We all break, become unglued, or lost. But the important thing is not that we’re broken. it’s what we become after we break, after we sink into the soil for a few years, after we free ourselves from the glue and grout of expectations.
This week I feel the joy of our fathers as I make my little bluebird birdhouses. I’m grateful for the gifts they bring to their workshops.
Imagine the organizations and groups just waiting to take you in, to validate your passions and provide safe spaces to explore them. They’ve probably been there all along.
Some people might say “She’s not nice,” but Mom helped me find the good things, art from her good days and photos from her family. Mom reminded me that addiction is disease and a struggle to survive.
In 2017 she began telling anyone who would listen, “It’s coming.” My response for several months was, “Stop! You’re going to bring it on sooner.” But she knew is was coming, and we couldn’t (wouldn’t) see it yet.
I write for clarity. Once upon a time, fables and stories were written for clarity, awareness of guiding principles, good reason and choices.
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