Today my husband and I met our granddaughter for the first time.
We’ve been anxiously awaiting this baby’s arrival and our introduction for several days, so when our son called to say that she was on her way, we immediately made a plan to be on our way too.

"Who Do You Think You Are?"
The voice wasn’t loud or boisterous. It wasn’t even sinister or cruel in its tone. The message rang with a matter-of-fact intonation- as if it was making a statement more than asking a question. Its vibrato was almost--accusing.

Every year, in the week between Christmas and New Year’s, my husband and I engage in an unusual tradition. Coffees in hand, we sit down in front of our beautiful Christmas tree, enjoy some conversation about the holidays and upcoming year, and begin the debate as to when the tree and all its accompanying décor should be put away.

Recently, if you had peered through my window on any given morning, things would have appeared to be a normal close-to-Christmas scene. You would have seen me curled up in my designated spot on the couch, Christmas tree a-glow, my latest reading and writing materials by my side.

“How often do you think people walk around in survival mode and don’t even realize it?”

I don’t know if you heard it, but this past week, I heard a collective groan in our society. For some, it was a groan of relief. For others, it was a groan of disbelief. Still others groaned in fear.

Well friends, here we are. The day before what could arguably be one of the most critical elections in our nation’s history.

I have a confession to make. I am a recovering control freak. Yep. It’s true. For those of you who know me, this comes as no surprise (well, maybe the “recovering” part does).
As for the rest of you- well, now you know too. And maybe you can relate.

“My sister is furious with me!” my client had yet to reach the couch in my office before blurting out her frustration. “I swear! Sometimes? It’s like we grew up in two completely different households.”

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful city in a faraway land called JayTowne. Though situated in the middle of an intensely hot and dry climate, it was a fertile, spring-fed oasis; thick with palm trees and the best of everything the lands had to offer. JayTowne’s beauty and abundance made it a favorite vacation destination for the rich and famous and for people of means.

This past week, I had the privilege of a "live and in person" lunch date with a friend.
With all the social distancing and closures these past months (boo to the 'rona), we had previously been relegated to phone conversations and Zoom meetings. It was a precious gift to be able to spend some time together in real life.

On mornings when I’m fortunate to wake up at the lake, I participate in a little ritual with nature.

Of all the things I carried forward from childhood- one of my favorite flaws is my juvenile taste in entertainment.

I love Summer. All the smells and activities and SUN! Even in these times when our access to “all the things” has been stymied, there is still plenty of Summer shenanigans to be had.

Today I did a thing.
A thing that began 91,254 words ago. 285 pages ago. 2,007 days of starting and stopping, wrestling with fear and doubt, of distractions that pulled me into choosing what was “good” at the sacrifice of what was “best”…today I finished writing the story of all that has happened so far in the story of me. Today, I finished writing my book.

Whether in sincerity or in jest, at some point in our lives, it is likely that most of us have uttered some variation of the phrase, “That’s just how I am”.

Anxiety.

For some of us, just seeing the word can cause anxious feelings to manifest.

Anxiety, defined as a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome, in some form or another, has presented itself in all our lives.

This past week has been an emotional one. I have been mulling over in my head how to describe the events of the last several days and find myself frustrated by how many times I have typed and erased even this first sentence.

don’t know about you, but lately I have experienced no shortage of issues vying for my attention. Most of them seem to be demanding that I claim a hill to stand on and emphatically plant my flag in the soil of the side I choose.
No do-overs. No take-backs.

“What would you be willing to try if you knew you could not fail?”

The question hung in the air like a thick fog.

I knew my friend was trying to provide encouragement and motivation. I was lamenting my “stuckness” on a current project, bemoaning the pressures of being creative on demand. She was offering a friendly ear and a loving kick in the pants, prodding me to complete the project that had me in utter frustration.