By My Journals' Decree (a year on the page)

I just had the most glorious morning of journal writing, and felt inspired to carry it over here, to my long-neglected blog.

Hello friends. Sorry it's been so long. I have missed you too, and come to this page more often than you think... but as life has become a mind-blowing whirlwind in recent months, I've found carving out pockets of time for pretty much ANYthing other than my work and current projects has been hard to do. I even let my journal writing get away from me for a moment, which is a HUGE no-no... when mama doesn't write, mama gets bat-ass crazy. Such was the case recently, when things got all out of balance, and I knew instantly why and how to remedy the situation: "pick up your god-damned pen," I told myself. Doesn't matter how exhausted I am, how much earlier I have to set my alarm to see it through, or how often the blank page stares at me as I stare back at it, overwhelmed and not even sure where to begin... I just simply must do it. It truly is the one tool that has helped me stay sane, keep my life organized, and somehow, magically, keeps my emotions more balanced. I tell all my friends, "When you see me flippin' out on a regular basis, be sure to ask if I've been writing..."

I'm particularly high on writing this morning because I've just finished my sixth journal of the year. That brings happy tears to my eyes. I'm looking at them now, all stacked up on my bed, on top of each other. The tears come because it has truly been one of the most amazing years of my life, and as I look at their spines and pages, even closed, I know the stories that live within each of them. The songs. The poems. I cry tears of gratitude for the present moment, at this amazing time of my life where I am literally walking in the dream and destiny and purpose I have long known was mine, and had been waiting and praying and hoping for and trying so hard not to lose faith... and here it is! I cry tears of pride, pride in myself, looking at the journal on the top of the pile, whose title was simply "Begin." I took it at that difficult time in my life (a little over a year ago) as a sort of command: "Now you must begin Emily. This is your life. It is all up to you. What will you do?"

I started small: "I will write," I said. "I will follow the wheel of the year." "I will be easy on myself, for I have struggled long and hard, and it was a most difficult last year." And so I did. I was unemployed. My husband had left me. I was grieving the death of my father, the estrangement of my family. I had quit my band. I was in a new home. Everything was different. Everything had changed. Except writing. Writing had been there for me since I was eight years old, and first kept a journal. It had been many months - seven, maybe - since I had put pen to paper at that time. In the few years preceding, during my marriage, I didn't write much - I didn't feel comfortable in my morning ritual around my ex-husband. He had violated my privacy and read my pages on a few occasions, so I ceased my practice. We both suffered from it. But, with "Begin," I was in my own space, my own energy, and ready to reclaim my life.

"Begin" took me from a little before Winter Solstice, 2009 until Candlemas, 2010. At that time, I was in Mexico, my other home, with a group of amazing friends who were visiting with me for three weeks. Beloved friends. Friends that bring so much joy and love and patience. It was then I cracked open "Follow Your Bliss." She would carry me through til Spring Equinox, and on her cover were words like "dream, vision, imagine, create, begin, transform, expand." I took her directive as well, and in Playa (the land of my spirit), I allowed myself time to just enjoy life. To be in good company, sharing food, laying under the sun, swimming in crystalline waters, making music, and writing. Dreaming up plans of what I would do when I returned stateside. What did I want to do with my life? Well, I wanted to use my talents and passions. I wanted to create a life of work that involved music, or teaching, or spiritual transformation. I didn't bother with the details of exactly what that might be... just put it loosely out there, into the ethers, trusting that whatever was meant to be would be.

At Equinox, as the sap begins to run through the trees, I chose my new book: "You Can Fly When You Want To." Spring energy is so great for new projects, new habits, new disciplines. I was born just after the Equinox, an Aries, so new beginnings have always been a favorite and exciting time for me. Back from Mexico, refreshed and rejuvenated, I set out to explore new opportunities, even things I would never have considered in the past. I hit up craigslist, and responded to all kinds of ads - ads for singers, for models, for assistants. I auditioned for commercials, cover bands, and teaching gigs. I was going out a lot with friends, and to new social events I would have stressed over in the past - I had always felt great anxiety about going to places with new people, out of my element. I still had some anxiety about all the things I was trying, but I was determined to put myself out there, knowing that new blessings would only come from being tenacious and courageous. I adopted the motto "fake it til you make it." I would feign confidence, if need be, until I truly felt it inside. It's a good trick that really works. I recommend it to everyone.

At this point in the year, right around Beltane, I bought two new journals, and I wasn't sure which one had the right message for that particular time in life. In the end, I chose by the cover art, and "Sometimes Your Only Available Mode of Transportation Is a Leap of Faith" had imagery that echoed the previous book. It seemed the right choice. I had intended that this journal would span from Beltane to Solstice, but as the sap started rushing through the trees, so did my life switch into high gear. I was writing regularly, though maybe not as much. I was starring in a theater production, modeling for artists, recording new music I had written, was dating, was social butterflying all around these twin cities like the queen monarch herself! Before I knew it, Solstice had come and gone, and I was still in the same book, and still not sure how it's meaning pertained to my life.

Until my back went crooked. Right in the middle of summer, and all of my heyday and hullabaloo, I was smacked down in critical and severe pain, confined to my bed for six weeks or more. I needed surgery on my spine. My lease was up, and I had to pack and find a new place to live. I had no insurance, no job, no husband, no family, and the pain was so crippling that simply making it to the bathroom was a true voyage. But I had me some friends. I had me some family of friends that packed me up, cleaned my house, moved me in to a new place gifted me by an ex-boyfriend (Mr. Mean! who woulda thunk???), took me to hospitals and doctor appointments, and took care of me for weeks after my surgery. I couldn't walk, I couldn't drive, I needed great care, and they were there. Sometimes your only available mode of transportation is a leap of faith all right... and a little help from your friends.

Lammas time. The old journal wasn't full, but I needed a change... once I got the message, I was ready to move onto a new chapter: "The Future Belongs To Those Who Believe In the Beauty of Their Dreams." Time to get back on the page, jump back into life (carefully, however - I just had spinal surgery, for God's sake) and resume my path, my intentions and my goals. I was healing, I was in a new spot in an amazing neighborhood, I had taken on a roommate. I was beginning again. The most important thing was to heal, and to take it easy. So, instead of flitting about, I had folks coming over. Musicians bringing me songs to write to, friends coming for dinners, small parties here and there. I had taken on some new lovers, and rekindled old friendships.

It was getting close to Halloween, which meant only half a season until Solstice again... had I accomplished what I had set out to do? Not so much. I had accomplished a lot, oh yes, but unemployment would likely be up soon and though I had created some work to get me by, more was needed. But it had to fit within the guidelines I'd set: only work that suits my talents. From my surgery, I was about a half-season off track, I felt. Add to it, I was partying quite a bit... imbibing, celebrating, living life free of taboo - like the autumnal Devil card of the Tarot. Time to reel it in. I had some work to do!

At Hallows, my next book came: "Fearless." My Dad had called me by this name many times. Uncertain of what the future held, and feeling the weight of finances slipping fast, and no concrete prospects, I decided to go back to "fake it til you make it" mentality: I wouldn't waste any time or energy worrying. I had already learned that the Universe is aiding and supporting me every step of the way, so long as I'm willing to put in the work. So I would be Fearless, and charge ahead and snatch the pieces of my destiny at every twist and turn they appeared.

Mr. Mean pulled through again, offering me a job as Creative Director at his new club! A part-time gig paying more than I had ever made in my life until now. It was the perfect, ideal solution! Using my talents, with time left over to continue to pursue my other projects and dreams... this was more than a gift. This was some serious next-level shit.

But I couldn't stop there. I had this idea. Actually, I had this dream, a dream that began over a decade ago. I glanced at the calendar to see which day my 35th birthday would fall on in 2011... it happened to be a Friday. I had always wanted to have a grand show for a birthday celebration. I considered what my dream venue would be... the Varsity Theater. So, fearlessly, I called the owner and made an appointment to walk through the venue and pitch my show idea: my 35th birthday, featuring a retrospective of my past work and my debut cd-release party. He loved it. He gave me the date, and the venue, with no deposit or anything... confident that I was going to make this a success. The date was booked. It's on!

I gathered a team of producers, choreographers, videographers and photographers, light and sound and set designers - the whole deal. I had been working in this town for over a decade. Working for other people, on their dreams and their projects. Now was my turn, my time... and the response was overwhelming. Everyone wanted to be part. They all liked the idea. They all wanted to help see it through. The wheels were in motion... now, I just had to write a debut album!

