WORTH MY SALT (MY FAMILY'S PRIDE AND JOY)

 

The River Basins of North Carolina surrounded by a prayer by Adrienne Maree Brown doodled by me.

Before the car even stops,

they burst out of the back door

arms wide, teeth sparkling.

Love demands we mimic their movements

mirror their joy.

We must transform our anxiety into hospitality,

our lack into abundance,

our vulnerability into armor.

We must welcome the grace dumped on our heads

unless we want to be ungrateful,

cast out, or ugly.

It's a dance we've always done

since birth or maybe before

so with a few cues, we join in.

The crescendo of nicknames pour forth, 

lighting our hearts up,  

pumping our limbs until

we find the familiar rhythm.

There's no room for ambivalence

 in the urgency of right now, 

we are all together,

 once again,

hallelujah.

The jubilation at laying eyes on slight bodies,

wrinkled hands on smooth cheeks,

grips on necks and arms wrapped tight-

it's so much.

Too much too look in the face.

Too much to wrap your lips around.

Your pride and your joy have come home again.

Did anyone ask the prodigal child 

where the hell he'd been 

or what he'd been thinking?

How he could abandon them

to silence and withdrawal?

How he could take all that they loved 

away into the chaos of his whims?

No.

They feasted.

The Bible tells us so.

So we do the Lord's bidding.

With biscuits and black-eyes,

new potatoes and first tomatoes,

some ham, sliced thick and fried.

Fair trade for the gifts she's toted with her.

Whispy blonde heads and swaggering smiles

 cover for lavender shaded eyes and skinny spines.

The questions are begging but there is pound cake

and cool-whip and sugar-laced wild berries, 

steeping in their own blood.

If there are answers to be given, 

I can surely keep them until we're full up.

I am the smartest of us all-

they made sure I know it-

so that I know it is my job to learn and learn well.

I did (I do).

What did I want them to ask her?

The coffee is dripped and the cigarettes are lit.

The ring around the table invites confession.

Now is the time-to see what is real.

To notice what is missing.

To show them who she is when we are apart.

If only I wasn't so heavy.

Weighed down by dust and lard and sour-smelling shame.

If I could take a breath, I might steer them

towards the sickness.

If I could clear my head, I might know how to

explain to them her riddle.

I am almost able to live up to my birth.

Almost worth my salt.

I look at my brother, long eyelashes brushing

freckles as he struggles to lift his lids on Grandma's lap.

Her arm patting his back begs him to rest with her

where the shape of love is a seat at the table.

He will hurt himself to get even one more second.

Me too.

Belonging is the payment for our pain,

gluttony the balance of our sparseness,

rest the cost of mania.

I force myself to forget my queries,

stun my brain until it gives way,

close the door on the scales I just can't

make balance.

No questions tonight.

No righteous judges or hung jury.

Just three generations holding the knife's edge-

shared bread to tide us over.

The breaker masquerading as my mother

will decide to exile us all again.

This tide always turns.

Hissing sands still allow the withdrawal.

I am the smartest of us all-

they made sure I know it-

so that I know it is my job to learn and learn well.

I did (I do).

On reunion nights like these,

I learned to forget the questions

that would lead us dangerously close to the truth.

I learned to forget the bad decisions

and misplaced concern,

forget that it takes (at least) two to tango

but that a whole mob can get away with murder.

Forget the hunger, focus on the weight.

Forget the chill, eyes on the prize.

The big hello, the belonging and smiles.

The pride clutched tightly as if it is an honest reward

 for a job well done.

Those big greetings, bombastic starts, and outsized

moments always felt like the promise of a lifeline.

Until my grandparents were planted in

darkness.

Until my brother met them there.

Until the breakers stopped coming back to shore.

Until I was smooth as glass on the surface,

all my waves buffered in my depths

all my salt heavy on the floor.

I am the smartest of us all-

they made sure I know it-

so that I know it is my job to learn and learn well.

I did (I do).

It turns out, we mostly just live up

to the expectations of our origin stories.

Mine had expectations so high

that it destroyed their pride and doused their joy.

I tried several iterations of a life

lived the way I was told it had to be.

Then...almost on accident...but mostly because

I became who they wanted me to be....

 I decided to remember the questions.

To pull it up from the deeps

the things that were heavy and twisted.

