“The stars we are given. The constellations we make.”
Storming The Gates Of Paradise
I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that it has been months since I have been here to say hello. Things happened since the spring, significant things that deserve more than a quick mention in this short post. All I am really capable of saying now is I am relieved that this summer is practically over. I can’t quite put my finger on why this time after Labor Day feels like a reset. It is still 100 plus degrees outside. The daylight hours still linger. My trees are still full and green.
But I feel pleasantly, gratefully relieved and unburdened. It’s a miracle what a little time can do.
What happened on this day fourteen years ago has a way of returning me to a better place. I am reminded of how I need to rededicate myself to the things that bring me joy, how I want to deeply feel my life. How I want to make magic out of this existence I have so generously been given. So here I am. Ready to be me again. I thank you for sticking with me and I hope this time, the significance of this day, this change of season upon us inspire you in the ways you need.
Have a lovely weekend, friends.
On what was a sad, confusing and worrisome Thursday, my mom came to visit and shower me with love and understanding in a way that only a mother can.
She brought me this beautiful children’s book.
I have been filled with dozens of ideas lately; some big and some small, but all daunting as I exist within the confines of my illness. With a heart as big as hers, all my mother wants to do is see me smile, lift me up and inspire me to stay strong.
This perfect book is about a boy who one day has an idea. This idea turns out to be a persistent little thing, demanding his attention so it may flourish with his love. The boy worries that others may think his idea is foolish or weird, but he keeps on, as his idea gives him joy and makes him feel more alive. As the boy and his idea become inseparable friends, it becomes so grand that it not only belongs to him, but belongs to the world, and makes it a better place.
As scared as I feel sometimes, I can’t forget my ideas. At this age I don’t worry about what others may think of them; but I do worry about finding the energy and resources to bring them to life. Such “adult” concerns aside, like the boy in this sweet and simple story, I have to let them in and bring me joy.
Thank you, Mom, for loving me, and for gifting me with such precious wisdom just when I needed it most.