I gathered music from several local producers and took off back to Mexico, with the intention of writing the songs. Mr. Mean had bought me a new Mac laptop for my job, and I got some simple gear to lay down tracks on Garage Band while there. I went for almost three weeks, and wrote seven songs. I rested, I partied, I lived blissfully and creatively... I had the time of my life. Mingling with djs and producers from all over the world, in town for the BPM electronic music festival. I had photo shoots. I made plans for a cd-release show there in April - I mean, why not? It's my second home, ater all, where my solo singing career started almost 15 years ago! Plus, I knew I'd want to come back soon, and would need a break after a few months of intense work back home. Fearlessly, I dreamed big, and am daily taking small steps to see it through.

So, I've been three weeks back, and tossed immediately into the frying pain of this abundance I manifested! Finding talent for and opening a club in a month; recording my first full-length cd; executive producing this spectacular show for the end of March; teaching 150+ kids each week between 3 schools; conducting 2 choirs... You see why it's been challenging to find moments to blog???

And here we are, at Candlemas tomorrow. I have my new book waiting for me. Her name? "Trust Yourself." During this busy, busy time, my writing will be key in staying on top of everything, releasing stress, keeping sane. To some degree, I'm still faking it - for I have many moments of doubt and insecurity and sheer panic at all that I've taken on... but I will follow the new directive, and trust myself, because the reality is: I have everything it takes to see this all through. I have worked hard, with clear intention and focus. I have acquired the skills needed, and the resources. I have assembled the right team of people, whom as I sit here typing this to you, are all out there working on my behalf! Do you know what a trip that is? Can you imagine how humbling that feels? Studios are being dialed in, promo kits are being drafted, LLCs are being established, tours are being planned, photo shoots are scheduled... and I'm sitting here in my bed, in my pjs, lookin' a mess... I cannot adequately describe to you what it feels like to be walking in your dream. But I can tell you, despite all the pressure and stress, I am smiling.

"Trust Yourself" should carry me through to Equinox, right before my birthday and my big show. I already have the journal that comes after. I knew she was the one the minute I saw her, and as I look at her now, it brings tears to my eyes:

"Your Wish Is Granted. Now Is the Time."

A Mi Hermanito...

How is it possible, this connection, this love?

I've known you since you were barely a man...

You would come, to see me sing. Your family became mine. We spoke little, but shared much, in a time long gone, laden with memories so precious, and deep.

Over the years, barely, subtly, few and far between, there were moments... Moments of dancing, and laughing, and always with music blowing in from the air of the sea...

What is this you're doing to me?

I spent the night heavy on your lips, as we kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed...

Drunk on everything - life and love and grass and beer - my mind tumbled like waves pulling me in and down and all around... "What are we doing?" I asked... "This is crazy," I said...

Crazy, si. Loco, verdad?

And yet... you are in my mind all day. The thought returns again and again: this, our love, makes more sense than anything I've ever known.

We are already family. We have already shared our lives, our memories, and the years. Whatever distance and time has separated us seems irrelevant: I feel that I know your heart.

Did you love me from the start?

I have been working hard not to fall in love. I have been headstrong, and taken so much pride in my free and wild life. "I don't want to be in love," I have said too many times to count.

And now... ... ...

The Dream of the Purple Journal

So, a few nights ago, I dreamed that I had dropped my purple journal (circa 2000) into a murky pond. Without hesitation, I dove in after it, and was able to hold my breath effortlessly for quite some time while I felt around the pond floor until I had it in my grasp.

The dream was interesting to me on three counts: first, the particular journal. I mean, I've been keeping journals since I was 8, have them going back through all the years of my life, and was curious as to why this one popped up into my subconscious. Secondly, I have a "thing" about dirty water - although I was raised in the Land of the Lakes, as soon as I spent a few years basking in the sun and turquoise waters of the Mexican Caribbean, I was never able to dip toe in brown lake water again - let alone scummy pond water! Third, that I dove in and was able to hold my breath, knowing on a very deep level the book must be saved, and that only I would find it. Unsure of what my subconscious message to myself was, I thought the best place to start would be with the journal itself.

Last night, I pulled it from its shelf, and opened to the first page, dated April 4 of 2000 (just as I had thought). I began to read the first few entries and was astonished at what I found: that ten years ago, when I was just 24 yrs old, the elements of my life mirrored directly (and almost entirely) my life today. I mean, it's so uncanny, my jaw completely dropped!

