storied

sometimes the story i want to tell here fails to come together:  ideas swirling in my head, nagging at me persistently, and multiplying in defiance.  this is one of those times.  ironically i've been thinking a lot about stories lately, the ones i tell and the ones i hear.  i've come to realize and appreciate two things.  one:  truly gifted storytelling is rare and two:  my life is rich with these rarities.  (just ask todd to tell you about the kangaroos, if you don't believe me.) 

luke wrote to me every day of his cadet basic training (aka beast).  he relayed his daily experiences, his ups, his downs, his fears, his frustrations, and his celebrations.  he carried me with him on those six weeks, telling me his story as a means to process it within himself. 

CBT 2018: Luke Slays the Beast, a first-hand account

i'm writing a new story for myself these days, though i use the word 'story' with reluctance.  the cliche, 'a new chapter,' sells it short; but 'story' suggests a false closure on what came before and a false discreteness in its beginning.  but those reservations aside, i embrace this as my story for another reason.  it is a story because i am its author.

when i sent luke the bound copy of his letters from beast, he reread his words with curiosity and the benefit of hindsight, and filled in the context of each letter for me, with what didn't make it onto the pages.  though the book tells a complete story of his summer experience, complete with plot, character development, catharsis, and resolution, he wisely sees it as the introduction to a longer story and cherishes it as such.  but for me, as his mother, his beast story serves as a metaphorical and metaphysical reminder of the power of the pen. 

ever since luke was able to speak, he was in character.  the characters changed over time and included his cartoon heroes (like bob the builder), his animal obsessions (like the tiger shark, whose costume he created with a sharpie and a cardboard fin taped to a shirt), and people he looked up to in his world (such as "the landscaping man" he embodied for hours and hours, meticulously grooming hedges and edges as a three year-old toddler.)  i wish i knew how many hours and dollars we spent on costumes over the first ten years of his life.

by middle school he'd outgrown the costumes and shifted his attention to high dollar fashion, buying and selling for a profit.  (costuming turned commerce!)  and by high school, he'd announced his intention to join our armed forces and could describe with enormous detail the vision he had for himself in that role.  he lived in that vision with a certainty and wholeheartedness that i've rarely seen in my life - never doubting that he would embody it in time.  and he was right.  a week into beast, in a letter dated july 6th, he wrote:  "I have officially received my first piece of military fatigues and it feels amazing!...I'm not just playing dress up anymore, Momma."

his words reminded me that we are method actors of the highest caliber in the stories we write for ourselves, typecasting ourselves from the mirror of our self-image.   it's easy to get that twisted... to believe our self-image is the internal reflection of how we show up in the world, but in fact, it's precisely the opposite.  we show up and star in our stories exactly as we cast ourselves, an oscar-worthy performance in a role we believe is ours with our entire heart and soul.

as the sole author of my story, i'm renewed with the fullness of my creative power.  the creative autonomy and inspiration to author a story much bigger than what my present reality may be.  and the certainty that as i embody the role i pen for myself, don the costume, and take the stage, the universe will provide the supporting cast, production, and soundtrack. 

d:  a story of abundance
b:  gifted storytelling is a family trait 
g:  beautiful stories that i'm honored to play a role in

downhill

i took a backpacking course in college, my very first semester.  i was one of two women in the class, with ten guys.  it was serendipity that my female classmate and i were also connected through mutual friends/family and were assigned rooms across the hall; and, unsurprisingly, marla became one of my very closest friends and a constant companion.  this was years before we all had pedometers and microcomputers on our person at all times, but had we, i'm certain it would document hundreds of miles together on foot, backpacking and hiking through the blue ridge mountains of western north carolina.  

Discovery 1994, Day One

after our sophomore year, marla and i both registered for a three-week wilderness course offered by the outdoor education department.  it was a rite of passage at our college, marketed as a 'transformative experience,' provoked by the emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual challenges faced in the process.  (for what it's worth, it delivered on that promise for me in 1994 and continues to run annually each and every summer.  2018 will be the 42nd class of discovery.)  i couldn't have imagined doing it without her. 

when backpacking on mountain trails, you pay close attention to the squiggly lines on your topographic map that indicate elevation, fingers crossed that your route crosses widely spaced lines, suggesting gradual ascents and descents.  but when the lines narrow, your scrutiny intensifies, for these represent the steepest terrain.  and when the mountain is tall, the path you take matters a lot.  

