Two lanes cut into one, just before the busiest intersection in town. They are doing roadwork, and it seems to be taking forever.
As much as possible, I avoid the area. It’s preferable to drive an extra ten minutes around than to sit and crawl along with the backed-up traffic.
But the part that made my blood boil, that no amount of yoga or breath training could calm away, was watching while drivers raced past in the right lane and nosed their way in. I sat in my self-righteousness, seething at their ignorance, their arrogance. Getting angrier by the minute as they jumped ahead of the line.
Then I found out I was wrong.
We were supposed to use both lanes, supposed to follow along and then take turns merging into one lane. But I, like most of the drivers in this place, figured I should get into the left lane as early as possible to ensure my spot.
At first, I was indignant. How else could it be navigated, how else could the traffic actually move along?
But then I sat with it, with my wrongness. And something surprising happened: Instead of holding onto the anger, I let it go.
I still avoid the area when I can. I still get into the left lane as early as possible (after all, it’s what most drivers here are doing), but now, instead of riding the bumper ahead of me, closing the gap for anyone seemingly cutting the line, I let them in.
And I let go.
I hope you find some ease in life’s traffic jams, some right in the wrongs. I hope you let go.
I never meant to stop writing. It just sort of happened.
The last post I wrote in 2018 was mere days after I’d separated from my husband. For awhile, I suppose I tried to pretend nothing had changed, but I could not have been more wrong. My whole life was about to take a turn; it was the beginning of a series of struggles.
At first, I just kept putting off publishing anything on my blog. What could I possibly say? There was some relief at having ended a relationship that had had its fair share of problems. But no matter how I looked at it, the effects were devastating.
The silver lining? It was the beginning of rediscovering my independence, my power, and myself.
Join me as I share some of my stories about finding healing in new beginnings, and about finding magic in moments otherwise missed or mundane.
I hope that you, too, have been able to find light in dark times.
Armed with nothing but his imagination and sense of adventure, he heads into the woods behind my parents’ house, often with his cousins and friends. He’s done this on gorgeous summer days, drizzly evenings, and crisp snowy mornings.
I’m never exactly sure what he does there, nor do I care to go investigate. I hear the occasional shout and the hard crack of wood against wood, so I know they’re safe.
The woods are the setting for untold stories, and the fallen trees are material for a fort. The darkness is a filter from the rest of the world. There is just enough distance between this forest hideaway and the watchful eyes of parents to allow him freedom to invent without boundaries, to play without rules.
I can’t see my son when he’s in the woods, but this is what I know: I know he is developing his independence, his creativity, and his appreciation for our natural environment.
He may come back to the house bug-bitten, scraped, or splintered, but he comes back happy.
I got to see the efforts of the boys’ hard work. They proudly led me through the woods to their fort, and I was so impressed I went back for my phone so I could share what they had built: