It Begins...

They say this winter was the coldest in over a hundred years.  New Yorkers battled snowstorm after snowstorm, sub-freezing temperatures, and long periods of unrest under slate grey skies. It was difficult to find a spark of optimism or a promise of hope in the clouds, in the air, or even in our hearts most days.

In other words Ms. Nature was a real Mother.

Even under San Diego skies, I would have had a Dickensian winter. I faced the end of my marriage, my subsequent move, and several epic career shifts.  Forget Dickens, this winter was more likely written by Lemony Snicket.

When these things collide, we are presented with opportunities.  The way I saw it, my options were as follows:

1. Assume a fetal position and murmur nonsensical sing-song phrases whilst rocking back and forth, crying.

2. Return to the things I love: things I gave up because I got "busy," things that centered me, made me feel like myself again (writing is one of them). Get back out in the world, find my footing, and figure out what I must become.

3. Drink. Heavily.

Over achiever that I am, I'm proud to say I attacked all three options. The fetal position only lasted about an hour.  I got bored, called my best friend, and he was at my door in forty minutes. I buzzed him up in tears, then thought it would be funny if he walked in and found me with my head in the oven.   The realization that I had enough life inside of me to think of such a hilarious (albeit dark) prank was reassuring; finding a creative/comedic impulse in a moment of despair is extremely comforting to me.  It means I'm not too far gone.   I answered the door giggling through my tears. I believe my friend called it a "Saint Tickle-Me-Elmo's Fire" moment.  Playing Rob Lowe to my Demi Moore, he lit some sage and a cigarette, handed me the former, and opened a bottle of champagne.  We promptly set about expelling the ghosts of sadness and accomplishing option #3.

Well, it's June, and I made it through my winter of discontent. This is, in large part, thanks to the greatest group of humans who ever walked the earth: my friends. There are about a dozen people who showed up for me when I was a fraction of myself. They became the sum of all my parts, far greater than I was (or am) alone.  They put me back together. If Humpty Dumpty had this posse instead of  King's horses & men, he'd be sitting on walls all over the place.

As it always does, the sun has reignited, fine weather has returned, and Life, in it's infinite wisdom has shown the way, clear of obstacles, to happiness (Hint: it was behind door #2).  My goal for the next three months is to say yes to people, experiences, and adventures that feel good.

After a long winter of "Oh HELL no" it's time for The Summer of Yes.


Thanks for coming along,
Anne