Discovery terrain

we learned to read the topographic clues well.  we looked at the position of the peak relative to the sun to determine the shade.  we looked at the length and frequency of switchbacks to gauge intensity and boredom.  we assessed total distance and factored in elevation change.  but most of all, the question we cared the absolute most about was 'up or down?' 

in that very first backpacking course, i recall my skepticism when our instructor told us that downhills are harder than uphills.  he explained it with a thorough discussion of proper rest-step technique for ascents and the benefit of switchback design contrasted with the continuous muscle contraction necessary for descending an incline with a load on your back and the compounded stress on joints.  not to mention, unless a body of water awaits, a valley is never as appealing as a summit.  but still i didn't believe it until i experienced it. 

discovery has been on my mind a lot lately.  though i'm not fool enough to compare it to cadet basic training, i do recall the isolation and emotional and mental struggle of the group dynamic paired with the physical challenge of three weeks of wilderness expedition (despite having my best friend suffering alongside).  i've tried to share with luke the tidbits of wisdom that have stuck with me and i hope he's taken heed.  but most of all, i keep coming back to the lesson of the downhill.

Discovery 1994, considerably later

sunday marked the midway point of luke's beast training.  it was punctuated with a lengthy phone call home, most of which was via facetime, allowing us to see each other.  this may be the most highly anticipated milestone of the six week training and it delivered fully.  leisurely, unsupervised, and candid.  for the first time, i felt as if all my questions were answered and we had caught up.  i knew where luke was mentally, physically, and emotionally at this very moment in time. 

what i hadn't anticipated was the heaviness i would feel on the other side.  despite this being the downhill, despite the confidence in his success, despite the increased familiarity with the rhythm, monday was hard.  the ache was more pronounced, the weight of what luke unloaded heavy upon me, and the absolute clarity about how long is left and how long it will feel is anything but easier.  

four days later i have my head down, one foot in front of the other, leaning on those around me and those who have gone before me.  and remembering the lesson of the downhill.  it's supposed to be harder.  it calls for careful steps, strong core, a sense of humor, and good conversation.  

d:  strength and steadiness
b:  discovery lessons passed down
g:  friendships forged in footsteps

corner

anyone who really knows me knows i'm not a worrier.  i'm not a hypochondriac.  i don't keep close tabs on my boys' whereabouts.  and i generally assume everything is going to be ok and everybody is going to be fine.  in fact, if i err to either extreme, it's laissez-faire.  

so if you'd asked me three weeks ago how luke's beast experience was going to be for me, and many did, i'm sure i said something to the effect of, "i'm looking forward to the quiet.  i'm sure he'll be fine."  the weeks leading up to his departure were stressful.  the magnitude of the commitment he was making at 18 years old weighed on him and, in turn, me.  far beyond the four years of college, luke's full-time obligation to the military is another five years and then three more after that, as in-active reserves, at a minimum.  (if he pursues aviation or any number of other advanced degrees, it will be longer.)

so, those weeks were heavy with the weight of his imminent oath, but light with any awareness of what the first couple weeks might look like for me.  i imagined that first week home, with todd visiting his girlfriend in philly and luke safely tucked into the army's bosom, as a much-needed reprieve and rest.  lots of time to read, relax by the pool, catch up with friends, and enormous productivity at work.

ah, the lovely haze of delusion... 

instead, it was more akin to the acute pain of losing a limb and what i imagine the phantom sensations must be like.  i know in my last blog i wrote about all the little ways my routine was thrown off and how overshadowing all the absence was a fierce pride.  and i don't mean to take away from that now.  i do feel enormous pride for luke and his decision and his unstoppable determination that propelled us to this place.  but the protective umbrella of pride and optimism collapsed under the weight of heartbreak by the weekend.

now i admit, i've had some codependent relationships in my lifetime.  i have.  (who hasn't?)  but the connection i have with my children and the constant thread of communication i've shared with luke especially, is something altogether different.  though todd and i are more similar in many, many ways and shared more common interests and activities throughout their childhood and adolescence, luke has always been the protector and connector.  from the time he could speak, the sun never set on a day that he hadn't checked on me.  (aside from a few days in middle school, when he was in europe.  though he did sneak one illegal call from a hotel phone, mid-week.  but i digress...) 

i spent hours over the weekend combing through thousands (no exaggeration) of photos posted from a parade that was open to the public... hoping for a glimpse of my "waldo."  (proud to report i found him - several times!)  and though the photos gave me a moment of comfort, the avalanche of questions in my mind only grew.  somehow holding him in my mind and heart, conveying telepathically, prayerfully, my love and support felt like a must-do.  as if, were i to let him slip from my forethought for even a moment, he would feel it.  irrational, i know.  there was no room for rational there.

the second week of this separation began last monday and it's around that point that i started to look for mail from him.  though i'd mailed at least a letter a day, i knew it would take a while for him to have access to mail, time to write, and then, of course, the pinnacle of reliability, our beloved usps.  but with each report of parents, some as far away as the west coast, receiving cadet mail on monday and tuesday, the lump in my throat grew.

though some helpful friends suggested that "maybe he's having too much fun to write," or "maybe he's tougher than you think," i knew with certainty that both possibilities were irrelevant.  no amount of fun or toughness would keep luke from writing to me.  but only i could know that, the way i did, and i saw both skepticism and sympathy in the consolations offered by those around me.

it was his 11th day at west point when i first received mail from him.  thursday of the second week.  they say god won't give us more than we can bear, but i do believe my breaking point was near.  i received three envelopes from him that day, with multiple days of letters enclosed in each.  he wrote to me every day, at least once, often more. and in these letters that spanned his first five days as a member of our united states army, he reported that the single hardest thing was being out of communication with me.  considering the other hard things he detailed, that told me a lot.  

and you might think that this was a huge relief, hearing from him, finally.  it was however, only a small relief.  hearing his voice in his words was wonderful, but hearing his struggle and loneliness was heart wrenching.  the peppering of references to the hard parts gave me topics to worry about, but mostly it was his heart and mental state that concerned me and underscored my own heartache.

(and i thought this would be a reprieve...)

as if the mail and waldo-hunting of photos wasn't enough to occupy my mind, parents were instructed to be on stand-by last week for that first phone call.  some cadets began calls as early as sunday of their first week.. and the window stretched all the way to saturday night, of the second week.  we were advised to keep our phones charged and ringers on and nearby from 8a to 10p, as the cadre leadership "would allow calls when training schedules permitted."

now, i know we're all addicted to our phones. it's the most ubiquitous punchline and judgement and complaint from parents, employers, teachers, partners, police, and everyone else in our modern american society.  but i offer this challenge to you:  keep your phone in your hand or pocket and be ready to answer it at any time for 7 days.  that means the bathroom, the copier, your colleague's office next door, a client meeting, hell - even the deck where you might momentarily step to water the plants.  this is absolutely a crazy-making dictate.  oh and by the way, "the call could come from any number and if you miss it, don't call back or text." 

so i'd like to report that this was no big deal.  that i carried on about my life normally and just slightly elevated my phone-attentiveness.  but that would be a lie of epic proportions.  i can't recall a time in my life where resentment and attachment were so intertwined, particularly toward an inanimate object.  it was 9:19pm on saturday night, 41 minutes before the calling window officially ended, when my phone rang with luke on the other side.  i already had tears in my eyes, imagining it wasn't happening; a pit in my stomach, frustrated with my helplessness; and a pounding headache from the stress and general lack of self-care that had consumed the week.

but then he was there.  his voice on the other end of the phone, right now, in the present tense telling me how he was doing and probing, insistently, on hearing how i was doing.  and for the first time in 13 days, since he'd kissed me goodbye on july 2nd at 7:47am, i was ok.  i was actually better than ok.  i was great.

that was two days ago.  two amazing nights of sleep ago.  a full day of my phone volume turned off.  and a work day that has shaped up to be fairly productive and focused.  i miss him like crazy still.  i mailed him a letter this morning on my way into work.  i've even checked the facebook page once today (as opposed to dozens) and flipped through a few new photos, wondering if i'd see him.

but, i'm tentatively reporting that i've turned a corner. 
my mind has allowed itself to set him slightly off center, stage-right.
still visible, still in my peripheral even, but ever so slightly moving closer to the wings.
one-third of the way through, i'm starting to create a little space for myself.

d:  strength and peace
b:  i know my sons
g:  they know me  [sweet evidence:  luke closed one letter from last week with the charge, "be at peace, momma," and todd and i cried together when we read it.] 

independence-s

here i am three days after leaving luke at west point, two days after delivering todd to his girlfriend for a week in philadelphia, and a day after the 4th of july.  independence day seems to be a theme.  i dressed for the occasion:  may as well own this shit, i thought.  

