Parking Lot Inspiration

As a writer, you require a little boost of inspiration from time to time.  This week was one of those times.  I had lots going on in my life and inside my head, none of which were blog worthy or appropriate. I typically draw on lots of areas in my life to inspire me…my children, my family and friends, significant people in my life, my work, nature, my journey in general.  However, I found myself with nothing to say.  Horrifying I know!

I did laundry, spent time with friends, cooked, cleaned, texted, emailed, reflected.  I had a few days of vacation time and embraced my kids.  All the normal things one would do during the week.  I also blew a gasket at one point, let the foul language and anger spew out, and then brought it all back into perspective.  I know a lot of you were hoping I would post about that, however, it doesn’t serve a positive purpose, so I am not going to. 

As I got a little more frustrated, because as most of you know, I am not usually at lacking in the word department, inspiration found me in the strangest place.

The parking lot at the grocery store.

Before I move forward and tell you how this parking lot inspired me, I am going to drift off into thought for a moment.

When you commit to spend forever with someone, your intention is not to get divorced down the road.  Unless you’re a Kardashian…then carry on.  You promise, you vow, to journey through this life together…good, bad, beautiful and scary.  As we all know, that sometimes just doesn’t work out.  And that’s ok.  But why not?  Why does it work for some and not for others?  This is a question that has plagued me since my marriage ended.

I believe I am on the path to answering that question. 

Back to the parking lot.

Feeling happy and comfortable in my own skin, confident in my life and my new direction, feeling supported, cared for and gasp…liked (a considerable amount) I was reminded of what really matters.  It's like the universe doesn't want me too comfortable or complacement and sneaks these moments in every now and again.

As I left the grocery store and was settling into my car, I saw an elderly couple shuffling along, side by side, both using the cart to steady their movement forward.  His tall, lanky frame, weathered with age, walked proudly beside her.  Her petite frame clothed in a blue pants suit and sensible shoes walked briskly, her little steps keeping up with his longer strides.  They made their way slowly across the parking lot, oblivious to the dirty looks of the impatient shoppers who obviously had things to do and no time to wait for this couple.

As they reached their car, which was parked right in front of mine, it became clear to me that the husband was much frailer than his wife.  He also had the look of slight confusion, which, due to the nature of my “real” job, I am quite familiar with recognizing.  He held on to the cart with a look in his eyes not unlike that of a small child.  Part trepidation, part wonder as he stood with the sun on his deeply wrinkled face, smiling.  She gently tucked his wayward shirt tail back into his pants, making sure that even though he was obviously confused, that he still had his dignity.  He watched his wife with intense interest as she loaded the small bags into the trunk of their car, with a look that can only be described as love…pure, simple, uncomplicated and very real.

I saw her glance at him, say a few words and watched his eyes light up as he laughed.  A loud, booming laugh I didn`t expect to hear.  I don`t know what was said, but whatever it was, it made his whole face smile. 

Groceries secure in the trunk, the wife came around to where her husband was still griping the grocery cart handle, to keep steady.  What I saw in the next moment brought me to tears…most things do, but this was a cry that came right from the very depth of my heart.  These tears did not gently slip down my cheeks like they do in the movies…these tears came with heaving sobs, a runny nose and quivering lip.  All the ladies know what I am talking about…this was the “ugly” cry.

Anway…

The wife stepped around the cart and stood beside her husband.  He placed his frail hands, one on each of her wrinkled cheeks, steadied himself, tipped her face to his and kissed her, right on the lips, with such tenderness, respect and gratitude that it took my breath away. 

He drew back and they stood for a few moments, still with his hands on her face, looking at each other with the wisdom only age can bring.  They know it’s these moments that matter most.  It’s not about “stuff”, it’s not about revenge or regret.  It’s not about whose kids got the best report cards or who just built a new house or a concrete driveway.  It’s about making a conscious decision to stop the world for a few breathtaking moments to be present and grateful.  It’s about recognizing that at the end of our journeys, regret and a landscaped flower bed isn’t going to tuck your shirt in for you. 

The wife took her husband by the hand and supported him as they rounded the car to the passenger side.  She opened the door for him and he slid gratefully into the seat, folding his long legs inside.  I watched as she leaned in the car, fastening his seatbelt for him and place a loving kiss on his forehead.  Knowing he was secure, she closed the car door gently, returned their cart, got into the driver’s seat and carefully drove away.  I could have missed this entire lesson, had I been impatient and ignored the people around me.  In less than 10 minutes, this couple clarified a great deal for me. 

