Happy Birthday to Me

It was still dark when I got out of bed this morning. Just the barest hint of light to the eastern horizon let me know that the sun was starting to wake. I turned the burner on under the kettle, filled my tea bag with red rooibos and hibiscus flowers, and went to get ready for my morning adventure.

The thermometer read a cool 44° F, and looking out the window the water seemed to be moving a bit more than the “calm” windspeed my weather app claimed should allow.

The clock on my phone read 5:45 a.m. when I stepped off bus and headed down the rocky trail towards the beach. As I pulled the tarps off of the paddleboards, I looked around for Castiel in the hopes that she might come down and join me. She has come out with me a few times this summer; tucked securely into my life jacket, taking everything in with her natural feline curiosity. This time, however, she was nowhere to be found. Almost like she knew I didn't need her this morning.

I was surprised by the warmth of the water as I walked out into it and slipped onto my paddleboard. This morning was not a workout. It wasn't a day to stand up and get across the lake as fast as possible. It was a day to sit in stillness.

A morning on the lake to be alone with my thoughts and myself, in the peace and quiet of the dawn. To say good morning to Agatha, one of the sleeping giants that lay in these mountains. To watch as these mountains turn pink, then gold, and then yellow and bright as the shadows disappear.

To say good morning to the sun as it rises up above the mountain tops and takes a little chill off the air. To look back on the last year of my life with a clear mind and see all that I've accomplished, and all the good that has happened for my family. All the people I've met and the friends and family I've made.

The last year has been full of changes. Some were significant, like Connor becoming an adult and moving off the bus and into an apartment with his sister.

Some changes were necessary in order for us to be able to follow our own path, like moving out of Minnesota after living there our entire lives.

As I sat there watching the sun come up I knew that no matter what this turn around the sun brings me, I've got nothing to worry about.

I've got Andy. I've got my kids. I've got my Castiel. I've got my family and friends. I also have this thing called belief in yourself and what you're doing, and knowing that you are exactly where you're supposed to be.

At least for right now.