Good Bye Golden Boy

You will be missed SO much......

Breathing

Letting Go....

There's a reason we outgrow fairy tales. Let's face it: happily ever after is a crock, it's a con, a shell game for the sucker on the street. They're just words, pretty words, the equally empty book end to "once upon a time," but our lives aren't determined by some storybook, star-crossed destiny. They're not determined by what we're told is meant to be. Our lives are determined by dumb luck, the actions we take, and the courage we summon at our moments of truth. Unlike fairy tales, real life doesn't come with "the end" in gilded cursive on the very last page. Our stories never end. Happily ever after, for most of us, is really just the beginning. There's a million ever-afters in everybody's lives, because every time you think you've reached the finish line, the gun goes off again.

Nobody likes letting go. From our earliest moments, from birth until we're six feet under, our instinct is to grab, grip, cling to a finger, bottle, best friend, to a faded old racing form. Sometimes we hold on for dear life to the very things that keep us from living it, but that comes with an upside. It's the way we feel when we finally let go. The trick, I guess, is to not find a way around the curve-balls life serves up, but to live with them; a halfway happy, uneasy alliance, and to search for new things to cling to, and when you finally find them to hang on just as tight. And around and around we go, holding on until the time comes to say goodbye, and like it or not, ready or not, you have to accept one universal truth: life is messy. Always and for all of us. But a wise man once said, maybe messy is what you need, and I think he might be right.

Happy Holidays Everyone~~

Starting Over

There are times in your life where all you can do at the end of the day is turn out the lights, flop on the bed, and throw in the towel. Raise the white flag. For some that kind of surrender is hard to even contemplate and harder to accept, and there's a dignity in that, in fighting to the finish, to the red-faced bitter end. But in those moments, in bed, right before the lights go out, solace can be found. The very act of giving up becomes a starting point. You clear your head. You still your beating heart. You navigate the rocky shallows, setting out again. Call it surrender or serenity, it doesn't matter which, because the thing you never thought you'd do or say or ever have to face, becomes more than what you have to do. It becomes the way it is.