ability to heal my broken heart. I also left and we lived separately in neighboring houses for one year. Then I returned. Why? Because the pain of losing the dream of “family” was no match for my desperately heightened level of “fixer” energy. Yet, as most cracks tend to do, the divide deepened and the marriage became increasingly unstable. Currently? I’m sitting so still. Jury is still out.

I met more new friends and acquaintances than I can count.

I found out that hugs usually are the very thing that a soul needs when a soul is feeling sad. If only for that moment, a hug salves.

I wrote many words and connected with people through them and created community around an idea of hope, resilience, and opportunity.

I wrinkled.

I turned 40.

I lost two pets. I gained a few more.

I lost my Grandmother.

I lost my ability to give my energy to the people and the things that take me away from Source.

I lost my voice. I hid it behind fear. I spent many sleepless nights searching for it, begging for it to return.

I grew more anxious. I let it hold me back at times. At times I took tiny little pills because a doctor told me they would minimize the volume of my paralyzing panic. They made me feel numb instead.

I became physically stronger. I began to see my body as a capable vessel and not an imperfect outfit that needed to be altered.

I began to meditate.

I let go of an unbearable amount of guilt, shame, resentment, anger, and doubt. (There’s still plenty to let go of.)

There are memories lodged between minutes and hours, some good, some bad, a few quite grand.

Looking ahead to the next decade, I pause. Just for a moment. During this longest night, I allow the darkness to wash over everything. What is illuminated when the sun rises will be my compass.

I love it all.