I had made some major life changes at that time - moved from Mexico back to the States, and was finding new work and new living situations. I was about a year out of my last relationship, and was enjoying my singlehood in the city. I had estranged myself from my sisters and family, as I felt myself reverting into bad patterns of my youth that no longer served me, and knew I needed space from them to free my spirit. I was ambitiously trying to record a solo debut cd, and planning a big show/extravaganza for its release. I was entering into the Women's Thealogical Institute, and their priestess training program, Cella. I was reflecting on the woman I was aspiring to be, and what steps would be needed to manifest and embody the envisioned qualities and characteristics...

I am currently writing about all of the exact same things - have filled 5 whole journals already this year, and now in journal 6 of 2010, am reflecting on how far I've come, and what still needs to be accomplished, as well as my plans for how to set about manifesting these goals and dreams. The words, the phrasings from ten years ago are almost identical to the words I write today... almost...

Ten years. I am reminded of the numbers ace through ten in the Minor Arcana of the Tarot. When I explain the numbers to people, I ask them to imagine that ace through nine is a long cycle of life, with little mini-cycles in between. By the time you reach ten, you are at the beginning of the next big, long cycle - but it's not something entirely new. With this cycle, you take with you all that you experienced and learned from the ace through nine cycle before... which, hopefully, is a lot of wisdom, maturity, resources, developed skills and talents. You have been winding your way into the labyrinth of your spirit, and are considerably deeper in, but are beginning the next phase, or have fallen back onto the true path of your soul and ready to move forward. Man, does this all resonate like crazy for me right now!

In going back to the dream, after reading these entries and reflecting on these cycles of life, what stands out most is the journey itself. The visions for my life, my work, my purpose, my spirit have always been clear - articulated beautifully in these books of my decades. However, at that young age, I also am able to see the impatience, the disappointment when plans changed, the difficulty in holding fast to the goals and dreams, while simultaneously being flexible and bending with life. I spent so much of my 20s struggling against life, relationships, bosses, etc. Now, what's changed most is my enthusiasm for the ride: knowing that it's the process, not the product, that holds the real joy, the real transformation, the real manifestation and expression of the spirit. I'm no longer excited only by the dream, but by the satisfaction of undertaking the real work to make the dream come true. That's been a huge lesson for me.

So, I'm not so surprised I dove head first into the murky pond of my past, to retrieve the stories of me. All of these years, all of the dramas and traumas, the blessings and gifts, the fights and the fury, as well as the immeasurable love - all are so sacred to me. All have brought me to where and who I am now: a strong, capable woman who is fighting against complacency and intent on striving farther, and working harder to make those dreams a reality. There is nothing I wish to let go of, or to forget. Indeed, I am able to look back, despite past and even recent upsets and betrayals, and honor each experience for the lesson and wisdom gifted to me. I wouldn't trade my life for anything in the world.

Book rescued, rinsed the muck from my skin, breathing deep and steady... ready to get back to the clear-blue sea of my mid-30s. I may be far away from the safety of the shallows, but am pretty sure I have the wisdom now to save myself in dangerous waters...

(... and getting closer to the one-eyed Sea Hag for our long overdue conversation...)

The Big Chill

After cooking up some pasta for dinner, and uncorking a really cheap bottle of wine, I decided to nestle in for a bit with a flick. Nothing of interest on the cable channels I pay a fortune for (as usual), so I searched the free movies On Demand, and saw "The Big Chill." It had been a very long time since I last saw it, but was drawn in not only by my memory of having liked it years ago, but also from remembering that my family once had the vinyl soundtrack to it, with great old Motown tracks to sing along to, which I always loved to play in my youth.

As the movie starts out, I'm reminded of the theme: one member of a group of old friends kills himself, and the others all come together for the funeral and a weekend of reminiscing and re-connecting in a slew of different ways.

*Big breath*

I do the initial preparation, as I still do, guarding my emotions from scenes of death and a funeral. My father's passing is still fresh, just over a year later. I thought while watching the opening scenes, eyes watering despite my stoic efforts, that I'll probably always be one of those people who cries easily when speaking of death, and of Dad, always missing him so.

After those first few scenes, as it gets into the story with the group of friends being together in their comfortable, however drawn apart, circle, another familiar emotion of late crops up: loneliness. I've already written about it several times in my blogs, and it is a prevalent theme in my life these days. I spend many nights at home alone, just aching for familiar company and affection. I cry about it sometimes, think about it way too often, try to write it out in songs or poems.

