It’s been a long time since I’ve written in this blog. Sorry about that, dear friend. See, things are changing in my life, and as a result I’m finding myself a bit tongue-tied. Not to worry. The changes aren’t bad, and maybe changes is the wrong word. Maybe realignment would be more accurate. Yes. That sounds right.

And while there’s a lot I don’t understand about this realignment, what I do understand is what it feels like. And what it feels like is this: I’m in need of a new North Star. I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Surely, the pandemic has had this unsettling effect on others. Maybe even you’ve experienced it: this suspenseful weightlessness of flying mid-air between trapeze bars. It’s exciting and scary, this airborne feeling, and has me clearing out my files, rearranging years of accumulated stuff, going through old photos, letting go to make room for new. I’m tending my garden, both metaphorically and physically. I’m listening more, watching more, noticing more, sniffing out this next chapter of my life.

So grateful for Dixie in all this this. To carry on with the trapeze metaphor: she’s my net. Not only does she listen to my incessant processing, she is also helping me move heavy furniture, and recently cut a little door in our closet ceiling for easier access to our tiny crawl space in the attic. I swear, I don’t know what I did to deserve her!

It could be that this realignment is just a response to getting older. I’m not as ambitious as I once was. I no longer feel like I need to make my mark on the world. I just want to sit back and marvel at what a wonderful world it is. I know, I know, it’s also shit show. Every time I dip into the news (daily) I am gob smacked by the insanity of my species. We are clearly trying to wipe ourselves off the planet, and doing a pretty good job of it, I’d say. And there are way too many people without homes, without access to good water, and whose rights are being threatened. Every time I think about women being forced back into Burkas and back-alley abortions, when I think about LGBTQ2+ being shoved back into the closet, people of color being denied, when I read about these tragic tragic mass shootings I want to rip out my eyebrows and start speaking in tongues, I want to fall on my knees and keen and keen and keen. What are we doing? How did we get here?

But then I go someplace like the Santa Cruz Gay pride parade this past weekend and it’s glorious, edgy, accepting, and full of love love love. And the youngsters, their bending of gender is so inspiring! And there are the birds in my garden, and the butterflies and bees, the seedlings pushing up through the soil. And the fresh air blowing in off the bay. And the trees. How can I not be in awe of these miracles? And there’s more!  My community of creatives: the improv artists and writers I get to play with, the group of women next door whose voices float across the fence during their singing circles. My friends and family. Indeed, I am swimming in love. Lucky lucky me.

Still, something is afoot. There is a subtle shifting beneath me. Breathe in. Breathe out. Where will it lead? If you can relate, I would love to know.

And remember: Live the Love, it’s all we’ve got.

Over and out,