I can only assume that a couple of their age (likely in their mid 80’s) have been through some hard times. I also can only assume that life may not have always gone the way they planned.  Yet, here they are enduring, maintaining, still nurturing each other.   I found myself wondering how they made it.  I am sure they had arguments, resentments, children, money issues during their journey together.  I suspect that she is his main caregiver at home, possibly cutting his food, washing his face, combing his hair, tying his shoes.  Obviously by the enormous laugh I heard come from the husband, even after old age crept in, they have humour in their lives.  That my dear readers are what our journeys should be about.  Commitment, trust, respect, laughter and unconditional love.  10 minutes in the parking lot of a grocery store reminded me that forever is possible. 

We get so wrapped up in our work, who is doing what with whom, money, having “more”, our kids….life.  We end up taking each other for granted.  The couple that inspired me today reminded me that I don’t want the disposable life that is all too common these days.  I want simple. I want the good, the bad, the scary and the beautiful.  And when the time is right, my second chance will matter.  It will be my chance to make my journey simply amazing. 

Today is the day that my life becomes less of reminding myself about what I didn’t have and more of making today matter.

What the what???? Say it isn't so

Well, it finally happened! Two kids and almost 11 years of parenting, Monday morning was a first.

My sensitive, sweet baby boy (who is 7 by the way) told me for the first time in his little life that he didn’t love me.

In all honesty, neither one of my kids have ever said that to me, or gasp, said the ever hurtful “I hate you.”  So it shocked me to hear it come from his sweet little lips.

I knew eventually it would happen, all kids go through it.  What shocked me was the fact that there was no reason for it, or so I initially thought.

Having the house to ourselves as my daughter was away with a friend on a mini vacation, my son and I decided to build a fort and stay up watching his favourite tv shows.  We snuggled, ate chips and giggled.  We talked about his weekend with his dad.  All was well, we fell asleep in a heap together on the floor in the fort and woke up smiling.

The usual morning routine ensued.  Get shower, get dressed, prepare breakfast, made lunches, brush teeth.  As I called him to come and get his shoes on so we could head out the door, BAM, it happened.

He looked at me with huge tears spilling out of his eyes, his bottom lip quivering.  All of a sudden, the kid had a ‘stomach ache’. 

Since we were running a wee bit late already, and against my better instincts, I rushed him along, saying he would be “fine.”  I know I really dislike when people brush me off with a “you’re fine”, so I should have taken a moment to choose my words more carefully.

Out of nowhere I have to dodge a flying back pack as he hurls his bag at me, tears flowing, and says “I don’t love you anymore.  I want ro be with daddy.”  He didn’t shout at me, he didn’t even waiver.  He looked me right in the eye and broke my heart.

I could have gotten angry, I didn’t.  I could have cried, but I held it in.  I could have demanded an apology and ordered him into the car.  I didn’t do that either. 

What I did do was took a deep breath, scoop him up in my arms and sat on the landing of the stairs. 

He sat in my lap and cried, his little body shaking, his breath ragged.  I held on to him tight and stroked his hair. 

I explained to him that I had to go to work today, he had to head off to camp and that if he still felt sick later this morning, I could be reached by phone and I would come to get him.

He looked at me and said that he lied, he didn’t have a stomach ache.  I played along pretending to be shocked.  I gently asked him to talk to me about what was bothering him.  I reminded him that keeping  “worry bugs” in his tummy wasn`t good and talking always makes things better. 

After a discussion about the lack of rules, structure or any predictability at all when with his dad, we discovered that, contrary to his father’s beliefs, my sensitive boy isn’t coping well with the transition from dad’s place to home.  It really hasn’t been an issue in the last year and you would think that he would be used to the routine by now.  For whatever the reason, this was the day that the flood gates opened.

This is where the “I want daddy” part comes in.  Daddy has no schedule on the weekend, mommy has a job and camps and kid`s schedules during the week day to adhere to.  It's a rough transition between 24 hour fun time and the weekly grind of routine.

I am the peace keeper, the rule enforcer, I always have been.  When the kids are with their dad, it is chaos.  Late nights, day trips, eating/drinking whatever they want, shopping for toys, large amounts of pop at 9pm because “it’s dollar drink days and they were thirsty”, no schedules, no rules, no consequences.  It’s actually quite frustrating because number one, I can’t say anything about it and number two, I am left to deal with the aftermath of every free for all weekend. 

