Joy and Sorrow Part II

Have you ever had just an amazing day? One where you feel like nothing can go wrong, and nothing can hurt you? How about the opposite? A day when only bad news and sadness seem to follow you, whispering in your ear and coloring your sight. The past weeks have been filled with days like these. Days where it seemed the world stood still for a moment - frozen in sadness, or suspended in joy.

Joy

..................

There has been so much sadness in the past few weeks.  Several people I know - several people very dear to me - have suffered losses in the past two weeks.  There have been more condolences, flowers, and black dresses then I ever want to experience in such a short time again. In addition to these losses, there has been a bitter-sweetness in the air as Boys Next Door (our Spring straight play) completed it's run.  This May will have a particularly important graduating class - the first BA Theatre class from my school, and Boys Next Door featured a large part of that class.  When closing night came and bows were taken, an entire generation of performers had their last round of applause on a stage that is "home base" for all of us.

Even with all of these things happening around me, I cannot say that these past few weeks have been bad ones.  While each moment of sadness has been big - huge, even - they can't undo the overall warmth and joy I've had.  The happiness comes from a hundred small things through out the day, and I think it is because of the big sadness that I've been tied to I've been able to feel the joy all the more.  The feeling of relief as you open an exam and realize you know the answers to a question.  The homey feeling when an old nickname is used in a new scenario.  Or the peaceful rhythm of completing silly routines and rituals.  For instance, every Saturday is cleaning day for my roommate and I.  We scrub the condo from top to bottom, doing dishes, cleaning the bathroom, clearing off the always-cluttered table.  This Saturday when we finished cleaning, we took a few minutes and made breakfast together: bagels, turkey bacon, hot tea, fried eggs, and an 80s music playlist.

Happiness this week was opening my mailbox to retrieve my stolen-and-then-found-and-sent-home-to-Mum cellphone and finding not only my phone, but a big red box of chocolates waiting.  The best part wasn't the first nougat filled bite, or the satisfying crinkle of cellophane.  It wasn't the candy apple red sheen of the box as it poked cheerfully up out of my heavy bag.  Happiness was opening the white package and seeing something - anything - inside.  The thought.  The extra bit of love.  I think that's maybe the biggest part of happiness: seeing, feeling, sharing, giving, knowing love.  At least, it is for me right now, at this particular moment in this particular life.

. . . . . .

Joy is different things to do different people - or even to the same person at different points in their life.  I'm so lucky to be in a place in my life where joy can take more than one form.  It's a real, tangible thing, being happy.  Something I think every sense can experience - for instance:

*I tasted joy in shared spoonfuls of creamy icy green, as me, Rob, and Karly split a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the caf.

*I heard joy in a voice lesson that went better than anticipated: another song learned, putting me two songs ahead for the semester.  Hearing notes soaring out of my own throat that I was so afraid of so very recently - feeling their resonance in my chest and their lightness in the air.  

*I smelled happiness all around me as the first truly spring like weather reached out and held the east coast.  The first hint of melting snow and sap stirred trees mixing with that special something only spring time has.

*I saw happiness in a friend's smiling face as I turned a blue dress, a sheet of shiny yellow fabric, a black bubble skirt, and a spool of red ribbon into a snow white costume, complete with train and bows.  She looked so beautiful!

*I felt happiness in my first trip in the car with the windows down - it was only to the grocery store with my friends, but it was long enough for the sun to warm my face and the wind to tug my hair loose from my tight, sleek, winter ponytail.  

Everyone of those things is so small - especially when compared to the weight, size, breadth, and depth of the sadness that has touched our (me and my friends') lives recently.  Isn't that the beautiful thing about the human spirit though?

It takes a hammer to break us but only a single laugh to lift us back up again.  

Wishing you Joy, dear readers.

Joy and Sorrow Part I

Have you ever had just an amazing day?  One where you feel like nothing can go wrong, and nothing can hurt you?  How about the opposite?  A day when only bad news and sadness seem to follow you, whispering in your ear and coloring your sight.  The past weeks have been filled with days like these.  Days where it seemed the world stood still for a moment - frozen in sadness, or suspended in joy.

Sorrow

..................