back at work today my head was in the clouds.  working through several days of email backlog and trying to set up priorities, tasks i can usually do in a flash, felt like trudging through waist high mud.  one. laborious. step. at. a. time.  thankful for that small voice in my head reassuring me that tomorrow is friday and then a weekend to reset awaits. 

i find myself checking my phone regularly and habitually, expecting to see a message from luke, but then remembering.  

i find myself a bit tentative with decisions that i'd usually consult him on, like what meals to select for next week's dinners.  

and i have a running monologue of funny and/or useful things that i'd typically say to him at the end of the day or in one of the many conversations we had throughout the day.  it's these little ways that i miss him most.  

but, juxtaposed beside those tiny moments, or perhaps overshadowing those tiny moments like an umbrella, is a fierce pride and optimism about our individual independences.  

d:  celebration of independence

b:  i am ready 

g:  a timely holiday cutting the week short 

choreography

west point has been training our army’s junior officers for over 200 years now, providing both a superb college education and shaping these headstrong, driven young men and women into military leaders, able to both function as a unit, part of a large and often maddening machine, as well as inspire those under their command to do the hardest and most frightening things, when everything in them screams, ‘no!’  

so, it probably shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to witness the efficiency and effectiveness of the in-processing of 1200+ incoming new cadets on R-Day.  but, what can i say, my experience with government processes has never been so smooth - and i admit, i was impressed. 

good-bye

the day started with a long line to check in; a long line that moved so quickly, i was wishing we hadn’t been so prompt.  ushered into an auditorium with 50 cadets and their families, we settled in for the briefing; a briefing so brief it was over before i even looked around.  within three minutes of taking my seat, a cadre member announced that we had 60 seconds to say goodbye, and we leapt to our feet to embrace.  a minute later, families were being steered out a back door while the new cadets exited stage left...and as we departed the auditorium in a blur of tears and haste, another group of 50 cadets was already assembling behind us. a second podium awaiting their too-brief briefing, as soon as the door closed on my heels.  

choreography, i thought. 

the day concluded with a parade across the Plain, all 1230 new cadets assembled by company and flanked by their cadre leadership.  the morning’s disheveled teens were already transformed into a (fairly) cohesive unit.  heads shaved, uniforms fitted, and marching in unison and formation.  

as a mom, all i really wanted was to spot my luke. to lay eyes on his face and discern if he was ‘ok.’  whatever that might mean.  a parent seated behind me found her son first and started sobbing.  my heart was in my throat as i scanned and searched.  tears welled in my eyes, at the magnitude of the assembly.  i mean, i struggle to get the boys and myself organized against a dinner plan, and they had over a thousand strangers (mostly teens!) organized in columns and rows and synchronized movement. 

choreography. 

i finally spotted him on the exit march (thanks to great binoculars) and then identified him in a few photos from the same angle (thanks to todd snapping all the companies, just in case.)  i noted his serious, but stoic face.  his posture looked weary, but his movements were deliberate; and i exhaled for the first time in 12 hours.  

parade on The Plain, Foxtrot company

but today, as i watched my 5th or 6th video of the same event i had a front row seat at, i had an aha moment. somehow in the heightened emotion of the moment, i had overlooked an important detail.  a small, sharp, right turn.  it doesn’t seem like that could possibly be important, but it was. in that instant, rows became columns and columns became rows.  and that simple recognition on my part brought clarity.  where i’d searched and scanned photos in frustration all day, suddenly i could spot him in a blurry mass.  

choreography. 

in so many ways lately i’ve been awed by choreography. both literally and figuratively the universe has masterfully steered my steps and the steps of those around me to the highest good - sometimes despite my own clumsiness or lack of rhythm.  the day after my hardest goodbye, i find myself in an unexpected place of peace and joy; for as i look around i see divine choreography has surrounded me with love and support. 

d: a similar peace and joy, felt through love and support, for luke

b: two letters in the mail to him already 

g: clear recognition of beautiful choreography

tribute

it's amazing how many things i've learned from my boys, despite the prevailing notion that parents are the teachers.  maybe it's our family trait of obsession around the things we pursue, maybe it's my personal addiction to information...but whatever the cause, i am grateful for the unexpected ways they have expanded my world. 

one of my pet peeves in contemporary vernacular is the expression "humble brag."  aside from the obvious oxymoronic quality, it implies that expressing pride in oneself or another is something that needs a disclaimer.  and it probably goes without saying, but i'll say it anyway, i strongly disagree with that attitude.  

