Thirty nine years ago today, with the gentle brush of an angel’s wings, I was shepherded into my mother’s arms. I have been held ever since. Passed from one love to another, handled with care, handled roughly, given space to move and wiggle and grow but always held. When I am at my loneliest, and I sink into empty silence I can feel the web of hundreds of hands, the ones who held me then, who hold me now, who I hold keeping me afloat.
This year I have learned many things but most of all this: My life is not a landscape to be overcome, nor is it a mountain pass to survive. My life is a wild and rushing river, but it is not meant to be forged or crossed; there is no “this side” or “the other” there is only in, as in with both feet, swept away. Sometimes it is wild and rushing, sometimes it is calm and peaceful, often it is murky, usually messy but always it is exactly what it is at that moment–nothing more, nothing less, until it changes again. And it changes, around every bend it changes. I have often waded in the shallows, clinging to the shores, searching for a bridge that will carry me over but there is no over. There is only in.
Last night at the stroke of midnight in the arms of music and laughter I was carried again into another year. The current will carry me away some place wild and wooly or unexpected I am sure, no matter how I cling to the scenery I just passed.
The other day a friend looked me in the eyes and said, “Trust your life”. What other choice is there?
So here’s to jumping in with both feet, to getting wet, to stopping attempts to cross and instead to lifting both feet up, laying back and trusting the water.