Thank you for your love, support, and compassion after last week’s blog post. I received more comments and messages than usual, and each one was like a salve for my hurting heart. I especially appreciated the way so many of you trusted me with your own, vulnerable stories of making mistakes and owning up to them.
We’re just a big ol’ pile o’ human, aren’t we, all of us?
The last two weeks have been challenging in more ways than one. That mistake I blogged about and the “punishment” I received for it was just one of three, separate shit-storms going down at once. (Granted, some of them were self-created.) It felt like the Universe came into my life with a giant broom and swept a huge pile of its current contents out the door.
You thought those friendships were secure? Nope! Out they go.
You thought you had the structures all set up for your business and could just sit back and enjoy watching them play out? Nope! Out they go, too.
You thought you were done learning that particular relationship lesson now that you’re married to the “man of your dreams?” HAHAHAHAHAHA! You’re funny. Out that certainty goes, too!
But funny thing about transformation. When so much of your life is made up of moving pieces, it makes you all the more grateful for the stuff that’s standing still. For the stuff that never seems to change.
And probably why, when I put that post on Facebook vulnerably asking for some love, the comments I received from the oldest, longest friends brought up the deepest wells of emotion.
Because in my worst moments, one of the most insidious lies I tell myself is that deep down, I am unlovable. That people like me on the surface, but eventually they will figure out that I am actually not worthy of their love and they’ll take it back, leaving me sad and alone. Which is how I will die. (Anyone else have this one?)
When ordering a cappuccino at my neighborhood cafe, my eye caught sight of a tiny, golden Pennsylvania hanging around the neck of the young woman behind the counter.
“Is that Pennsylvania?” I asked, pointing to her necklace.
“Yeah,” she said with that warm smile, her eyes lighting up as she touched the small charm on her chest.
“Are you from there?”
“Yes, are you?”
We spent the next several minutes comparing hometowns and reminiscing about fall leaves, fireflies, and lightning storms. “Are you going home for Thanksgiving?” I asked her.
“Yep. My first Thanksgiving back home since I left three years ago,” I said.
Which is where I am right now, writing this blog post on the plane to Pennsylvania. Which is where I’m from. Which will never change.
So as much as I love adventure, this Thanksgiving weekend, I’m feeling grateful for home, family, and the things that will never change.
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What type of wild woman are you?