What do we carry forward, what do we become on the other side of goodbye? We said goodbye to mom last month. What now?
We don’t have to be perfect to be good enough, and sometimes good enough is just perfect.
Some mornings I stand on the edge of a steep knowing, a transformational space of understanding, embracing the brilliance that opens infinitely before me. Others, the land is flat beneath my feet, the same as it always was, closed off from the mystery beyond by a patch of trees, shadows, confusion. I’m fine and I’m falling apart. These are both true.