they’re filming a tv show in my tiny town [poem]

I’m not the only one who gawks at the scene
Handful of heads and cell phones below
Local photographer in charcoal appears
There will be others

My office, the room where I do all the things
the crying, the writing, the yoga, working, planning, painting
top floor of the old state bank. 1911 was it?
The center of this tiny town — Coleman
in the center of the pretty palm — Michigan
‘bloom where you are planted’
a sign reads in my window

Restaurant Impossible — a television show with goals
$10,000, a Hollywood crew in black, catering van out back
save the kafe on the korner
where friends & family gather
across the intersection from my space

36 people, the chosen, line up aside sun-scorched gray
vinyl siding. everyone is white, makes sense —
the crew is not, Hollywood — F-350 cab with box
truck, California plates, California people
in this tiny town, waiting to put dinner on the screen

Slate Suburban cruises by, hand in princess wave
a parade, past the dozens smiling
woman in lime flaps a hand
Is she happy to be seen?

Facebook event alerted of the news
I knew what I would do — watching, my son playing. Writing with a carbonated Michelob
noise-cancelling earbuds — good friends

Handsome state trooper pulls up
wait, a local cop. Cough, well done, tiny town
smiles at the just-arrived body guard in an Equinox
tinted windows. Two dozen people left standing.
Someone should bring these people water, chairs.

Did you know the Dollar General was closed today?
It’s the only place to go.
Woah. Two minutes later, did you know what arrived?
Chairs — enough for the ladies — and water bottles
Thank you thank thank you thank you

My best friend drives by, white Silverado
‘In God We Trust’ on the windshield
god — I love this tiny town. Did you know
last weekend, the annual ‘Night of Thunder’
our first in three years, my first in decades
it feels good to be back

The final extras now inside. Traffic cones are gone.
A crew member in skinny jeans pours leftover liquid down our drain
crushes bottles — love the California style — wonder
when will we all do the same

Perhaps this is travel enough —a perch
for people watching

Last time I watched a film crew, the desert
western Rajasthan, a Chinese team and Jackie Chan
dark-skinned extras, terrorists with dummy machine guns
on the steps of my renovated hippie style yellow home
a corner bastion in an 800-year-old fort
below me were the sleeping quarters
for elephants. My kitchen window over three feet thick.

India was incredible.
In its own super sweet way
so is this tiny town.
I’m grateful to be here

Good luck, Leah’s Korner Kafe
Looking forward to pancakes soon
You, too? Check them out.

is this the eye [poem?]

dog died
father lied
you’ve been asked to walk alone

guruji
yellow home
charras in the window

forest trees
come with me
banyan draped so heavenly

scooter ride
want to die
went so fast around the curves

feet in window
butt on seat
fingers barely find the keys

breath

wonder when
I’ll find my feet
again

Many times I’ve sat to write. The journal is better these days —
pen flows without promise
of a reader
or two.

It’s amazing what it’s like to not want to be seen.

I remember what it was like ‘wanting’ to be seen. The loudest, the proudest, the best at this and that… It felt good to be seen.

And then, it did not feel good to be seen.

Right now, it does not feel good to be seen, perhaps because it feels people have expectations from me. To be wise. To be helpful. Or at least, to be cheerful.

I don’t want to be cheerful.

I want to paint smears of ochre yellow, purple, black, white across large canvasses. I want to paint foreheads, and cheeks, and chins. I want to paint people not smiling.

I want to paint the people, not smiling.

I am not smiling. If I am, I am likely not sober. It’s shitty. But it’s true, these days.

I’m often not smiling.

I am crying.

I am painting reflections on canvas.

They are often missing eyes, and nearly always missing
the likeness.

I am nearly always missing
the likeness
of what was
when I used to be what was it that I used to be?

Nevermind because right now, I don’t want to smile
because that would not be fair. There are so many people
not smiling.

I am one of them now.

And now, I have no words to offer you.

But I can paint you some ochre lips.

Would you like that?
I would
like that.



thanks for not mentioning the toast [poem]

slipped right off the top
twice toasted toast on sandstone yeti lid
new style, spillproof
she knows herself well

the toast was not immune to
her carelessness
no safeguards
shielding the son
yet another loss

chock it up to being rushed, she would say
no one said anything
which made the mother pleased

she ran back into the house
grabbed a granola bar
returned outside
strapped the son into seat
she shuffled to hers
slurped milky weakened coffee
drive

he looked out the window
at freshly fallen
toast
and snow

they raced down the road
together
a bit too fast
toward preschool

I felt taller than you [poem]

When I faced you
daughter to father, in the kitchen
I felt taller than you
just like I did as a teen
when I lept for you down the stairwell
and when I threw my hands
around your neck, near the pear tree.