I pulled a lot of muck into the light,

spread it around and bleached it in the sun.

I have a lot more answers to some of those questions

and I have been at sea ever since.

Unmoored but not adrift.

Saltier some days than others.

The questions I wanted to ask them then

are the ones I want to ask all of us now.

Are you proud of yourself?

Sorry.  Sorry.

Don't answer that.

 I know you aren't.  

That's not the real question.

I sometimes can't help my home-training.

I'll try again, less directly, more softly.

It's not your fault, it's the ocean we swim in.

We all learn to drown even while 

they say they're teaching us to swim.

Let me come alongside a minute

and say this without even accidental sharpness.

What I really want to know

is whether your pride was worth the price?

Does the reprieve last long enough

to hold the anxiety at bay?

Will you hurt yourself to get one more second

of that beautiful lie?

Or have you found a different way to be free?

This is a message in a bottle.

Some water is living and some water is dead

and the only way to know for sure 

is to taste it.

Well seasoned is well fed.

 

PANIC AT THE DISCO (DANCING WITH MYSELF)

I love to dance.

Thanks to church choir and band, 

I have a pretty solid musical education.

But...the amount specifically related to dance is pretty thin.

A couple of years of tap/ballet

in elementary school and a free salsa lesson at a bar 

provide the full extent of my formal dance instruction.

I mostly learned by imitating what I saw others do on

Soul Train, in music videos, or later at school dances.

There is no kind of dancing that I don't enjoy-

ballroom, salsa, booty-shaking, two-step, shag.

It all feels like living as far as I'm concerned.

In college, I learned very early that most of the other

group activities that my peers thought of as fun

made me feel either bored or unsafe to a degree

that meant I wanted to drink too much 

(and then become even more unsafe).

I might be coerced into reluctantly tagging along for the usual

frat parties, pool hall, or tailgating

but I was always down for dancing.

By my sophomore year, 

 I spent at least one night a week

shaking, spinning, and grinding out my anxiety

to the beat of anything that was playing in any club

that would let me and my friends on the floor.

If you'd asked me at the time why I prioritized this activity

when I was already exhausted from two jobs and school,

I would have just said I needed it.

Truth falls out of our mouths

even when we don't understand the message.

Haw River Ballroom is a balm to my soul

Eighteen months ago, I went for a walk

to clear my mind of the petty squabbles and missing resources

that plagued my last professional gig

and instead walked myself right into a panic attack.
In a matter of seconds, something flipped a switch in me
and I went from my normal personality
to a shaking, sweating, trembling mess of a human.
Inside my head, there was a high pitched ringing sound that dulled
what was happening on the outside and my vision narrowed
to a blurred landscape of disembodied articles.
Nothing felt real.
Everything felt crisp, significant and slow.

It wasn't my first panic attack and I'm sure it won't be my last.

I have strategies to use to help me come back to myself.

I know that I will be jumpy and fragile for hours,

sometimes days afterwards.

Like most things human,

it is frustrating but not permanent.

I would never willingly choose to have a panic attack.

If I could cleanse my nervous system of the things 

that trigger them in me, I'd do it with very few questions asked

and quite a bit of my discretionary fund.

Since I can't eradicate them though, I've spent some time

trying to figure out how I can change my internal narrative around them.

I find I can often make sucky things suck a little less with 

some intentional navel gazing and reframing.

And I've found a weird connection between panic attacks

and dancing-they bring up similar feelings inside of me.

A mixture of trepidation augmented by gratitude.

Like standing on the edge of a cliff

and believing whole heartedly that you

are able to lift off instead of crash.

Like knowing that what you're doing has risk

but also has tremendous benefit.

Like looking at the horizon and feeling

so glad to be alive, just one step from potential death.

I would describe it as 'exhilirated gratitude'.

What a weird thing to wind up at right?

Feeling grateful for having a panic attack?

Sometimes I doodle during the sermon at church and I get breadcrumbs.

Let me explain.

While dancing was important to me in college,

it was not without risk. 

More than once I was the recipient of unwanted

physical touches including several that I would now

call sexual assaults.

At the time,  I was mostly glad the consequences weren't worse.

Here are some things I told myself then:

I wasn't raped or robbed of money.

I wasn't stalked or harassed after the incidents.

There weren't visible marks on my body.