Watching these friends in the film reminds me of my own circle, knowing that our busy time of the year together - festival season - is upon us, and there will be many of these reunions just around the corner. It gives me comfort. I scold myself for being so indulgent in this sentiment, reminding myself that I had two lovely invitations just this evening to go out and be in good company. In the end, I chose to stay home - and for good reason: I have a busy day ahead tomorrow with dress rehearsals at two schools, and a cocktailing gig in the evening which one of my best friends hooked me up with. I need an early night, and good rest.

As the movie played on, I realized just how long it's been since I last watched it. I thought, "Wow, I'm now the age of these characters... have experienced similar events and dynamics in my own life." This fascinated me, and I mused for a bit on aging. One day, you're watching a film your parents really seemed to like, and you did too, in your young age - fantasizing about the intricate love triangles, eager for the day when you'll enjoy adult commaraderie over many glasses of wine (and other things!), wishing that you were as cool, as "put together" as the adults always seemed to be.

I toss back another glass of Garnacha (which is quite fine for only $4/bottle), looking at the door, wishing someone lovely and romantic would come knocking, wanting to share the other 1/2 bottle with me. And then, for the first time, I realize something: this loneliness beleaguring me, which I moan to my friends about too often of late, is really just a pretense. In the first place, I've never, ever really been alone - throughout my whole life, I have been exhaustingly blessed with people - gads of people everywhere. Friends, fans, colleagues, what have you. In the second, even throughout the many years I was coupled with partners, I still felt lonely. They would be there, providing for me exactly what I think I'm missing so dearly now - warmth, companionship, affection... my argument then was always that it just wasn't what I wanted; THEY just weren't what I wanted at that time, in those moments. The grass is always greener. As Joni says, "I'm so hard to handle; I'm selfish and I'm sad..."

"So what do I want?," I ask, my mind racing. I want to be brave, and to acknowledge that what I'm truly feeling is a deeper loneliness that has been with me throughout my life. I have tried to mask it, and hide from it by being with other people, being on stage in front of people, by smoking grass to help me to forget, by staying in relationships that didn't suit me to draw the attention and focus away from where it should have been all along: on me.

Why is it so hard to sit with myself and just be? What is so lacking, or starving, or desperate, or cold? Why am I afraid I don't have the spark within me to feed those coals, to fan those flames, to stand in the middle of my burning and still be okay? I feel that I DO know this on a conscious level, feel like I've been self-analyzing for decades of my life, and KNOW myself. Yet, on an emotional level, I still struggle to understand. I fail to understand what the struggle even is anymore.

I know many people in my life who see me from their perspective, who opine about what they feel I have yet to realize and to change or fix. They do this from a place of love, and they offer suggestions when I ask their direct opinion - because I have that kind of circle of friends, just like in the movie, and better. I hear their words, I agree with their insight. It all registers in the head, but has yet to really sink into the heart. People say, "You can't fix what you don't acknowledge." I don't know about that. I think that's the first step, but after comes the arduous work of living life, experiencing moments that continue to guide and teach you until you're at that perfect place where lessons can finally sink in and take hold. 'Til it hits the "warm spot," that sacred honey pot, sealed with its sticky sweetness and guarded by ten million stinging bees. It takes a perfect moment to access that doorway. Just ask Pooh.

I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette, and before I had even finished half, the melancholy had subsided. Only two minutes away from the movie and my mind was already racing with all the projects, plans, dreams I'm making daily progress towards. What a character I am - I laughed thinking that I should, myself, be in a movie. Lord knows, I come pistol-packed with a billion stories and every emotion known to man tacked firmly in place with each and every one of them.

'Til then: it might be lonely, it might be hard. I will continue to question and wonder, weep and worry, cry and laugh two seconds later. It's gonna take time, and I'm glad to have this life to figure it out. Time to find that perfect spark within me which, I hope, will begin to thaw my own inner Big Chill.

Open Roads

Like clockwork, I woke up at 7:19 this morning. Had the opportunity to sleep in and enjoy a lazy Sunday morning, but a certain heart connection knew better. Only moments before I awakened from my sleep and dreams, my ex-husband packed his car, gassed up, and set out on his long journey to his new home in New York.