The question I have is…why am I the only one taking responsibility for the raising of our kids?  We all have responsibilities.  To our jobs, our families, our friends, our planet, ourselves, even to our fellow man.  It’s part of being a grown up.  What about the responsibility of raising our children?  By all means, have fun with your kids, treat them (occasionally), do fun things, but for the love of all things holy, be a parent!!! 

During our married life, I was the ruler maker, he was the rule breaker.  The good cop, bad cop routine worked for us.  We were a team and the kids always knew that no matter what, mom and dad were on the same page.  Things are different now, mom and dad are not on the same page, or even in the same library anymore and he actually has to parent these children on his own.  The kids are confused, dad is trying to buy their love out of guilt and mom is tired and frustrated.

 Now, I can hear some of you…”just because he doesn’t parent the way you do, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”  Blah, blah, blah, whatever.  I am not complaining about the way he parents (when he actually pulls it off he is a great dad) I am complaining about the lack of respect and good judgement when you are 100% responsible while your kids are in your care.  

I am talking about the absence of discipline, the disregard for limits and the lack of common sense.  I am not talking about let`s have cereal for supper, I am talking about `forgetting` your kids at a ball diamond at 10 pm kind of responsibility.  I could provide a hundred different examples, but I am not going to.  

Maybe I am totally wrong, but I don’t think so.

Those of you who know me and my family well will say he never knew what the word responsibility really meant anyway.  Very true.  However, when faced with the task of parenting on your own, you would hope that some sense of personal ownership of responsibility would kick in.

There`s always hope, right?

Ok, fast forward to the sobbing boy sitting in my lap. 

I kissed his little face, wiped away his tears and told him I appreciate how hard it must be to find his place in this new family.  I told him I loved him.  And that was enough for him. 

He asked me if he should apologize for saying he didn’t love me anymore.  He cried and asked me to forgive him, telling me he didn’t really mean it.  We talked about using different words and ways to describe our feelings, but we should never apologize for how we feel.    Because in that moment, he did want to be with his dad.  I wasn’t about to downplay his feelings or make him feel bad for saying what he needed to say. 

I told him that we need to acknowledge our feelings and be true to ourselves.  Feelings can be good or not so good, and no matter what, we need to take responsibility for the words we choose to describe those feelings.  Something I am always telling my kids, and I am sure they are sick of hearing it, is:  “Take responsibility for the energy you bring to any space.”  I follow that rule myself.  I think it’s important to be aware of that responsibility.

I told my son that it’s ok to feel angry, to feel hurt, to feel upset, to feel confused, but take responsibility for those feelings!  You can’t control what other people say or do to you, but you can control your reaction.  Hard stuff for a 7 year old to understand, even harder for some adults who like to lay blame. 

All I can do is my best…to give what I have and be proud of the gifts I have been given. 

                                  

Strength...it's never too late to find your power.

My bucket post really got a huge reaction.  It took me two days to get through the messages and emails that came after that post.  I answered every one of them by the way.  The love and support that came from you overwhelmed me.  Thank you to each and every one of you for your kind words.  Even 10 months after starting my blog, I still get messages filled with love and support and people (some I know, some I don’t) telling me they can relate and they are inspired by what I write. It’s incredibly uplifting. 

The one word that wove its way through every text and message I have received was “strength”. 

So many of you have told me you admire my strength.  Many of you wish you could find the source of your own strength. 

I think it is important for my readers to know, my strength did not appear overnight.  It requires daily intention, focus and persistence.  My kids provide me with strength every single day.  However, this is not what this post is about.  My kids, my family, my friends, all actively fan the flames of my strength, every single day.  This post is about the ugly side of actually reclaiming power.  It’s for all of you who are struggling and need hope that yes, you can find your way back.

Because I am always honest in my writing, I am going to share my struggle finding strength.  I want my readers to know that my strength came from the depths of a very dark place. What happens in the darkness of change isn’t always pretty so I want my readers to know that the positive, strong person I am now, required work and alot of it.  So, for those of you struggling finding your own strength, read on.