I never meant to hurt you
Even though, I did.

As the years have passed
and the strength within us both
has diminished, my anger has turned
to sorrow, not so much for my actions
but for the giant pain in this life
that seems to have left
no other way, but to anger, and defend.

Bing Crosby plays in my ears
as your low voice resounds against the walls
at Christmas, and on Sunday afternoons
trying their best
to absorb whatever joy they could.

Your hair is so much lighter now,
your large body more round, less firm.
I watched you slice tiny shrimp into pieces
at the third birthday luncheon for my son.

I know you’re afraid, and I wish you weren’t
so fearful of the death we all know is coming.

Your own father dying as he choked
on some trivial piece of food from a recliner
in his living room, his wife and son bearing witness
fighting against the truth of that moment.

Why must we always push back at
reality that is before us? Me, you, all of us
in struggle against the harsh reality

we see.

crabmeat chuckles, finally [poem]

as the sticks of crabmeat
slippery from themselves and the water
I rinsed them with in a swirl
slipped across the plate, one landed
all by itself on the center metal ridge of
the steel two-basin sink.
there it was, a shaft off pollock and
egg whites, dressed as king crab
wet and floppy near a spongey yellow towel
I chuckled, the joy in this moment profound
all of life being so silly
and just fine exactly as it is
clarity dressed in leg-style meat
that i will heat in a small pan on an
inexpensive gas stove in a house i do not own
a better choice than the microwave, but if 
I’m being honest, I don’t really care much 
how my food is heated at the moment. 
I’m just so glad
I laughed, and that I will eat it
with a toddler son at my side, who won’t
and we will laugh 
about slippery meat and
slippery spaghetti and
slippery white mushrooms and
how damn slippery our lives together thus far
have been
and I am so happy to hear my chuckle
and his

I will listen and I will believe you. — a New Year’s resolution and a promise to a little girl.

As her blue ocean eyes peered into mine of bluish green, her blonde curls falling beside her face the way mine did when I was her age, I told her “If there’s anything you ever need to say, and you don’t feel safe or sure to tell anyone else, you can always tell me. I will listen to you, and I will believe you. No matter what.”

My parents never told me that, and they never did that. Listened, believed unconditionally, helped make sense of it all, and then act appropriately.

I am not this young girl’s parent. I am her aunt, but I did see her come into this world and that moment was one of my life’s most profound. Those early months were magic. I sang her to sleep some days with mantras. I felt her beating heart on my own while she curled her legs up to her chest and nestled into a similar shape on my own limbs and torso. There is a shared experience between us star children.

I worry about her and her ability to be listened to, and to be believed. I worry often that she won’t find ears for her truths.

As I dig for clues behind the current rage and contempt in my heart at the cruelty in this world, and the pain and problems and their denial to be seen within people who share my own blood, I find a deep yearning, simply, to be listened to, and to be believed.

I find that much of my harder to feel emotions are covering a deep despair over not ever being unconditionally believed. And if I am not believed, then am I really seen? How could I have had worth in the eyes of those who are supposed to hold me unconditionally, if I was not listened to fully and then loved no matter what.

I realize, as a child, that it was not safe in my world to share my full truth. People were uncomfortable if they knew the sadness, the abuse, the reality, of my life. It was only safe to share my victories, not my losses. So, I created a lot of wins, perhaps, just to have a voice. Being better than is far superior to being real. (I’m so sorry for those I hurt when I was trying to be better than you.)

By not sharing the darkness of what I was experiencing, I allowed the storytelling of shame to begin within my hiding mind. Shame grows wild in the secrets and stories we keep to ourselves. (Brené Brown can fill you in on that if you’re not up to speed.)

Looking back, shame was all around me as a kid. It was in the denied depression and resentments of my mother, the overeating overworking over-angry high standards of my father. It was in my blood. And it filled my household.

There were moments when efforts were made, despite its presence, for genuine redemption (glory glory hallelujah) but were covered quickly with a round of “tell us about your perfection, kid number 2” at the post-Sunday church Chinese buffet.

I saw shame also in the sad eyes of some of my friends, in the lower middle class houses I passed in a school bus. My family’s house looked nicer than most on the outside, with its big weeping willow tree out front and the pony out back, but the farmhouse was cluttered, and unfinished (for as long as I lived there) on the inside.