A little over a week ago, a friend of mine received heartbreaking news.  His mother - a deeply beloved single parent whose entire life was devoted to her children - had passed away.  His grief was instant, total, and deeper than any wound I can even imagine.  I was so proud of our family - our Theatre family, here at school - as we came together around him.  By the time the wake arrived, two vans had been borrowed from the school by our professors to take students to support our friend.  We had cooked meals and snacks, created a scrapbook, gathered donations for his mother's favorite charity. When it was time to go, in addition to the vans most of the juniors and seniors car pooled in their own vehicles, including myself.  Our upper classes here are very small - maybe 20 people in all, and our friend was part of the first Theatre BA Class ever, so all of us in the upper years were there with him. At the funeral the next morning, three pews were filled with students, faculty, and staff . . . none of whom knew what to say or do, only that our brother needed us.

As I type, I can feel the weight of those two days' sadness settle on me again. A few instants in particular are crystalized in my mind, tiny sharp, cold, vivid, pressed forever in my memory like stones settled at the bottom of a riverbed.  One was at the very end of the service, as the casket was being carried out.  The pallbearers stopped in the center of the aisle for a final prayer, and the head of the casket was directly in front of me where I sat on the end.  As the priest began to speak - the words are gone, but the tone is still there, echoing - my friend reached his left hand out and lay it on his mother's casket to say goodbye.  His right hand he reached out behind him, for comfort or strength or something else I can't put a name to.  His reaching fingers found my open hand, and I held on as tightly as I could.  I can still feel the heat from his palm, radiating, intense, as though he were on fire.  I remember thinking how funny it is that grief and sadness are thought of as greys: as rain and clouds and subduded voices, muted tones and dark skies.  This grief, the grief of a youngman on the edge of the "real world" without his mother's hand, was fire.  It was red and it was burning and it seared me right down to the middle of the middle of the center of myself.  I tried to say a prayer but even my thoughts were tongue tied, so I gave over to God all the things I was feeling, trusting that he understood the language of my heart.

The second moment that I'll carry with me was midway through the service.  I was sitting at the end of a row of mostly seniors, next to a good friend of mine who is graduating soon. We had just gone and received communion, which neccesitated passing by the grieving family.  I'd been doing my best not to cry (The service wasn't about me. I am stubborn. Etc. etc etc.) until then, but passing by the family, especially our friend, was too much for dry eyes.  As I knelt down to pray, two fat, round tears like liquid marbles rolled down my face. Before the second one had passed my cheekbone and curved its way down my chin, the friend who was sitting to my right had his hand on my back.  Without ever looking over at me or saying a word, he just pressed his palm against my shoulderblade, steadying my heart and resolve in one motion. I realized how lucky I was to have that hand on my back - how lucky we all were to have hearts to share in this grief together, as we had shared in so many other losses, as well as triumphs and joy.

You know when people talk about realizing everything they've ever known is a lie?

 All my life I was taught to mistrust people, to fear them even.  To be less an island and more an iceberg - not only alone and indepedent, but with most of myself totally hidden and perfectly cold.  As I've left that bubble and entered this world, I am finding the core of me isn't an iceberg at all.  It is warm, and it's soft, and it is human and flawed and so breakable.  Sometimes I love that, but often it makes me afraid.  It's scary to have a piece of myself chipped off and put in someone's pocket - some secret or memory or thought that I hadn't decided the whole world should see.  It makes me pullback to feel the invisible threads of true friendship tangle around me. Sometimes it hurts, you know, being part of the family - loving other people, sharing their lives.  Not only do you risk your own hopes but suddenly your heart rides with theirs, too tugged along by those invisible strings.  In the second my friend's palm rested against my back, I felt cracks radiate along every fault line in the frozen island I was taught to become.  And I realized the pay off for the worry, the vulnerablity, the trusting, is simple - I won't melt into the ocean alone.

There will always be at least one hand pressed against me, keeping me afloat.

I Didn't Fall Off the Face Of The Earth

. . . I've simply fallen off of the internet!  This happens for a few weeks every semester, when I start getting back into the swing of things at school.  This particular semester, like last semester, has had an exceptionally rocky and busy start.  Here's a quick rundown of what I've been up to, as well as my promise to be back aboard the regularly blogging bandwagon!

*Came back to school and began juggling credits.  I'm currently taking about 20 credits!  Making them all fit and being sure I could afford everything took every waking moment of the first two or three weeks!

*FINALLY convinced my insurance company/school to let me have my hip looked at!  It was badly injured last semester when I was assaulted, and I've been struggling with pain, decreased mobility, weakness and clicking.

* The official diagnosis is labral tearing and damage (we have to do more tests to ascertain what kind) to my iliopsoas.

*I've been doing intense physical therapy, as well as fighting to remain enrolled in my dance classes as I recover.

*The classes I'm taking include Jazz 6, Modern 6, Ballet 6, Laban Movement Analysis and Notation, Pedagogy I, Acting II, Dramatic Literature, Kinesiology, and Voice Lessons.

So as you can see I've been busy!  I promise to be back with a much more interesting post in the next few hours, and regularly from there.  Peace love and happiness blogosphere!

The Inner Child

You know how wise man have often talked about the child inside of all of us?  That happy, adventurous, joyful and free spirit who keeps us youthful?  Creative?  Inspired?  How important it is to let the inner child out?  Well, I've always had a hard time with that idea.  I agree there is an inner child inside of all of us. . .

But in my case - and I think maybe in the case of many other abuse victims - the inner child is not as joyful, as free, as at peace as the grownup version of myself.  I can still picture her, my inner, younger self.  Sometimes - often in the still of the night, or when I am somewhere peaceful like by the water or in a silent stage/rehearsal space - she reappears.  I can close my eyes and see her there, like I'm looking in a mirror.

She is short for her age.  Her hair is long and brown, hanging well below her shoulders.  Her brown eyes are big in her small face.  There is intelligence there, and passion.  But it's already curtained, hidden by little traces of fear.  You can still see the questions, though.  Always, always, always a question.  Who? And Why? And when?


I wish when I touched my inner child, I felt the urge to cartwheel.  Or to dance.  But usually, I just end up feeling sort of sad.

Her nose is too big for her face, just like her hands and feet are too big for her limbs.  She's a thin girl - very thin.  All skin and bone, hands and feet, and brown eyes.  Sometimes she is holding a book. Almost always she's holding a worn, well loved doll.  Even when she was a toddler, the only thing this little girl ever wanted was a story, her dolly, and enough room to dance. 


Sometimes it isn't at all like looking in a mirror.  It's like I've become the little girl again.  Confidently answering questions, talking too fast and too much and never far from a book.  Carefully listening beyond my own chatter, for any sound of instability.  Any hint of a threat.  The sounds of breaking things: plates, knick knacks, fingers, hearts.  They each shatter under different amounts of pressure, each cracking at a different volume.  If you keep your insides very still, you can actually feel the vibrations.  Way down deep in your core, like the echo of a plucked guitar string.  While I've never been very good at keeping still I'm very good at staying still.  I'm always in motion, doing something.  Even as a kid - but my spirit is still.  Calm.  Listening for the vibrations.

Tonight was one of those nights, when all I could see in front of me was the little girl I used to be.

There are already circles under her eyes, even though she's barely even ten years old.  They're faint and thin, delicate lilac rings, more a suggestion of sleeplessness than a statement of it.  If you know what to look for though, you see it.  The telltale badges of someone who imagines worlds past the stars instead of sleeping beneath them. 


I feel myself sliding back into that old self, who loved the worlds books and ballets brought her to as much as she feared the one she lived in. I feel little and nervous again, as I imagine making decisions others might judge me for.  As I think about changing my appearance, embracing the person I'm becoming, so different from who I was, I feel my little self peer around the corner, asking if it's ok.  Ok to be someone new?  Is it. . . safe?

She always wanted a big brother.  Someone tougher and cooler and smarter than her.  To show her the ropes.  To worry when the shouting happened that she might get woken up.  To make fun of her - to notice her. She wants someone talk to, instead of only getting to listen all the time.  As much as she talks, she's a good listener - it's her "hidden talent" like the ones beauty queens have.


When I ask a question now, it's with my in-between voice.  The one that sounds like me, 21 and self-assured, but comes from me, 9 and a half and without any confidence at all.  I ask my big brother questions - oh yes, I have a big brother now.  As soon as I became a teenager - all awkwardness and nervousness and strange ideas - God decided to send me someone who'd adopt me as his little sister, maybe because our strange baggage sort of. . . coordinates.  And now I reach out to him, asking about how it feels to get a tattoo and what I'm afraid of when I think of moving to a big city alone.  And somehow my little voice takes over and I'm talking too about where my fears came from.  He's telling me now to be brave - tattoos hurt and moving is lonely.  But it's worth it to sacrifice for things you love and believe in.  Right?

Right.

And I suddenly wish I could summon my elementary school self here, and answer some of her questions.