At the beginning of my new life as a sinlge woman, it felt like I was hardly coping, that I was stuck in a dark place of fear, pain and confusion. Externally I seemed to be managing.  I went to work, took out my trash, got my kids to school, but that’s about it.  I was going through the motions and did just what was necessary to make it through the day. 

I didn’t eat, I slept on average 3 hours a night and lost about 20 lbs in the first month from stress.  It was a time of hopelessness, fear and sadness.  Sleep came only after the nightly sobbing ceased and my body and mind had taken over and forced rest.  I still don’t sleep well, and am patiently hoping that will come with time. 

Once I came to the realization that my marriage over, I turned to therapy.  Even though couples therapy wasn’t an option, I made the decision to start and continue with therapy on my own. It was a solid start to reclaiming my power.  My therapist gave me insight, tools and encouragement.  He was an extremely important part of my healing process.  A small spark of strength started here, because going to therapy and gasp, admitting you are in therapy, is not an easy thing to do. 

Regaining my strength came from the knowledge that I needed to retreat.  I spent about 3 months locked up in my family room, on the couch watching Criminal Minds marathons.  Seriously.  If I wasn’t working, and the kids were either in bed or not home, I was in pajamas on the couch.  It wasn’t pretty, but it was necessary.  This was how I needed to cope and that’s ok.  This “hibernation” fanned my spark into a small flame.

I couldn’t go grocery shopping in my small town for about six months after he left.  I wanted to avoid meeting anyone I knew, I wanted to avoid remembering that we always shopped together, I wanted to avoid the questions and the looks of pity.  I wanted to avoid the familiarity of it all.  I actually would drive 20 km from the city I live in to do my shopping just to accomplish avoiding all of it.  Very few people know that once I actually started shopping at my grocery store in my own city again, I left my cart full of groceries in the middle of the store more than once and sat in my car and cried.  Finding courage to finally face the people in my small town, gave my little flame of strength what it needed to keep burning.

I am going to share this next bit of my journey because it’s something that people don’t want to talk about.  Taking medication for any kind of depression is still seen as weakness, no one wants to talk about it and frankly, I am tired of hearing how perfect everyone’s life is.  The fact is, that’s bullshit.  We all have “stuff” to deal with.   Can you imagine how freeing, how supported you would feel if we weren’t so afraid of being judged and we actually shared our struggles?  So, I think it’s important that my readers know that there was a point early on in my separation I was so over medicated that I couldn’t even care for my kids.  There are actually 4 days that if  I hadn't been told after the fact, I wouldn't have known where my kids were or who took care of them.  Thankfully I have an amazing network of family and friends who came to my rescue.  After too much time in a medicated fog of fear and pain, and the realization that I was one more prescription away from being hospitalized, I decided that I needed to feel what was necessary in order to move forward.  I was fortunate and with therapy and sheer stubborness, I did not need medication to climb back into the light.  I am a minority, I realize this.  Medication has its place in people’s lives.  I am not denying that.   Accepting that I needed medication, accepting that it wasn’t working for me and accepting that I could not hide from the pain, fanned my small flame of strength into a burning fire.

I suffered from panic attacks…a lot of them.  Once I realized what they were and that I wasn’t actually having a heart attack, I could manage them.  My strength came from knowing that I could work through an attack and be ok. 

Music provided and continues to give me strength.  It puts your confusion, sadness, fears, disappointment into words that you can’t seem to find otherwise.  Music gave me strength so many times. 

Life is unscripted, which means you’re guaranteed to be thrown into situations that are hard.  They are, quite simply, a test of your heart.  At some point, these situations will lead you to finding your strength.

I had a choice to either roll over and wallow in regret or get up and find a way to heal.  I got up. I decided that enough was enough.

I know that it’s absolutely necessary to take the small steps.  If you take the small steps, with time, you’ll look back and be amazed at how far you’ve come.  Once you can see how far you’ve come, your strength to move forward builds. 

I do believe that people are strong enough to endure the struggles they are faced with. Sometimes situations force us to create strength out of scraps what’s left of us. I think everybody has the capacity to rebuild themselves after falling apart, but it’s hard and it’s painful and in the end, it’s freeing.

I finally realized my fate is in my hands. I realized I am in control of my journey.  I had the answers I needed, I just need to be still long enough and listen. The universe always gives you the answers.