I got away from the perpetrators

and went home shaken but fine (the harshest swear word).

I took the bad experiences and used them

to adapt my behavior and approach.

I listened to my body when it was clear that

something was happening that wasn't great

but I didn't let it take my joy around inhabiting my body

or take my freedom.

My experiences in loud, dark clubs

and that experience walking on the trail by my house

are similar sides of the same coin.

They both remind me that my body is an animal 

and no amount of intellectualized bullshit will erase
my blood and bones and breath.
I have vast amounts of energy and 

I've documented the ways and times

I've managed to forget that there are limits.

My body though-

she doesn't forget.

She knows when someone or something

has crossed the line into 

something unholy, unsafe, or unwelcome.

She won't let me play it off

or blur the lines.

If I push too far into 'fine',

she'll jerk me up hard.

Find this image at Cafe Diem in Pittsboro

A few weeks ago, I spent a lovely morning volunteering 

at Apex Pride's yearly event.

My job was basically to walk around and interact with vendors,

make sure everyone was being kind and playing nice.

It was a delightful experience overall but just as my shift was ending

my daughter and husband noticed some young men videoing children

at the story hour led by a colorfully dressed adult.

It became pretty clear early on in this meeting why

God put them on my schedule.

These were very bigoted, misled, and 

rage-filled young men, here to dox and shame

and belittle behind the facade of buttoned up collars and $200 sunglasses.

I have A LOT of experience dealing with angry white men

tantruming over why the world doesn't want to give them what they

fully expect is their due.

These men seemed to emphasize Bible verses and patriarchy the most

 in their attempt to beat me into submission

but I thought I could distract them for a half hour.

High stakes, intense conversations have been a recurring theme

of my entire life but were especially important in my professional life.

I know how to do this dance better than the average person.

The distraction worked-they focused on me, videoed me instead of children,

and broke their waves of anger just past where I'd been a second ago.

In the moment, it didn't feel materially different than negotiating with an 

entitled client or a tone-deaf peer.

Just another day at the office.

Once the story hour was over, 

I wished them well, blessed them in the words and 

the name of our Creator, then forced this body 

through the motions of okay-ness.

I went to a great concert that night

with a sister-friend, my daughter and my hubs.

I used that medicine-dancing, laughing and singing

to smooth the harshest edges of the arrows those young men

threw at me.

I was fine.

Except-my body knew the truth.

To seem selfless is not to be selfless.

To be composed is not to be unafraid.

There is no bravery without terror-that's just play acting.

I was terrified during that verbal dance,

right on the edge of crashing

even as I was looking towards the horizon.

Those men were so angry at me they were shaking

and they meant to cause violence.

There is at least thirty minutes

of footage starring yours truly that is owned by and may be used by

these men in any way they desire.

That conversation did not make me safer

and it has a cost that my body counts.

It took two weeks to stop flinching at the unexpected.

Darting squirrels chasing each other up trees, 

territorial dogs barking,

popped balloons or dropped pans

would make my heart race.

A couple of golfers came into the coffee shop 

I work at the week after and for just a second

I thought it was the same guys, there to continue

their assault.

I bowed my head as I pulled espresso shots for their iced lattes,

blinking back tears and grounding myself.

I haven't had a full blown attack

in response to this incident but I chalk

that up to luck more than anything else.

Message from a Saint at Raleigh Raw

Panic attacks are a reminder to me

that bodies are holy and should be honored,

a built in warning light meant to reorient me

away from something that the world

or my ego

keeps trying to get me to do that is ultimately

not safe or good for me.

I am grateful for them.

If my history proves anything,

it's that I'm going to keep walking up to

cliffs that have big drops

and staring with glee at the horizon.

I sometimes need the reminder that I'm not safe.

Just in case you've endured one or more

panic attacks,

I wanted to make sure at least one person told you

that they don't make you weak or fragile.

They are wisdom wrapped in an 

irritating package of nervous system signals

but they are not unusual or permanent.

You are not the only one who has them-

there are a lot of us out here dancing with them.

You are okay (or you will be).

Love you.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR ENERGY (GIFTS OF TEENAGERS)

 Between working with our youth group and moonlighting

at a coffee shop, I've spent an inordinate amount of time with

teenagers this year.  

I love teenagers.  Really.

Like toddlers, they remind us of the magic and intensity

that is always surrounding us but that we've learned to ignore.