here's where i could let myself go down a tangential path about how the word "brag" is defined with the word "boastful" and how the word "boastful" is defined with the descriptor "excessive" - as in "talk with excessive pride," effectively leaving no word in the english language for speaking with pride about oneself that isn't tinged with negativity.  but i won't. 

so, without further ado, i make no disclaimers for the prideful tribute, a wholehearted brag, that is about to unfold.  

despite having several veterans in my family and social circle, i knew little more about our military's service academies beyond their existence and where they're located.  when luke announced to me, as a rising high school freshman, that he was planning to attend one, i gave them a cursory glance; noticed that the acceptance rate was in the single digits; and bit my tongue.  

well, that's probably not true.  i don't remember exactly what i said, but i'm sure it was something helpful along the lines of, "then you'd better keep that goal in mind from day one and study hard..."  i do know that i was hoping he would expand his goals to include some more reasonable options and walking the fine line between supportive and realistic.  (it's uncanny how sensitive teenagers are to that balance - a hairpin trigger that i inadvertently pulled more than once over the past four years.)  

two years later, after tucking todd into his freshman year at college, i rolled up my sleeves and started my personal service academy 101 education.  while i had some fuzzy idea that the process was complex and lengthy, the magnitude of both were eye-opening.  i liken it to The Amazing Race meets the DMV.  

luke opened his candidate files in his junior year with his application to the academies' summer leadership programs.  he applied to both USMA and USNA's summer programs and was accepted to both.  those applications were the academies' first look at luke's academic, athletic, and extracurricular qualifications and though SLE (the summer program) is more recruiting than culling - the selection is still competitive.     

luke spent the first full week of his 2017 summer break at West Point and his second week at the USNA, flying directly from new york to baltimore.  he then came home for a day before spending another week at Georgia Boys' State, an invitation-only, mock-government program that is looked favorably upon by service academy admissions.  (luke reported that the air conditioned dorms and casual, camp-like atmosphere was a welcome recovery after spending two weeks getting a taste of military life.)  

though the college application process for any high school senior is crammed with essays and deadlines, the service academies take this to a new level.  the application opens in stages to candidates, evaluating at each stage, and passing through only the candidates that meet minimum qualifications.  

there's an extensive questionnaire on activities, course work, accomplishments - similar to what you'd expect for any highly selective school.  these documents all have to be digitally verified by school administrators before they are accepted, preventing candidates from exaggerating accomplishments or activities.  teacher, faculty, and athletic evaluations are required and, unsurprisingly, consist of very specific leadership focused questions.  standardized test scores and preliminary transcripts are required at this stage, as well.  

the next stage of the application includes the essays and a physical fitness test.   the fitness assessment is a hurdle of its own and though the final application deadline runs well into the winter of senior year, the scores must be submitted with congressional nomination applications in early fall. 

oh, i didn't mention that, did i?  in addition to meeting the academy standards, all appointees of our United States military academies must have either a congressional, presidential, or vice presidential nomination. (there are a few other nominating sources, but they are hard to obtain and even harder to use, so i'll spare you...) and, of course, those are competitive too. 

so, at the same time the candidates are completing their multi-staged applications for each academy (no, they don't share applications between the branches...), they are also completing applications for both senators, their district representative, and the vice president - at a minimum.  luke also applied for, and received, nominations from the department of the army/navy for his JROTC participation in an honor unit.  these applications are each individual to the nominating source (yes, each senator and each representative has their own application) and each requires essays, transcripts, evaluations, test scores, and a handful of other unique, random pieces and parts (such as attendance records or fitness test scores.)  each nominating source also has their own timeline for applications, but candidates are all competing for 1 of 10 nominations allowed by each member of congress.  (the VP nominations are allocated differently, but i will spare you those details.)  applicants are invited for committee interviews in the late fall and, at least in georgia, learn of their nomination status in december.  

that's not the whole story about nominations though.. it's really the tip of the iceberg.  every appointee must have a nomination - it's a law or something.  and though the congress-folks can each give ten nominations, they only have one actual appointee slot per year.  (with the exception of the 4th year - because they can technically have 5 appointees at each academy at a time. so, every four years, they get 2 slots.)  so, they nominate 10 candidates to fill 1 slot and the best candidate on that "slate" is offered an appointment, provided they clear all the other qualification hurdles established by the academies. 