Instead of finding ways to understand, I found ways to escape. Turns out, I wasn’t alone.

There were so many of us sharing our selves with each other, with our harvest season joints and our fifths of very bottom shelf vodka purchased at the Cherry Lane, with a passing round of cigarettes to burn holes in our arms that would scar circles forever. I felt belonging and believed in that badge akin to a polio vaccine wound. I wore it proudly. I had my tribe. And then I overdid it, everything, and saw the havoc I could create with enough charisma and a willingness to please. But it felt good to escape nonetheless. So I kept on… and perhaps still do.

I can’t fault anyone for being who they are, and for having only the tools they have. I know well enough that we are all a product of where we come from and the emotions of those around us when we’re young. But… I can be wiser than that, and choose differently than that, if I try hard enough. I fear I’m not trying hard enough. But I am trying.

So I told that little girl, with the ocean eyes that look into my own with a unique blend of sadness and spirit and a bucket of absolutely horrible beauty behind them, and I tell her that she will always be believed.

If there is ever confusion in her mind of why she feels a way that seems different from what she sees acted out around her, or if she is hurt, or forced, or wild with expansion… I want her to know she can share it without fear of being shushed.

I wonder what could have been if I felt safe to share.

I don’t want that little girl to grow into a woman who wonders what could have been. I don’t want her to impress everyone. I don’t want her to be unsafe in her body, so unsafe to feel what she feels that she hides any abuses passed her way even after an accomplice dies. I hope that she never has those stories to tell me.

I know the blood that raised me also raises her, in part, so I must try to show her another way than denial and avoidance and forced perfection.

I will listen, and I will believe you.

And I hope that she doesn’t need me in the end. I hope that she has that at her home, where should always be her most safe place. But if not, I’ll be there. Just like I try to be, insist on being, for my own son.

And for anyone who needs to be believed, I am here. My resolution for 2021 is to find more ways to listen. There are other bodies out there needing ears for their truths.

love is love [poetic teaching]

what is it, you say
(baba ram dass), about

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE?

when we’re in the presence
of UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
our hearts experience joy and expansion, which
is UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
and within experiencing it, we’e free to be
as WE NATURALLY ARE, LOVE

and so, you say
(baba ram dass)

THE HEART will lead your authentic
EXPANSION if we allow it to
SEEK ITSELF over and over and over
AGAIN SEEKING, finding itself
THE SOURCE

so then, you say
(baba ram dass)

in the presence of
UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
our SELF is experiencing its SELF
WE ARE FULLY ALIVE
WE ARE WITHIN LOVE
WE ARE LOVE
LOVE IS LOVE

so then, you say
(baba ram dass)

(baba ram dass) two things, maybe three

1) Let yourself BE IN UNCONDITIONAL LOVE

2) Know the LOVE is also YOU and ENDLESS and INFINITE and is is what is, so just RELAX

3) Don’t attach LOVE to an object or experience. Once it has been felt, ever, really felt between people, animals, places, situations, EVER, it is ALWAYS a part of YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS. BE GRATEFUL FOR THE LOVE AND let it go with GRACE. Period.

einstein demands the new way of thinking, which tibetans used to know, jaar [poem]

and i quote
rameshwar das
in polishing
the mirror, quoting
albert einstein

a new type of thinking is
essential if mankind is to
survive
and move
toward
higher levels

YES! 100 AHO snaps~

what we’ve been doing
over and over the up down up down chatty kathy kitty katty nonsense
looping our minds on loop
will never work
has never worked

let it go, new path takers
reflect for a moment

did tibetans
find the
way OUT of it
the suffering, the madness, the cycles of nature, #thehorriblebeautyofitall
by thinking, the same way?
no. they did not.

let it go, new path takers
reflect for a moment

can you, can we
find the
way OUT of it
the suffering, the madness, the cycles of nature, #thehorriblebeautyofitall
by thinking, the same way?
no. i we you can not.

so, alas

look around you, the laws, the customs, the what the fuck is ok by law now?
and what are we doing in every instance of taking and making
if not to be creating more unease
predicaments within which we enslave our simple selves
all our cells and our hands and homes

to whom do we hand the power
and preciousness
of our sacred human gift
to choose?

the invitation is here
can we please all level up
if not all, what about you, and me
for all, to restore the cosmic harmon(e)y

gyan only knows what happened to the essence of einstein, or the insighted awareness of baba ram das, or the actual souls within the actual fully earth-realized and conscious united beings of ramana maharshi, or paramahansa yogananda, or jesus christ, or buddha, or my baby buddha before he takes on the colors and the pains and the human condition of man.