Does the shouting ever stop?  Why do some people get best friends and some people no friends?  Did you know ballet terminology is actually a mixture of three different languages (if you don't count English?)


It's ok.  The shouting stops - though the vibrations never do.  You'll always feel them, behind your closed eyes, in between your heartbeats. . . in the pause in other's stories.  Don't worry about friends: I promise there will be good and loyal and true and courageous people in your future.  You'll keep learning ballet terminology for as long as I've seen of your life.  And whenever you're really angry, or truly ready to cry, or bad dreams creep back in, you will recite it in your head - every step you know, every movement you love, lovingly repeated. You get a big brother.  And a big surgery.  And a very kind and sweet man will kiss you, right before you leave for college.

It's ok to cry, little one.  There is a lot of time left for cartwheels. . .

Geek Girl Swag

It's 2:45 am.  On a Monday night, no less - well, actually it's technically a Tuesday Morning.  I have to work tomorrow.  My temperature is currently nestled comfortably at 100 degrees, the same place it's been since Friday night at about 9:30.  I should be sleeping.

Nestled into a big, warm, comfy bed with a bottle of water and a thermometer sharing nightstand space with my nook.  But I'm not.  I'm tired, yes - that very special kind of tired you only get when you are or have been ill.  The thing is, I can't stand the thought of staying totally still anymore.  It's been days now.  Days of the most exercise I'm able to being some light stretching and taking the stairs to and from the kitchen.  No outside, no walking around just to burn off some of my constant excess energy.  No adventures.  No dance or Yoga (and I've been wanting to start yoga for ages now!).

For someone who majors in dance and has been an athlete their whole lives, this is quite the change of pace.  Some of it has been nice, of course - I've actually done some reading.  Of something other than a textbook or script!  I've started playing around with the formatting and image of A Space for Inspiration again (I apologize for it's messy, half-done state).  I even started watching Doctor Who, something I've wanted to do for ages and not had the time.  I also spent a few minutes on Boyfriend's computer, playing a new multiplayer video game called Star Wars: The Old Republic.  The combination of this (totally awesome, by the way) video game and beginning Doctor Who have made me realize I something.

I'm a geek.

No really, I am.  I've said it before, joked that I am a "geek girl," or have "geek girl swag," with one of my friends from school.  I use awkward hashtags like that on Twitter all the time, in fact.  But I really realized it today, just how much of a geek I am.  And not nerdy girl chic, like Zoey Deschanel on the New Girl.  Not sexy geeky, the kind where you know just enough about "lame" topics like Star Wars to be able to contribute to a conversation about them while playing with your cute hipster glasses.  Oh no boys - this girl is all geek.  Observe:

* I will gladly duel you with Light Sabers.  My character on SWTOR is a Miralan Jedi Counselor.

*I first read the Lord of the Rings when I was 11 years old.  From the age of 11 until about 15, one of my best friends (and pen pal!) could write her name in Elvish.  I was basically convinced this was the coolest trick ever, slash the most important lifeskill one could wish for.

*I'm a total and unashamed Potterhead.  I'm in Ravenclaw, in case you were wondering!  I think my Boyfriend might be a Gryffindor though. . .

*In an attempt to recapture some of the magic and escapist joy both The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter brought me as a kid, I went through a phase of reading Dragonlance books.  I was 12 or 13.  If you don't know what those are, it may be because you're a socially well adjusted adult. . .

*I like classic Disney movies, particularly of the Princess variety (and well yes, I know she is the very first Disney Princess I cannot stand Snow White.  Blech!).

*I've begun watching Doctor Who, am an avid fan of both Grimm and Once Upon A Time, and have every intention of adding Sherlock and Game Of Thrones to my geek tv viewing pleasure.

*Comic.  Books.

There are lots of other examples of my geekiness that I could point too. . . but I'm a little worried I may have scared you away by now.  The funny thing is, people are always surprised by this part of me, as though only awkward high schoolers and overweight dudes who work at Newbury Comics are allowed to have moments of super fandom.  It's a silly stereotype, no?  I'm a mature, emotionally stable adult.  I'm neither sun deprived nor Dorritos indulged.  I don't wear primarily black.  I've never dyed my hair a color only found in a crayola crayon box, my ears don't have gauges, and I'm not socially inept.

What other silly stereotypes are there out there, that bother you?  Any in particular that apply to you?  I think I might like to devote an entire post to some of the things I should be, based on stereotypes, and I'd love to hear what mold you don't quite fit in!

