Its 2am.

Wide awake with words.

This blog is a bit like a long lost journal.  Every year or so, i rediscover it and crack the code. I’m notorious for forgetting my passwords.  But today, I figured it out and I’m back in.  I feel giddy. Writing makes me feel whole.

There is a compulsion to update.  The passage of time has yielded big shifts in this most recent pause in ‘blogging.’   I’ve never stopped writing, but things got messy.  Real messy.  The kind of messy that must be mucked around in before its revealed.

In March 2018 I wrote that blog about my love.  And my marriage.  Honest. Committed. And little did I know, hanging on by a thread. Or maybe even a faux thread.  My intuition knew what my mind would not accept.  It was over.

But marriages can be over and go on.  And on. And on.

And I would have been A-ok with that.  I’m a stayer.  I really believed in the ending of Love Warrior.

I begged, borrowed and got scholarship money for the $4500 to do a life changing 7 day program almost exactly a year after that post.  I knew why I was going.  But I hoped I was wrong. My whole body knew it (marriage) was over long before, but my mind and beliefs were so strongly clinging to an idea, dangerous hope and obligation.

Letting go of all that meant running head first into a wall of fear.  Path of Love was helpful for this.  Its like running with scissors into the Wall of Fear, but doing it with a whole hearted army of support and fellow scissor runners.

What happened in the container of Path of Love is secret.  In fact, its designed that way.  To really let oneself be exposed, we need deep security.  And it was there.  Lots of silence.  Coupled with lots of thrashing.  All infused with deep listening.  From the outside and the inside.  Some people describe it as years of therapy condensed into a week.  There is no hiding.

In hindsight, it was the birth, the passage way of a new being. I was reborn.

And having given birth three times and witnessed it too, birth is fucking hard work.  But, birth is also easy compared to whats to come.

I would need to learn how to live as this new me.  I came out of there exposed, raw and deeply re-connected to an inner truth that had been screaming so loud for so long.  But this connection is tender.  Its hard to maintain in our modern world.  The assault of invitations to silence your own divinity are omnipresent.

It so easy to push the easy button and choose doubt, indifference, distraction, complacency, addiction or being a victim.  And there are more options.  Its 2020, we have loads of ways to escape the uncomfortable.  Yoga and meditation are my easy button in many ways.  They take the edge off uncomfortable for me.  They hold my hand through it.  And writing.

The anniversary of that re-birth passed not long ago.  What happened between then and now is a bit blurry (and excruciatingly clear), but with nerve endings exposed and big babies on my back, the New Caledonia chapter ended unexpectedly and abruptly in August 2019.

There are many words to fill the space and the passage of time, but they are still messy, ungraceful, edgy.  They can be spoken, but not shared.  The permanency of recordation is too risky.

The marriage is over, but it also lives on.  As love does.

I was listening to Glennon Doyle speak recently. She’s a New York Times Bestselling author of a few books, including Love Warrior and a more recent exposure, Untamed.  She gets asked the question alot; “how do you know you are a writer?”  She answers it circuitously, by sharing a story about being an alcoholic but trying to deny it and later lands on her answer to the question.  “If you deeply long to write, then you are probably a writer.”

I’ve been thinking about words since 9th grade, when I discovered I could string words together to express my introverted inner terrain.  “Descriptive writing,’ as it was called was instantly nourishing.  And also terrifying.

And that is my kind of home.  Nourishing with a slight edge of scary.

And with that, I click publish.