i offer myself and any light that i can find
to you all

surrender
a new way of thinking is here, jaar

(hafiz)
oh thou who are trying to learn the marvel of love
through the copybook of reason, i am very much afraid
you will never see the point

LIBERATION on his back as blood sprayed on the snow [poem]

LIBERATION on his back as blood sprayed on the snow

LIBERATION
blocky scripted ink handmade by a cousin
addict with a hella
shaky hand
wife in wheelchair, near vegetables, eating
macaroni and cheese mush life no thanks nah man i’m good give me that pill yo?

LIBERATION was inked forever on him and them and her, too, she knew

intuition spoke more than anyone did, and yet

she did not listen, a voice in her
chest heart caving in feeling what she felt
knowing and truth and foreshadowing fear in her bones

she let it go and so she let him go but she was angry and said no that wasn’t how
she let it go

drove back to him after he’d taken the pills from her bottle and replaced with zantac, crazy drove to the stop sign on clark, said nah thanks man, i’m good give me that pill yo?

home she was home and she was there and so was he and she looked inside that bottle and did you see
was gone
as was her credit card, that cousin told her, somehow truth rested also in
his eyes in pain

she walked into that stanky house and told him that she knew
card was gone, he used it, didn’t he, of course he did, proof she had
no he didn’t deny deny deny deny what happened next was one of the early conscious awakenings

black holes of her life

she moved away from him, denied his merciful requests for more more more
was angry and righteous and right and rightfully so but yet
he was hurting

she got to the car before he did, he begged her not to do what she was about to do
she drove fast, he blocked the car, said please baby don’t go, please
she drove

mind was awfully big and powerful pushing her to stop the car and go

intuition spoke more than anyone did, and yet

this time she listened, a voice in her
chest heart caving in feeling what she felt
knowing and truth and foreshadowing fear in her bones

fast forward cannot relive the retelling not here not now not my painful point of view

yet there we were
LIBERATION on his back as
blood sprayed on the snow

she didn’t trust her voice, the wisdom
the first time around, fool, get it right
could have saved you some time and some pain, (wo)man
would have died right then and there

intuition stopped her from letting him go
there, then, now, let it go go go go go go go go go go go
with the blood spray on the snow

hard to feel it all again, really don’t want to, cannot, not capable, it is
really, too much

she drove back to the door, the snow was deep
piled so so high, too deep to get them help
february is a hard time in michigan

i cannot tell it now, i will wait to finish this one

so here we are
LIBERATION on his back as
blood sprayed on the snow…

[tbcontinued…]

shirodhara: an ayurvedic oil awakening [poem, and embodied request]

drip
drip
drip drip
drip drip
drip drip drip streammmmmmmmm

warm oil streams across my face
pours from a pot above my head
falls an inch below my hairline, just above my eyebrows

running softly across my skull
rushing rivers to my temples
swimming in a swirl of curls
oil pools beside my head, towel on my hair

third-eye sleeping safely, kept under iPhone lock and key

life nectar continues to caress, sweet sweet fragrant oil
thinking momentarily fades away, sweetness in to take his place
simple sweetness, supple powers, of the lady with the oil
inner knowings wait for outer silence sweet sweet sweet

muddled being, struggling with decisions, none
crying heart, lamenting heart, learning not to love, but love
how to disappear and live again, shirodhara oil can you also come

minutes, hours, lives pass by as truth and grace remain
to hold supple hands of a woman in her prime, within an oil awakening

a man with a grill beside a colorado creek [poem]

his eyes amber green orange and yellow
his mouth soft and brown
so shiny as he spoke to me from behind a grill
El Salvadorian golden teeth, german nose
hooked with a mole on the right, a mirror to mine

speaking hot and dry along the colorado creek
telling me of magic, he’s painting us a story
of a gardener, our age, was cursed with visions, feelings and sensations
of burning, like flames, on his handsome skin

for 30 days, he willed the gods to save him
sat under a waterfall, pounding in his mind, begging of the water
to offer daggers of protection, kill and shield the noise
bring peace silence stillness—a life in the mundane
freedom from the chains of knowing

it’s been 16 years of quiet from the fire in his mind

        but never, ever, in his sleep
        each night he opens a door
        to the purple blue light sky
        elders circle boom of energy, no form
        three hundred of them welcome friends at the fire

eyes open in our morning world, unconcious, hard, and dense
        in spaces of our own
        we try to touch

i ask him if he asks them things
        my ego want to know
doesn’t he a responsibility to tell me

        did he go back to sleep?