Everything old is new again,

we get to relive and reimagine our first semi-adult choices

through the lens of their fresh perspective

including our fashion, music and slang.

Teenagers get a bad rap and one of the reasons is that

they reflect our weaknesses back at us  

through an emotional megaphone.

They're are feeling everything and sharing some portion

of that intensity with their words, actions, and facial expressions.

Of course, adults experience all the emotions that teens do

but most of us have learned to shut up about it.

No one needs to hear all that even if it's screaming as loudly

inside our heads as it is in the teenagers.

Right?

Art made by my daughter (Trashpanda with a duck)

Don't think so?

I guarantee you have intrusive thoughts running around

inside your head during most of your waking hours.

Let's see if I can remind you.....

Are your jeans fitting well after the holidays?

How about your arms-bingo wings tight or flying free?

Maybe it's your hair (or lack there of) that sparks your insecurity.

How about the future?  Worried about your 401(k) performance

or the stability of your industry or 

whether your boss thinks you're a slacker?

How did navigating the holidays go 

with your family of origin?  

I'm sure one or all of those reminded you that

even though you're an adult,

you're not impervious to insecurity. 

After all, we're all human, with brains designed

to prioritize negative thoughts so it's

practically impossible to remove them.

Most of us adults don't voice this never ending litany

of anxieties out into the world.

It's just not acceptable behavior to move through the world

verbally cataloguing every feeling or emotion,

reacting like a pinball on the events of our lives.

But being with so many teenagers has reminded me

that a lot of us could use a refresher on effective and ineffective 

ways to manage these thoughts.

Teens say it out loud with words but a lot of adults

are still letting their anxiety seep out

sideways in moments where they think it doesn't matter.

If you're someone who is absolutely triggered

by teenagers and all their loud feelings

or reactive nature,

I would like to suggest that you might 

need this lesson too.

After all, the keys to the lessons we need are 

often in the things that frustrate us.

What am I talking about?

I'm talking about how many adults I interact with who are practically

suffocating themselves with inauthentic behavior

or lack of presence in the real world.

How do I know?

Oh honey.  It's so obvious when someone

is struggling, it's barely less noticeable than teen angst.

I bet you know too.

When the script doesn't follow the expected path,

when the car won't start or the washing machine leaks

or the waitress got your order wrong or 

your colleague asked you that question you'd outlined

in three previous emails...how do you feel?

I'm going to bet you feel frustrated or disoriented

but I'm also going to bet that sometimes you shove that down

and wait for it to leak out into venting with your best friend

or the silent car ride to work.

A few of you might be actually taking it all out on strangers,

blaming them for confusing you with harsh words under your breath

or vicious glares as you pass by them

or having righteous tantrums in the comments/review section of that business.

I get it.

I do it too.

Many of us learned to shove these thoughts down,

to lower the volume externally

and leave the gremlins to do whatever damage they want

to do in the protected prison of our minds.

Instead of healthy reframing, we learned performance.

Instead of direct communication, we learned to appease.

Instead of saying what we need, we learned to avoid.

Instead of navigating conflict, we learned to bully or complain.

This can be a fine short term strategy but it 

ultimately lets you (and those you are around)

down in the long run.

There's a better way to move through the world

but it requires good boundaries

and a rested soul to pull it off.

Here's the basic idea:

You are responsible for your energy.

You.

No one else.

You decide (or fail to decide) how you're going to show up.

It's a choice.

It's 100% on you no matter what excuses or

circumstances or trauma or triggers

or other people's bad behavior you encounter.

One of my favorite teachers, Laura McKowen

has a great set of phrases to remind us that it's not our fault

but it is our responsibility that you can find here.

Last time I saw my car before the great wait for parts 2022 (and 2023)

This feels obvious right?

Most adults will admit on the surface that of course

they are responsible for their actions but few

of us actually think about the energy we're bringing to 

those actions or how they might ripple into the world.

It can get hard in the chaos and relentless tempo

of this world we live in to remember to choose.

We remember to behave (which just means to perform)

in the stable moments that go as we expect.

We know our lines.

We hit our marks, do as expected and we call that success.

Owning your energy is a different level

that is clear and tangible to other humans

whether we want to admit it or not.

I guarantee you know if someone is authentically

present with you in an interaction

or if they are acting.