You'll Notice

. . . that the face of this blog is under construction.  I know the buttons that lead to pages on the left hand side, for instance, don't currently match up.  It will probably be a day or two before I can fix that, and finish much of my revamping.  I do hope you accept my apologies for the mess in the meantime!

In Retrospect. . . Wow.

I started 2011 with an open heart and the sincere hope of being friends.  I'm not sure if 2011 and I ended as friends. . . to be honest I'm not yet sure how I feel about this past year.  Part of me is mildly shocked that it is in fact a "past" year.   Where did it go?  On the other hand, I feel very different from the rather hopeful voice that is clear in the above post.  Thats not to say this past year was all bad, or even mostly bad.  It was mostly unexpected and full of totally new experiences.  Let's just take a look back, shall we?*

January

I started the new year looking forward to the adventures I knew it had in store, the blessings I hoped would come, and the trials I could anticipate so early on.  I went back to school to start the second semester of my sophomore year, which was the busiest I'd ever encountered.  I began adding pages to and experimenting with the layout of my blog.  I had one of the most amazing experiences of my life in the form of KCACTF (Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival), a solid week of master classes, workshops, performances, auditions, exploring theater, and parties.  I grappled with some of my insecurities.

February

I had volunteered to do crew work for our spring plays The Odd Couple and The Female Odd Couple and found myself thrown in as Props Designer and Props Manager. . . and then also running the backstage crew!  It turned out to be a little bit much for me (coupled with a very heavy class load, rehearsals for another show, and lots of homework) and the weekend of Valentines Day/my 18 month anniversary with Boyfriend I ended up heading home with a pretty bad concussion.  And a cold.  Bad luck runs in threes, yes?  My luck ran out (thankfully) in time for a heartfelt wedding of two deserving people.

March

I found myself forced to move out of my childhood home for good. . . and it was nothing like I expected.  I turned 21 and had the best birthday I've ever had, complete with a mini celebration, a yummy cake, my first time in a bar (and my first drink, which I couldn't finish), a beautiful present from Boyfriend, and lots of laughter.  I was Assistant Stage Manager for our spring Musical, which was amazing.  And I experienced my most life-changing adventure thus far: flying to the Caribbean for spring break with two of my dearest friends, to experience Trinidad & Tobago in all of it's glory, culture, and rawness during Carnival, the biggest part of the year.  I saw how people on a different part of the globe experienced our shared religion, breathed in air that smelled of flowers and spices I'd never known, tasted entirely new flavors, saw the sunset over new mountains, started learning another language, wrestled (and eventually gave into) wild tropical waves, and bonded with girls I will love for the rest of my life.  I grieved with the world for Japan, and ached for my friends there and whose families were trapped in the rubbles.  I learned through these last two things that life is so worth living - and that each breath is a true blessing.

April

I got to take some awesome pictures with my incredibly talented photographer friend, and played around with my roommate's camera after a saturday morning rehearsal.  I was inspired by a classroom exercise to give this blog a new name.  I celebrated the differences that make my relationship work.  I did my best to survive the end of the semester. . . 

May

I started finals with a lovely breakthrough.  My little sister turned 19.  I settled into my new home, including starting a garden and finding a rhythm for my exercise regime.  I reflected on a year post surgery.  I started trying to navigate my work schedule in a new place.

June

I tried to find a way to help my friend Alivia, and reached out to the blogging community.  I alphabetized myself.  I started working for the summer, teaching dance and martial arts and being a camp counselor at a kids fitness & fun day camp.

July

I continued with my Weekly Gratitude participation, and was really excited that one of my favorite bloggers reading and commenting on one of my posts.  I got to cross one of the things I was looking forward to back in January off of my list - Shauna & Jake's wedding.  It was a glorious mountaintop, castle affair, complete with a sparkling white dress, dashing marines, glowing tealights, free flowing tears, live music, and dancing in a circle of friends I've had since I was two years old.  

August

I totally updated and changed A Space for Inspiration, celebrated two years, packed for school, counted my post-Irene blessings, and learned a few things from her as well.  

September

I started my junior year of college.  I wrote about the strange moods that sometimes grip me on the day the restraining order expired.  It was one of my better posts, I think, not because of the subject matter (which is somewhat sad and a little strange) but because I felt as though I partially captured the emotions I was feeling.  I contemplated what it means to have scars.  I served as Assistant Stage Manager for our fall musical (Chicago).  Walking home from a Chicago rehearsal, I was assaulted.  Thrown into a wall, with my shirt ripped open.  I fought for my life, and I won.