Tears of joy! Overwhelmed with love and love and love.

“Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed your entire life.” – Rumi

Just one year ago, I sat with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat on a comfortable, puffy, oh-so-spoiled striped yellow bed at my best friend’s house. The two of us and another girlfriend of ours, and my much-too-furry-and-fat golden retriever, shared a one-bedroom apartment in a hip suburban-Detroit neighborhood. In theory, this was perfect (two broke girls + 1 even-more-broke girl(me) + a dog? We were in made-for-television heaven!)!

You see, I had just returned to Michigan, unplanned and unprepared, after four months abroad, and decided to weasel my way into this cozy home and create a fun, bohemian life for a few months. Well, that didn’t turn out so well.

Within a few weeks of living with this blonde yogi/PR-impassioned/pretty princess and uber-motivated/fiery ginger/goddess pair, I was more lost than ever before. What the fuck was I doing? Who were these women who had somehow transformed from my friends into enlightened beings who were living lives that were somehow sooooo much better than mine, who had it all figured out, who were taking me in just as they would a lost, sad, cute curly-haired little puppy? (Turns out, they weren’t purposely making me jealous, but rather they were just regular, albeit amazing, humans with direction and ambition in a world that seemed to have lost all cardinal points to me.)

So I left. I backed out before things had a chance to get better. I went north. I took another fruitless job in an isolated place, openly allowing myself to wallow and wither away…

But it’s not a tragic story in the end, you see. It’s actually an amazing, enchanted tale full of love and luck and magic!

What started just over a year ago as a period of complete confusion and disappearing dreams turned into a year of trials and tests and grace and absolute blessed goodness!

Who started just over a year ago as a lost child grasping at stranded strings has turned into a focused, inspired, ambitious, balanced woman living on faith and intuition, and loving each moment!

Tomorrow I will be leading my first set of yoga classes in Michigan.

What?! I have somehow transformed from a lost soul looking for guidance, to someone who will be providing guidance and hope and (hopefully) inspiration to sister and brother souls looking for peace and happiness — the same peace and happiness I was looking for, the same that I would never find out there, but rather the kind one can only find within.

So today, I sit sipping mint tea. Happy. In this moment. There’s a set of centering stone rings on my tan fingers, a streak of henna in my hair, a sparkling gem in my nose, and a big smile on my face…

Today, there are tears in my eyes but my throat is free, and my voice is strong, and I can proudly say I'm happy to be where I am
Today, there are tears in my eyes but my throat is free, and my voice is strong, and I can proudly say I’m happy to be where I am.

A year ago, I had tears in my eyes. Tears of sadness, depression, anger, confusion..

Today, I still have tears in my eyes. But now, these tears couldn’t come from a more beautiful place. These are tears of gratitude! Tears of strength! Tears of passion and power and hope and honesty! Tears of joy, and tears of truth.

Today, there are tears in my eyes but my throat is free, and my voice is strong, and I can proudly say I’m happy to be where I am, to have experienced all that I have, and to be headed toward a mysterious place that can only be full of blessings and exciting, welcomed challenges.

Life is good, you know. And life is ever-changing. And anything is possible, always.

Give thanks today for the blessings of yesterday, of now, and of each tomorrow to come.

Thank you, Universe. So very much. xxoo

And thank you, above-mentioned soul sisters for all the kindness and love you showered on this curly-haired puppy left out in the rain on her own (truth be told — she let herself out and then stubbornly refused to come back in. what a silly puppy she was!). I love you, so very much! 

 

Four birthday wishes

Today, I turn 27.

On my walk home from work, with Mother Nature in her glory (wind howling, snow racing across the pavement and icy white lawns, the last bundles of leaves still clinging to trees cracking and crunching against each other), tonight I thought of some things I hope to draw into my life. A few birthday wishes for the year…

I have a list of goals I want to accomplish too, things from developing a daily meditation practice and sponging up less of other people’s problems, to paying down my student loans and remembering names (I promise I’m not as rude as I sometimes seem – my memory is just awful!). However, I hope the wishes I developed this evening will subtly morph me into a better person, transforming me into a better me, and bringing me closer to my natural, most complete self. Which hey, has got to be a pretty great thing right?

Here they are.

1) LOVE – I want to love myself, and be in love with myself.