Embrace the struggle. Let it shake your core. Feel scared and weak. Feel vulnerable.  Accept that sometimes you don’t know what to do. Listen to your own soul and reflect. In your fear, you will discover your strength and power. Stay strong and fight back. Don’t let the fear overtake you.  Anything worth having is definitely worth the fight.  A life full of joy and peace is worth the fight.  It won’t always be a struggle.  Just believe.

With a full heart, I am thankful for where I have come from, all I have and for the things I have yet to discover.    

Today is the day I stop looking back because I absolutely want to keep moving forward straight into the amazing life that’s waiting for me.

My bucket

After a busy, rollercoaster week, I learned a very valuable lesson from my 7 year old son.

The week had been a bit stressful…feeling tired, emotional, pulled in every direction and generally feeling sorry for myself, there was a moment that if I had chosen to ignore, would have never provided me with the clarity that I needed.

As I stood in the kitchen doing the dishes, feeling genuinely sad and lonely, wishing I had a partner standing there with me to talk to about my week, my son came up to me out of nowhere and put his little arms around me.  Because I was distracted and feeling annoyed, I continued doing the dishes.

He just stood there with his little arms tight around my waist, his head nuzzled into my back.

All I really wanted to do was get the damn dishes done and just sit for a minute, but he held on.

Finally, I stopped scrubbing and sighed.  I turned myself around to face him, thinking he was buttering me up to ask me something.  “What do you need?”  I asked him more gruffly than I really intended.

He looked at me, still with his arms tight around my waist and said, “I don’t need anything, I am just filling your bucket.” 

I have never seen him look more wise than he did right in that moment.  It was one of those moments that I am always rambling on about.  You know the ones…where the universe actually bitch slaps me into stopping what I am doing and take notice of what’s right in front of my face.

I dried my hands and sat on the kitchen floor, right there in front of the sink.  He climbed into my lap and I asked him to explain what that meant.

This is the wisdom of a 7 year old:

“Everyone has a bucket.  What you need to do is fill your bucket and someone else’s bucket with magic and love and happiness.  

When you do or say nice things for people who need it, you put a little magic in their bucket and you end up filling your own bucket too.  After a while, your bucket overflows and you have lots of good magic to give people.  Then their buckets over flow too. 

If you don’t say or do nice things for people, your bucket dries up and you end up feeling sad, because no one wants any empty bucket.  That’s not true for you because you are too nice.

If you always give your magic and nobody gives you some back, then you get tired and your bucket doesn’t get to overflow.  You always give so much magic to everyone…so much that it’s hard to keep up with your bucket.

I saw you looked sad and wondered if you were missing daddy because you always used to do the dishes together.  That’s why I thought I would come and fill your bucket. “

I just sat there in silence.  I cried, because that’s what I do and hugged him tightly.   I thanked him for filling my bucket and told him all the reasons I love him, so his bucket would overflow.

After kissing his little face all over, he declared he was “outta here because that much kissing is gross.” I remained sitting on the floor after he scrambled away and pondered the past week.  Did I fill anyone’s bucket this week, did I make an effort to pour some of my magic into anyone’s bucket? 

I have always been an open, giving person.  I don't hold back on telling people I appreciate them and respect them.  I try to do whatever I can to help someone when they need it. I am a great listener, an even better hugger and feel for other people’s struggles.   I strive to be a good person and give of myself even when I feel like I have nothing to offer.  I appreciate being the one people can rely on.  It makes me feel good.  I like knowing that if I can help, I will, giving all I have to the people I care about and quite often to people I don’t even know.  It’s just a part of me.  I laugh freely and love openly.  To quote my kids “your heart is just too good mommy.”

Still, I wondered if I had given enough.  My own 7 yr. old recognized my bucket was no longer over flowing.  Did I let the magic in my bucket stop flowing? 

It made me reflect on the past week, the past year even.  Through the turmoil and heartache, the ups and downs of our new life, I am pretty sure that the magic in my bucket suffered. 

In the midst of figuring out how to be a single mom, a single woman with a new identity, I missed some opportunities to overflow my bucket. 

How did I let my bucket run so low?  I know the answer to that question.  Avoiding life.  Plain and simple.

I often made excuses not to have family game night because quite honestly it hurt too much. 

For the first 8 months after the 4^th team member left the game, I wasn’t 100% present for movie night, day trips, hikes, trips to the park, snowball fights.  Instead I let my mind worry about finances instead of enjoying the laughter and silliness. 

I rushed through bedtime stories because I just couldn’t do it without the four us. 

