the way some things unfold

hi, folks…  it’s been awhile. i’ve been writing quite a lot, actually, writing things that aren’t for sharing, writing things only meant for me. and i do love sharing, i think you know that if you’ve been reading this blog with any regularity. but i will tell you i have never been too good with big transitions, even when they’re necessary, and my little private world is off it’s kilter these days. initiating change is the easy part, but adjusting and learning new ways of being can be a rocky challenge. some days are alright, and others i find myself immobilized at the dramatic, cloudy, self-absorbed intersection of heartbreak and cliché. trust and hope are hanging out on the sidelines, and i remind myself to ponder them, to remind myself that even when i’m not fully feeling their presence, they’re waiting for me to say hello.


many years ago, i think it was seven, my dearest sisterfriend amanda and i, and sweet dogfriend v, drove from oregon to vermont. we were wilder back then in some ways, and more restrained in others, than we are now. it was a great trip, full some strange and wonderful adventures… thunderstorms  and sleeping in places where, i think back now, we really had no business sleeping. we ate canned tomatoes over kraft macaroni dinner, and spent four hours tracking down a hot dog joint in chicago. we visited old friends, saw the corn palace, and yellowstone, and the badlands, and snuck in through an illegal entrance at mt. rushmore so we could get a picture of the dog with the presidents. but we didn’t stop at the abandoned mine in rural eastern washington. i wanted to, and i didn’t ask.

it’s funny how memory works, isn’t it? the way certain, seemingly mundane instances can come flying back to us, every detail embedded? we were on a secondary highway listening to U2, and it was mid-afternoon when i saw it there, beautiful graffiti in the middle of desert country. i remember thinking to myself, i’ll come back here again, someday. i simply knew i would. it seemed important. i still don’t know if i understand why.

and i did find myself there, once again, of course, or it wouldn’t make a story. if i hadn’t, i might still be waiting. ben and i were on a trip, and he was driving, and i’d been napping and woke up and i knew it was the same road. this time, i asked. this time, we stopped. we stretched our legs, and walked the dog around, exploring. i took some pictures, we drank our coffee, he smiled at my enthusiastic adoration for an old mine shaft, and hugged me and told me he loved me. he asked me if i’d gotten what i wanted, and i told him i had. what i got was: this is the moment i get to be here. right now, just like this, it’s happening right now. 



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