It registered immediately that today is the day, and so I called to remind him to drive safely, that he's in no hurry and doesn't need to speed, to enjoy the drive, to stop at a few of my favorite roadside attractions. It's his first road-trip across the United States, and his longest road-trip ever. It makes me smile...

He grew up in Tel Aviv, and the entire span of his country is probably only 7 or 8 hours. I remember visiting him there years ago, and he took me to the southernmost city of Israel, a town called Eilat. It sat on the shores of the Red Sea, with Jordan clearly visible from the beaches, and the Sinai Peninsula only minutes away. On that trip, he complained of the long drive through the desert - which only took maybe 4 or 5 hours. It was a regular vacation spot for him and his family, and the drive was boring and uneventful for him. I, on the other hand, was spellbound. I remembered a Bible I had been given as a child that had photographs of many of the ancient places described in the scriptures, and now I was seeing them for myself. I remember, on the road to the Dead Sea, huge mountains of salt, as the desert roads wound down further and further to that lowest place on earth. I remember Bedouins and camels, villages carved into rocky cliffs, the forest-like trees of Jerusalem. Almost every picture of me there has my mouth hanging open in awe and wonder.

I grew up on the road, in part. My father and his second wife traveled the Renaissance Festival circuit, selling their art of pressed floral arrangements between glass. We would make trips every year to Texas, Arizona, Maryland. In the summer, we had a booth at the Bristol Renaissance Faire, on the border of Wisconsin and Illinois, and much closer to home than many of the others. We would make that 7-hour trek each weekend for the 2 1/2-month run of the show, and it was considered to be a "quick trip." Indeed, I remember my first solo road-trip was driving to Bristol in a Mazda pick-up truck, only a few months after I got my license. I'll remember that trip forever - I was thrilled, and felt so happy and free. The road held infinite possibilities: it could take me home, or absolutely anywhere. I could just keep driving. I could even lose the map, and just keep truckin'. I felt like a real gypsy.

I love road trips, and regret it's been so long since I've made one. For many years, my best friend and I would make trips out to the National Rainbow Gatherings for a few weeks in the summer. She lives in New York, and I'm in the midwest, so it would be our special time together... traveling down new roads, into beautiful National Parks all over the country, camping and living off the land. It's been too many years since we've made that trip. Every time we've missed it, we've vowed to make it the following year, but life gets busy and in the way of our plans. We have become more sedentary (much to the dismay of our youthful ambitions!).

Thinking about it now, I'm a little envious of my ex. What a perfectly beautiful day to set off down the highway, en route to a new life, a new adventure. A new country he's never traveled, with vast expanses of open land - quite different from the small-but-mighty country of Israel. Not that he's a stranger to travel, mind you, as he's been to well over 25 countries around the world. He lived in India for almost a year, traveling south to north, into Tibet and Nepal. I don't know if the landscape on this journey will prove as moving or interesting, but I'm sure it will move him in some way...

I've traveled the American highways so much in my life, that it's become somewhat ordinary in my mind. But if I think back, I can easily remember the beauty of Texas Bluebonnets blooming in spring; or Saguaro cacti towering over us in Arizona; or the brilliant red cliffs we climbed in Utah. Any place seen for the first time has its wonders. No doubt, he will discover many on the way. Even more so, is the feeling behind it - that he is setting off on an unknown adventure to the east coast and New York City... dreaming and wondering of what awaits him there.

I confess, I was a little sad to wake up and know that my good friend is no longer nearby. To know it may be a very long time til I see him again. To really feel that last binding thread has broken, and we are now in every sense independent of each other. My eyes water with tears for a moment, and then I'm smiling again - it's bittersweet. I know we will both miss each other, but we are also both excited to be starting new chapters in our lives.

Some people think of relationships as two roads that merge together as one. I've always seen it differently: I see it as two roads running parallel to each other, for whatever stretch of time or distance. Some people enjoy moving forward in the same direction for years and lifetimes. Others detour. I guess that's what happened with us. But I'm grateful, and take great comfort in knowing that there remains a third path - the road between us - which will forever remain open, and look forward to the days when we might make small journeys towards each other, with each other, as friends, again.

A Fond Farewell

Sometimes when I write in my journal in the mornings, I touch upon topics of my life that I just don't seem to have the energy to write about in great detail. Maybe because they are things that tax my soul, are too emotional, or I'm just not ready to confront. I had this occurrence today about about a few things, one of which I decided to write about here.

A few days ago, I learned that my divorce became final. It happened almost a month ago, but I never received a divorce decree or anything in the mail letting me know, (which I think is strange!). My husband - ex-husband - did, and while we were hanging out the other day, it came up in conversation.

Obviously, I knew it was in the works. I had signed the papers back in November, and knew he had finally sent them in a couple of months ago. The finality of it all evokes the dramatic, sentimental aspect of my personality. I can't help but to recount the last four years of my life with this man: the better-than-a-movie romance we had when we met in Costa Rica; the travels to Israel (his homeland), Mexico, Vegas, Miami; the hasty marriage, one year to the day of our first meeting; the rough beginnings, as he transitioned to a new culture and country; the incredible struggles and obstacles we faced, battled, and in the end, failed to win over. I feel simultaneously exhausted, saddened, and grateful for all of the twists and turns of our journey together. I feel simultaneously regretful and excited to move away from him, and towards my independent life again.

I believe that every relationship serves a purpose. I believe that we were brought into each other's lives for reasons both known and yet unknown to us both. It will likely take years of growth and further consideration to gain more insight and understanding of the things that happened that made it impossible for us to hold each other's hands through life, til death do us part. At the moment, it isn't even the right time for me to try to gain this insight - it would be too difficult emotionally, and probably most futile to attempt. Distance and time reveal more to me than diligent efforts to "understand." Now is the time for me to focus on myself, and my life, to consider what I haven't had (but needed) in recent years that I can now offer to myself, to make plans for my future alone, and to take the necessary steps to ensure a most positive outcome.

My husband taught me so many things, and helped me to grow in ways that had never even occurred to me before. As an artist, and from the family life I endured as a child, I can say that "stability," "level-headed-ness," and "maturity" have been foreign concepts in the past. He, being a business man with multiple degrees, army training, and a very disciplined background, really helped me to (for a lack of better words) GROW UP. He taught me how to be financially responsible, how to make good decisions, how to plan for my future. He taught me about family, and how more functional families behave with each other and can rely on each other. I took great delight in his family, in watching how they communicate, how they help each other, what they may even hide from each other at times so as not to worry the people they love the most. This was all completely new to me. Indeed, it was so foreign, that I think I simply wasn't ready for it.

I believe I brought many gifts to the relationship as well. Where he could be so grounded that, at times, was obstinate, I brought a more care-free energy to our lives. I tried to teach him that faith can go a very long way - worrying about things all the time only increases stress, whereas faith that somehow it will all work out frees the energy for the Universe to come in and help make it work. I brought color and music and joy of life. I tried to bring efforts and ideas for improving communication, intimacy, and a sense of silliness and play. I taught him forgiveness. I'm a dreamer, and while I may not always have my feet on the ground, I think all great things in life begin with a dream. I tried my best. I know in my heart that my intentions were nothing but good.

Tears now.. happy tears, sad tears, not gushing, just watering a bit. It's hard to say goodbye to a dream. It's hard to accept when your best just wasn't good enough. It's hard to look at that beautiful man, who still embodies so many of the qualities I would to this day choose for a mate, and know that it truly is best that we are moving forward on separate paths. I know that by making that difficult choice, we will continue to be in each other's lives, as such very good friends, and be able to enjoy the best of each other, and be able to offer each other the very best we have to give.

Next week, he will be moving to Brooklyn, where my very best friend of twenty years also lives. I know it will be a good move for him - to be near his Israeli community, to start anew in a big city, to have more opportunities for work in these terrible economic times. It will be good for me, too - to reassume my city of Minneapolis, my place in it, my community and friends and work and life I have constructed so beautifully for myself. I'll have double the reason to make trips out to New york, which I love. And, I'll step fully into my independence, my spirit, my dreams, with the mixed bag of a little fear and much eager anticipation for the next amazing chapter of my life.

It's another transition. I've been through so many over the past year that I know it will be a little uncomfortable and unsettling for a bit, but I'll make it through just fine - probably better than ever. There will be a few tears yet, but they will trickle slowly and not come gushing in - a light, salty rain on my cheeks to signal a new season, the re-birth of life, new growth. I have always loved blooming so.

To my (ex-) husband, thank you. I will forever cherish our time, and bless our paths. Though our vows are undone, you will forever have a friend and ally in me. You will always be welcomed in my home and life. You will forever be loved in my heart.

Blessed be.