Hi. 

How are you doing? 

It’s been a while. 

I hope you’re well.

I hope you’re seeing some sunshine amongst all the clouds these days. 

I hope you’re snuggling up with a cozy blanket and a good book or movie; with snuggly pets or kids, partners, or friends.

I hope you find joy in the autumn, in the fall. 

In the fall of the leaves from the trees. In the fall of old habits and behaviors. In the fall of fears and feelings of failure. In the fall of the very, very distant past and the lifetimes that carry the memories of your ancestors to you.

I am in a much better mental space now than I was when we were in Minnesota this past January and February. But, whatever I needed to experience when we were there was necessary. I needed to see that. I also needed to feel that. I needed to clear out a few things and find my voice, my own self. I needed to find my passion. And, I did. I did find my passion, but I’ve not shared it with anyone before. And I won’t be here either. At least not now. It isn’t for sharing right now. It is for holding onto and feeling and putting energy and intention into for myself. Definitely for myself before anyone else. It’s taken me a long time to get to the place where I am actually, truly, no fingers crossed, doing things for myself and nobody else. Taking care of myself. Voicing what needs to be said, not tolerating things I did before. 

Not to sound cliché…well to sound totally cliché actually…but life is like a river: It flows and changes over the years wearing away at sharp edges, reshaping its landscape, and changing the course of its flow. It washes away the things… people and ideas and habits that you don’t need anymore. It exposes foundations that are built on lies for what they are, it exposes foundations that are built on bedrock for what they are. It carries in new opportunities and people in its currents. It changes your boundaries, wiping some away and strengthening others, creating entirely new ones where there weren’t any before. You have to let go of the rope tying you to the dock and float on with the current of the river. You have to be willing to keep the oars inside the boat and just ride with the flow, trusting that you will find shelter and help and family when you need it.

Something I’ve known since a young age is that people can surprise you. With their masks, their hidden anger. Their lies and manipulations, and barely restrained jealousy. 

Something I’ve learned this year is that people will also surprise you…

I made some valuable family members this year. They surprised me with their openness, their joy, and their love. Their compassion and generosity. Their loyalty. Their will for me to succeed too. Their genuine appreciation for my company, without expecting anything insane in return. Their willingness to feed me and share what they have with me. Their hugs and their dogs and their cats. Their truths and their quiet wisdom.

I found the kind of love I needed. 

The kind of love that didn’t mind my (sometimes extreme) introvertedness. The kind of love that didn’t expect perfection. The kind of love that really heard me. The kind of love that asked what I needed when they made the 2-hour drive down the canyon. The kind of love that worked their ass off (possibly quite literally) when we were left in a time crunch because of things beyond our control. The kind of love that really looked at me and made me feel seen. The kind of love that pulled their shears out of retirement and fixed my weirdly growing out haircut for free because we (me and Andy the Mechanic) happened to be driving by exactly when they had a car issue on the side of a dirt road in the middle of nowhere Colorado. I bet they didn’t know they were my first professional haircut since January 2020! The kind of love that brought me soda just because and shared their mother’s recipes with me. The kind of love that makes me glad I stepped out of my comfort zone. The kind of love that I wanted to wave out of sight as they drove up and out of the canyon and headed to places beyond. The kind of love I can’t wait to see again. To share stories around a fire, to eat good food, to hug, and to laugh so hard I cry.

To those of you who I found, or who found me, this summer:

Thank you for showing me how to be joyful. Thank you for teaching me to make eye contact even when I normally wouldn’t. Thank you for bringing me laughter. Thank you for your jokes of questionable appropriateness (the best kind!) Thank you for feeding me things I would never have known to eat on my own. But mostly, thank you for showing me love.