but even that doesn't quite cover the nomination process, because some nominating sources designate a "principal nominee"  which means that person gets the appointment over the other nine, as long as they meet the minimums.  so, a slate could have a principal nominee that's technically less qualified, but if they are designated as principal, the academies are legally bound to accept them.  but, let's just set that aside.  most congress-folks submit a "competitive slate" and allow the academy admissions process to identify the most qualified.  

okay, so i've covered the application, essays, evals, CFA (fitness assessment), nomination applications (and associated requirements), standardized tests, and transcripts.  after all of those are processed and the candidate is deemed to be qualified, the academy orders an extensive medical and vision exam, including a careful scrutiny of applicants' medical history.  tragically this is where many candidates are disqualified, as the medical standard for academy admission is much higher than that for the service branches overall.  luckily, luke was not.  

and after all of the boxes have green check marks and the application is complete, the hardest part of the process begins.  the interminable wait.  unlike most colleges and universities, there's no "decision date" to look forward to.  appointments are offered on a rolling basis, with some as early as the fall of senior year for highly qualified and proactive candidates (those are usually offered on the condition of receiving a nomination, as nomination slates aren't due until the January or February of senior year) and some offers of appointment as late as early May.  between November and May, each academy will send out offers of appointment to fill a class of roughly 1200.  

waiting is pretty terrible, no matter what.  but waiting for something that can happen in five minutes, tomorrow, or months down the road is a very particular type of agony.  i think i had a lump in my throat for months.  literally months.

to break down the numbers a bit more... about 15,000 applicants start admission files.  about 5,000 of those receive nominations.  about 2200-3200 are considered fully qualified by the academies.  and about 1200 join the corps with appointments. (obviously more offers are extended..but i don't have that number handy.) 

and just one more point i want to make, as an underscore to the enormous amount of effort it takes to simply apply to an academy: most, if not all, applicants are also completing college applications to a number of back-up schools and competing for national ROTC scholarships (with extensive application processes of their own, including another fitness test and more interviews.)  

it probably goes without saying, but if you think the application process is intense, you wouldn't believe the work that came before it. 

so, if you made it to the bottom of this epic exposition, you likely already know what i'm about to say.  the waiting-lump in my throat disappeared in a blink and has been replaced by a very different throat lump as my luke, my very own, sweet, baby son, is a mere 30 days from joining his fellow class of 2022 cadet candidates at the United States Military Academy at West Point.  and i couldn't be more proud.  

 

d:  unwavering belief in self, as demonstrated by my baby

b:  he gets his obsessive nature from me

g:  the opportunity to proud-brag in a well-deserved tribute

precipice

it's an interesting time in my life.  luke, my baby, leaves home in a mere 52 days.  though todd will be home for the summer, easing the transition, a precipice awaits.  my handy pocket webster's defines precipice concisely as a steep cliff.  perhaps that sounds dramatic to those of you with already empty nests, but i chose the metaphor carefully. 

for the first time in my adult life, i will live alone.  save mega and mouse, i'll be responsible for only my meals, my mess, my whereabouts.  my time will be entirely my own.  what that will feel like or look like, i can only imagine. (and believe me, i do.) 

when i do imagine it, when i allow my mind to place me in this uncharted territory, the emotion that overwhelms me is impossible to capture in a word.  but it is remarkably similar to what i've experienced at the edge of a precipice.  

adrenaline, tinged with fear.  accomplishment, flush with pride.  awe, welling with gratitude.  

and, pause.  a precipice is nothing else if not a pregnant moment of pause.  

as i peer out across the landscape yet to explore, and look back at what i've traversed, my knees are shaky and my heart rises in my chest.  for fear of the edge's danger, i sit down... and in the simple, protective pause, a new emotion surfaces: peace.  

though the uncertainty and mystery remain, though i have only my imagined view of what lies ahead, one clear truth persists.  one of the many truisms my mom conveyed in my young adulthood comes to mind: wherever you go, there you are.  and though at the time, she meant it as a reminder that i couldn't run away from myself, twenty years later it connotes a different meaning.  

no matter who else is there, or isn't, i will be.  iyanla vanzant described it as being with yourself, rather than by yourself in her 1998 bestseller "In the Meantime."  when i read that then, in my mid-twenties, it seemed forced and eye-roll-worthy, but now the concept resonates with me. 

and i find the promise of that to be reassuring and the pregnant pause of the next few months to be a time of deliberate creation.  a portal to my passions, those yet undiscovered and those merely under-pursued.  

d:  crystallized memories of these precious last days with luke

b:  passionate is one of my best qualities

g:  self-entertaining is a close second