Time (Or, Now).
I walked downstairs this morning and found my husband in the kitchen in a sweatshirt.
It took my breath away for a second, both because my husband looks extremely young and hip and handsome in zip-up hoodies, and because the air was chilly - cool enough to warrant extra layers.
This is my time of year - fall, autumn, end-of-summer.
These are the temperatures that make my pulse quicken, my drive focused, my inspiration turned to 'on'.
This is the time of year that I want my coffee hot instead of iced. That cardigans are buttoned once. That children's backs get rubbed quickly up and down to ward of goose bumps on the way to the car.
At the beginning of 2013 I hung a magazine cut-out on the bulletin board in my studio. It says - in gold, fourth-of-July-like sparkler sparks - "This is your year - 2013".
I hung it there because I needed and wanted to believe that this was true. That magic would happen this year, that this would be THE YEAR that my blog was discovered, that my readership would grow, that I'd be the very ultimate version of my clearest visions of myself.
Good things have happened this year. Hard things have happened this year. Good things and hard things are often the same things.
Again, so I don't forget: Good things and hard things are often the same things.
I have a tattoo on the inside of my right wrist. It's less than an inch long, a tiny little pile of hot pink dots. Some people have asked me if it's a rash, and I say, "No, it's a reminder that these are my seconds."
My sister once gave me this little book called The Traveler. It's a fable that tells the story of Charlie. He sets out, having packed up all of his time in a suitcase, searching for the perfect thing to spend it on. He travels and travels, and eventually ends up sitting down with some friends, opening his suitcase, ready to spend all of his time. He realizes, once the lid is up, that almost all of the time he packed up so carefully is gone; only a month and some days and some hours and minutes and seconds remain. And so after traveling the world for years and years, searching, Charlie sits down on a couch and spends the time he has left with his people.
He says yes.
PS: A prayer:
Dear Golden Essence, Spirit of Bigness, Conductor of Love,
I honor you. I am you. I'm terrified of never knowing you.
I surrender. I will try to surrender. I will release my grip.
I will try.
Remind me again and again that I know everything and nothing.
That calm and quiet will take me where I'm supposed to go, not force and will.
Guide me toward the middle of where you are, of where we are together, of where all things you-like reside, even for moments.
I will try.