I spent too much time worrying about the friends I lost along with the loss of my husband.

I allowed myself to get caught up in all the hurt, that I stopped enjoying the everyday things.

I let worry and regret consume me.

A variety of things took magic from my bucket.

With a grateful heart…I have made huge strides with my new amazing life and now that I can see how far I have come.  I stopped worrying about what could go wrong and saw what was right in my life, no matter how small.  I make a conscious decision every day to be present and live. I am enjoying my life.  Aside from the small glitch this past week, the magic in my bucket has increased leaps and bounds in the last little while.  A shared laugh over a latte, a quick kiss from my kids, a funny text, a reassuring hug from a friend.  All these things fill my bucket. 

Don’t let the magic in your bucket disappear…fill it whenever you can.  Let it overflow.  Don’t miss an opportunity to tell people what they mean to you, don’t hold back, give praise, give hugs, give kisses, say I love you, find the possibilities in every day, live with an open heart full of magic.

My kids are amazing little souls who constantly show me how appreciate the important things in life. It was a much needed reminder from my son that I must be ever conscious of how full my bucket is. 

Today is the day I continue to fill my bucket and the buckets around me.

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Free Spirit seeks patience...is it possible?

I am restless. 

Perhaps this is part of the process, part of the healing, part of the moving forward. 

I am restless to move ahead in my personal life, to stop being in this middle place.  What’s stopping me?

I am restless in my job.  I want to do more.  I want to make a difference and be recognized for what I can contribute.  Is it time for a change?

I am restless with my spiritual growth.  I am free to be, to practice, to embrace the spiritual side of myself that has been living quietly for many years.  What’s holding me back?

I am restless to do more, to give more, to be more than I am right now.  How do I allow courage to win over apprehension?

Typically I am fearless…jumping into everything I do with enthusiasm, faith and a strong will.  I am still that person, but the events, the people in my life during the past year have altered that somewhat.  I still give my whole heart and soul into everything I do and to everyone I meet.  But, I have become more cautious.  I am learning that I cannot plow forward forcefully, no matter how much I desire to. I cannot “make” things happen just because I want them to happen. I have learned that there are other forces at work that align me into the right positions at the right times. The universe always knows what I need and when I need it, regardless of how hard I try to make my wishes come true.  This is where faith comes in.  It was a lesson that I had to learn…one that I fought at first.  Then, one day I woke up and realized; it’s ok to be lead gently.  It’s ok to let the universe guide me.  It’s ok to acknowledge the gentle nudges that have brought me this far.  It’s ok to look for the subtle clues that will guide me to where I need to be. 

Nevertheless, I am restless.  Impatient for the next phase. 

I can feel the reset button close at hand, but it’s elusive at this moment.  Just out of reach.  I can feel it, its close, but not close enough to touch.  I feel ready for the next great chapter to begin, to push ahead.  Pushing, as I have learned, never works.  Perhaps the universe is gently telling me it’s not time, perhaps there are a few more things for me to learn before my new chapters are to be written.  These guide posts will appear when they are meant to appear, lighting the way for me.  Patience is required on my part.  I know this. 

I like my free spirit. I get excited about possibilities and whole heartedly appreciate life. I absorb the small moments, letting the moments be what they are.  But some of the time, I am in such a hurry to get to the “good stuff” that I miss the great stuff along the way.  I get wrapped up in the big picture, because the world seems to hold so much for me that I often have to tell myself, stop and just breathe. 

I am romantic at heart and a star gazer to the very core.  That in combination with a restless spirit makes for a difficult transition.  I am content, I am restless.  I live in the moment, I am a daydreamer.   I am practical and pensive, I use my heart as my guide.  I am responsible and reliable, I long to be free of restrictions.  I am intelligent and soulful, I am silly.  I am strong, but easily hurt.  Finding the balance is the key. 

I often have to stop and give myself a reality check and realize how far I have come and how much I have conquered. And I remind myself of the necessity of this journey.  

Nevertheless, I am restless.  Waiting for the alignment of stars.

Can a free spirit ready to burst forth and take on the world also be patient, trusting that she is exactly where she needs to be?  I think so.  My senses are wide open to the clues on how to get there. 

Today is the day that I continue to move forward, small steps, large steps, running fast and free if necessary, but always with a heart full of gratitude and faith that this journey is leading me somewhere amazing.