A Love Song for 2017:
It’s almost here, a year that 30 years ago, I could have never fathomed living to see. 2018. Weird. I still swear it’s 1999, 2000 tops, but here we are, almost in the third decade of the new millennium. This year was one of my best ever. It was my third year of living on the road, and during it, I finished taking my body and mind back from darkness. I know that sounds dramatic, but I am living on the road for a reason, and it has nothing to do with sightseeing.
About five years ago, I realized I’d lost me almost completely. It was utterly terrifying. I decided to take me back. I say "decided" as if I had a choice. I decided the way a drowning man decides to gulp for air. And letting go of everything that defined my false image of self, the familiarity of home and routine, was part of it. I want to write a memoir about the miracle of these wandering years, but I am having trouble finding my way into the material. It will come when the time is right. Meanwhile, I continue to wander, embracing my introvert self (I pretended to be an extrovert for years, but I'm shy at my core, and I while I love to spend brief periods of time with like minded humans, I crave solitude), loving the world around me, opening my arms to miracles, reading books, writing words, being. Just being.
I began 2017 with my precious children and then flew off to teach for two life changing weeks in Sicily.
I read and taught in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, and lots of places in the U.S., meeting and loving so many beautiful humans along the way. (This is me at a reading/signing at Bookworks in Albuquerque.)
I released my third book and second novel, The Long Ride Home.
I lived in a castle for three magical months on the beautiful Rosemont College campus.
I lost 20-something pounds started loving myself consistently with yoga and running and healthy foods. (Don’t think this means I didn’t eat my fair share of cake, because I did. I am still besotted by culinary delights. Baby steps.) I got a new tatoo on my daddy's death day with my precious momma sitting beside me.
It wasn’t all roses, of course. (Is it ever?) I did my best to help some of my most beloved ones through excruciating divorces, held my momma when she cried after her cancer diagnoses, spent lots of time gutting myself, scraping the last of lies away from the kernel of my sacred heart.
And now, entering 2018, I have a clarity I have never known, a peace I couldn’t have fathomed five years ago. I’m strong. I know what I want. I know who I am. I know what my life is about. I know what I love. I know what I am willing to accept. I know what I am not willing to accept.
Last night, in the home of my dearest friend, I prayed for hours. (I do this almost every night. My time spent in the arms of the divine is the most precious part of my life.) I surrendered everything to The Mother, let go of my remaining ideas of what life "should" be and opened my arms to the wondrous unimaginable possibilities Life has in store for me. I feel such tranquility and hope.
I have no idea what 2018 holds for me (well, I know a little—I’m off to San Miguel in February, and off to France in March), but I know that I will continue to walk the highway of diamonds that is prepared for me as I wander, one magical step at a time. If I tried to name all of the people who have blessed me and made my life a pure wonder this year, I’d be writing for days, but you know who you are. Thank you. I love you. Love, love, love. I’ve seen much of what there is to see in this world, and I can tell you the only thing that matters, the only thing that fills your heart, the only thing that makes life worth living, is love.
So for me, 2018 will be the year of Love. This I know for sure.