For so many years I’ve let myself be my own worst enemy instead of my biggest fan. Judging, nit-picking, self-destructing… This year, I want to love myself like I love my best friends. I want to respect my body and mind, my wants and needs, and I want to have fun and ENJOY the time I spend with me. “They say” you can’t really love another until you love yourself. I’m not 100% in agreement with this statement, but I know I’ll love another better if I first love and like myself.

2) BRAVERY – I want to be bold and have the courage to take chances.

I’ve always been pretty adventurous, but I’m rarely overly brave with regard to trusting my gut and putting logic to rest in favor of faith. This year, I want to unabashedly run after the things I want, that I feel to be right, that may be scary or unknown but that, if I can muster the courage to take the first step, may help me get to where I need to go.

3) VOICE – I want to speak up, asserting my turn to talk and tell my truths.

Most of my relationships have been 70/30 — I listen more than speak, I sit shotgun more than drive, etc. I’m an empathetic person who wants to soothe and comfort others, always putting my thoughts and feelings aside in exchange for hearing another reveal those very same things, in their very own voice. But this year, I want to speak up and turn the tables and make sure my voice is heard clearly in every situation. In friendships, in initial encounters, in my career. In everything.

4) SOFTNESS – I want to soften my heart and release control.

For at least the past 10 years, I have maintained sole control over my happiness. Even when making plans or daydreaming about the future with another, at some space within myself I never fully bought what we were selling. I was never fully able to trust another person with my future and my happiness. Even on the surface level, with common events, I’ve kept walls up around my heart, always on edge, quick to leap from a situation when the potential for disappointment crept in. This year, I want to soften and allow others in, if they deserve my heart space. I want to make plans that I intend to keep. I want to fully wander into an unknown with another at my side… If and when the time is right.

I’ve asked the Universe to help bring this all into my life. I know she’ll do her part and we’ll work on me together.

I’m a happy birthday girl! 27 is bound to be the best year yet — cheers and positivity to all!

Finding home…

A lot has happened since I last posted… I flew to Texas, stayed with my sister and then an old roommate for a few days, went on a Caribbean cruise to Jamaica, Grand Cayman, and Cozumel, roadtripped north with my family and stayed in Tennessee for a few nights, and then made it back to Michigan and picked up my puppy and checked in on my cats. Then… nothing really happened.

I decided I still really didn’t know where I wanted to go or what exactly I wanted to do. I kept waiting for some grand idea to present itself to me, and although many options were good, nothing felt fully right. I did some odd outside jobs in below-freezing weather at my parents place (sleet and snow days in April… this is Michigan…), slept in my childhood bed, ran my dog, learned how to drive a stick shift, started updating my resume, signed up for some freelance writing sites… I did so many random things just waiting for a sign or a pull from within.

Then, while shoveling chicken shit (literally), I had a mini breakdown and collapsed on the frozen earth outside the henhouse. I laughed and cried and looked at Jax and said aloud, “It’s all cyclical, Jax! Everything! I’m a mess and I’m flighty but THIS is exactly how I am when things are great or when things are shitty — everything is just fine and I’ll be smiling again soon!” I laid there on the ground and laughed, dismissing the nervousness and anxiety that had been building inside of me for weeks. I realized yet again that everything, at any given point, really is just fine.

The next day, in a burst of caffeine-fueled excitement and unwillingness to polish above-mentioned resume, I got in the car and drove to my best friend’s house near Detroit. I had to see her — I had to see a familiar face that wasn’t needing grandiose tales from Central America (although there are plenty) or asking me countless times just what comes next.

After a few long, warm hugs, Annie and Didi (her roommate) and I went to yoga. What happened in this class was remarkable — I felt at home. I surrendered to the moment and felt so much love and light and comfort.

At the end of the class while closing in Savasana, I started to weep. I held my best friend’s hand and cried — tears of joy and peace and love! I looked over and she was crying, too. I was sharing this beautiful moment with a person I love so much, who loves me without demand or expectation, just love.

That night, I decided to focus my efforts on getting a job in her area and hopefully sharing a home with her and Didi. Would it be tight? Yes. Would it be a bit silly having three girls and a dog in a 1.5-bedroom apartment? Yes. Did it matter to me? No. I want to surround myself with love and freedom and have welcoming hearts fill the space I rest my head each night.

So, about 10 days later, here I am… Sitting on Annie’s bed, ready to leave for my first job interview since returning home.

I feel right and good and content.

Everything really is just fine.

And I’m not quite sure what comes next, but that’s just fine, too.