One day about five years ago, I woke up with an epiphany that changed everything.
At 45 years old, I had spent a lifetime trying to answer the question: “Why can’t I be like everyone else?”
My friends all went to college, got married, popped out some rug rats, worked a reliable job. They followed the instruction manual.
But not me.
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2025 was an incredibly challenging year for me.
Right out the gate my best friend, Monique, dies of MS. At exactly the same time, things with Jared spin dangerously out of control, forcing me to step away from him temporarily. But we weren’t done, fate had other ideas. I got really sick and then rolled an ankle walking down stairs and became grievously injured. The wizard might be broken and crazy but he’s still a wizard. Aside from that, I promised I would not abandon him. I went back to Jared.
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In the end, we believe what we want to believe.
It’s always bothered me when people tell the story of how the lost car keys saved their life. You know, the one that goes like this: “I spent an extra 15 minutes searching for my keys this morning and I was so mad because I was going to be late for work. But then, while driving, I passed a huge accident. An escape convict in a stolen car ran the light and the other driver was blasted to smithereens. I am so blessed because God saved me from being in that accident and it was a miracle.”
Is that a fact? I always want to ask if it’s a fact but it seems rude to question other people’s miracles.
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Two years ago, I fled to the Sky Island Mountains to seek shelter from the turmoil and recharge my soul under the blazing sky.
In retrospect, that is why all of us were there. Why so many would travel from so far to meet on the mountain in the name of finding the flow?
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Earlier today I found this piece in my Google Drive. I had saved it there on August 8th, 2014.
I was recently divorced but somehow already involved in a toxic relationship, living alone for the first time ever (at the ripe old age of 38), drowning in oceans of paper and unpleasant memories.
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Here at 30,000 feet the weather is below and the sun is above; hot, bright, burning her face and unchanging.
I’m not even speaking English now, she thinks in vague images.
She’s sleep deprived and hungry but sees the edge of happiness on the horizon.
No Rest For The Wicked 