This year I (continually) find myself returning to moments of choices I’ve faced in days past, when the making of them (or their making of me) swept away all the foundations I thought had been such sure footing and left me literally and figuratively floating. Once upon a time the aftermaths of these moments left me dwelling and running my fingers along the edges of raw scar tissue and all the emptiness that lay beneath, building absences and not-quites, not-yets, not-enoughs into towers that blotted out all the horizons I might yet venture to call my own. This time around, though, the choices are all mine. There is a certain giddy sense of excitement in returning to convergences of people and places and times that once crippled me so completely that I never would have thought it possible to escape them, let alone reach a point where I could face those choices again, and smile, and sleep soundly for having at last found the strength to have made them myself.
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Operating online with compassion, consistency, and trust since 1999