Scribbled
“And just like the moon, you shall go through phases of light, of dark, and everything inbetween. And though you may not always appear with the same brightness, you are always whole.” Unknown
Scribbles from my journal in no certain order.
The year of dirt; in the middle of nowhere covered in dust; listening to my daughter pumping out words to a song elevated by a can of Monster on the eve of her formal; a honking deer startled by my presence; tasting liquorice barrelling up the highway keeping myself awake to ride a gravel event early next morning; puppies on my lap.
SMS from friend with words of love and admiration bringing me to tears, a few sobs even; kookaburras sitting in the oak tree watching me garden waiting for worms; taking a photo of my older daughter taking a photo of the youngest, deep friendship palatable between them; appreciating a heart now softened by life; delivering my first workshop in a field of work where thirteen years ago I had no experience to give.
Recognising leaps of faith to move myself in a different direction, small children around my feet as I studied and wrote, is paying off; the decision to live as a solo mama, to face life alone with kids; to create, to adventure; to know the edges of hope into despair, and back; not enough snacks for study, the torture of a TAE; the sound of the river when I rise from my van and home; waking tucked under blankets at minus two degrees, the bitterness upon my cheeks.
To feel and trust my dreams, feet firmly upon the earth; turning my back to my comfort zone, answering the call to solitary and beautiful space; hunting for the huntsman; not daring to back down even though sometimes I waiver, anxiety soul deep; strolling and listening to my son share his dreams, savouring his time with me; the sound of the kids coming through the front door; letting go even more as they move out into the world; weeping at their baby photos, a time so precious.
Coffee in the autumn light marking assessments, chatting to locals, a place where I belong; her hands; bold moves and big decisions, holding myself as I sway and press ahead; letting people help; three minute calls from my daughter just cause; laughter sitting on my front step; reaching for hope in 3am moments forcing me awake, stressed, breaking a little or a lot; van life, bike packing, gravel roads, hiking pack upon my back, the sight of our daughter ahead.
Treading a different path, one that is mine; life exactly as it is and not the way I thought it would be; life framed from my SLR; garden flowers in the vase; walking away from what is not for me, even though my heart wants to linger for what I almost loved; feathers upon the lawn; messy conversation, daring to go there; a clear no knowing I have moved on from the maybes, for life; valley winter, ice, frozen to the bone, propelling me to the red dirt.
Remote work supporting my gypsy soul; conversation with strangers, becoming friends; generosity flowing in; the student who tells me all the things I said that helped without knowing I had; mirage in the desert, surreal; thinking I know what is next and that not happening, remaining open and hopefully teachable, the unimaginable; riding in the valley rain, sliding through mud, giggling and free; a podium finish with mates; connection; the comfort of clean sheets.
A slow life, refusing the constant invitation to be busy; afternoon naps and cups of tea; asking for what I want, respecting the outcome; my darling friends; parrot chats; trusting love is all around; dead lifts for the win; my life, in my own skin, imperfectly human; they tell me the best is yet to come, an anticipation, striving even; confident good things will arrive with perhaps some of my best days ahead, but living wholeheartedly shows me they are already and always here.