October

I couldn't bring myself to write.  Not a single word on the creamy off white pages of my journal, a present from my beloved roommate.  Not once did I hit "send," on a regular email to my extend family, updating them on my life.  Not one post appeared on my faithful blog, where my few and loyal followers could follow along.  The only place I did write was in my acting journal, because it was required that I write in it everyday.  Even there, the chronicles of the month are incomplete, as I didn't know how to express all of the things that went along with the traumas September had brought.  Sleepless nights, endless police interviews, a desperate attempt to reignite my own passion.  Crippling, blinding, terrifying pain in my hip, leg, and back.  Scary prognosis.  Ice packs.  Fear. Ace bandages wrapped around my newly broken body from the bottom of my breasts to the top of my knee.

 It also was a month full of friendship and love: a roommate who never said a word about the dishes I left in the sink, or the half finished laundry I left in the hamper, or when I'd sit in the bathroom and cry.  A never ending lineup of sweet male friends, each one determined I'd never walk home alone, or take the stairs unassisted.  Fencing with wooden spoons in the hallway and rude joke after rude joke until I had to smile.  Staying up until four in the morning, playing stupid games and listening to good music while I finally cried.  On top of all this, Chicago opened, and I went through the longest and most painful run of my life - though the show itself was brilliantly done.  Classes got more intense. I focused myself passionately on learning fencing for Musketeers, performing in the first dance show of the year (yes on my damaged hip) and exploring my tangled emotions through my Dance Composition and Acting classes.

November

I finally sat down and wrote about the actual assault.  And started to find my way back to myself - the person my friends and family loved enough to endure the sort of half-self I'd slipped into for 6 painful weeks.  It's not my best writing, and I've never truly written about what happened after, but it was an attempt.  Musketeers opened - one of the most amazing experiences I've ever been part of.  And then it closed, and for the first time I cried at a show ending, something no number of cast parties, closing nights, or last performances as ever managed to make me do before.  One of my two best friends came all the way from NYC, arriving just before the show, staying up talking all night, and leaving on the first train out, just to see me perform and show me love.  I celebrated Thanksgiving with my family and through the internet, with my dearest friends.  I did my best to let everyone I love know I loved them and what very special thing I was grateful for in them.  My piece was selected for a show at the end of the semester: in my advanced choreography class, we each had to create and audition pieces for a showcase, which would be my final.  Never in a million years did I think mine would be selected, but it was!  I started prepping for finals.  

December

December began with another sudden, gut-wrenching downward plunge.  One of my friends tried to take his own life, and was taken from our campus.  The hole this tore in our circle will never heal, and it will be for the rest of my life that I can close my eyes and imagine the pain in his roommate's the following days.  He is doing much better now - I'm hopeful for his future.  His roommate and all the boys in his suite are also doing well: after my own assault, I felt pain, but this (after the initial terrifying, swooping, fear) was an ache that filled my heart, my belly, and my head as I thought of the life he almost gave up, the sadness written in our friends, and the memories now colored by what-ifs.  Sometimes I think the ache and my own pain and the prickle of insecurities have blended together in a gentle throb that will sit behind my eyes and beneath my heart for the rest of my life.  It's what I wrote about in this post.  December also brought me my chance to perform that choreography that had been selected from my past, and I got to bring three choreographer's visions (including my own) to life.  I saw the utterly incredible guy I call big brother, and my amazing "sister" as well: they came from Philly and Chicago, respectively, to see me perform and visit with our circle of friends, and that best friend came from NYC again.  I celebrated Christmas with my family.  For a few sweet moments this winter break, I've been living the dream, an incredible and inspiring blessing.  

So that. . . that was my 2011.  The highest of highs in the form of incredible people blessing me with love, support, and friendship.  The lowest of lows, wrapped in fear and pain.  But I try to live a life of faith and I know, way down deep in my bones - deeper than the fear, deeper than the ache, and deeper by far than my doubts - God never gives us burdens heavier than we can bear, or blessings greater than we can manage.  

So I look with a tentative but open heart to this new year.

*I started writing this on December 27th.  It took me until about January 3rd to finish writing.  Only now have I decided I really am ready to share it with you, my beloved followers and anyone else who happes upon it in the interwebs!