You are probably just too polite to call them on it.

And you might be hoping that no one calls you on it either.

Have you heard T-swifty's latest album?  There are some gems there.

I'm aware that even bringing this up sounds both smug

and a little too woo-woo for many of you.

As a teen, I learned to behave a certain way and that behavior

 is the most important thing for an adult to have.

I am an excellent performer

and I thought for many years that 

the performance was more than enough for this thing called life.

Even now, after working on #quitting this fakery,

I have a gazillion moments a week where 

my attitude threatens to run away with my intentions

and I find myself acting instead of actually meaning it.

I have to work on choosing my energy

daily.  Sometimes hourly.

Anybody else feel that way?

Want to stop?

Everything is better when you're authentic,

even if it's not perfect or instagramable.

Our washer recently broke and leaked this onto our downstairs ceiling.  If you're not laughing, we probably can't be friends in real life.

Which brings me back to what incredible teachers teenagers 

are for us adults.

Because they look like adults instead of big-eyed

adorable puppies anymore, we tend to 

 forget that they actually aren't mature yet.

Teens are drowning in hormones, growing and changing

in front of our eyes so fast it can be painful.

They get hungry, tired, and overwhelmed 

with the same predictability of any toddler.

When they reach their breaking point, they need to be hugged,

need to eat and rest and play a bit before they can 

do anything too serious again.

Their expressions of frustration or exuberance

are opportunities to remind us what it looks like

to be healthy, not just behave as if we are.

That the choices they make will impact our reality.

That there are better options than simply behaving

but that it requires intention and support.

Because as much as we'd like to deny it,

adults need all those things too in order to show up fully.

My dog Curry hiding out from the teens in our life.

Adulting is super hard-

because we are responsible for our own damn selves.

And when we aren't, there are consequences

the ripple past our own lives.

Barking at your children or your spouse

for little minutiae will bubble around your house

just like a bad stomach bug.

Biting off that waitress' head for a mistake

instead of asking for a remedy will get passed along to the next

exhausted, poorly supported person in her path.

Yelling at the car in front of you the whole way to work

will probably take minutes to dissipate once you reach your destination.

Minutes where you try to greet your colleagues with something

that doesn't come close to matching actual friendliness

even though you are 'behaving' by saying all the usual things.

That energy will roll out into the world

until someone chooses to hold a boundary with it.

That person should be you.

Choose your energy.

Choose your behavior.

If you can't align your energy and your behavior

then take a walk,

have a snack,

or a nap.

Once you're centered, take a deep breath and decide

how you're going to move in the world.

Intentionally.

My favorite teenagers cooking waffles on Christmas morning.

SCHEDULE SITUATION (FREEDOM FEARS)

Almost a year ago, I was discussing my intention 

to leave my employer with my therapist during a session.

She asked me what I was planning to do in the weeks 

immediately following my end date.  

I told her I thought I'd get a job at a local garden center and just spend some time watering plants and soaking in the sun.

She gently reminded me of some things that I'd already told her 

regarding this upcoming change.

I didn't really need the money, I had saved enough to take a 

break for a good long time without much risk financially.

I already work in several gardens around town including my own yard 

so I had access to plants, sun, and water without the garden center.

I was burnt out and exhausted, physically and mentally drained in a way

that made it hard to recognize myself anymore.

What was my reason for rushing to put myself on a timeline again?

What was behind my desire to be once again tied to someone else's schedule?

Therapists are very annoying which is why they are so valuable.

Like usual, my therapist had managed to hone in on exactly the thing that I wasn't willing or able to see inside my own little head.

Quitting my job was fine.

Not having a plan for the future was fine.

Spending time focused on myself was fine.

Exercise and eating right and trying to figure out how to sleep again was fine.

A wide open calendar free of expectation was NOT FINE.

Not even a little tiny bit.

Space that does not need filling

Like, I started to sweat when I thought about how open ended

and available my time would be for the forseeable future.

It wasn't just anxiety or a mild form of unease.

It teetered on the edge of panic; sweaty palms, racing heart

preparing for the worst possible kind of threat.

What the hell right?

Who feels terrible because they have free time?

<clears throat>

Apparently me.

It took me a couple of days to get still and focused 

enough to understand what was happening.

This was obviously a trigger. I've had a lot of experience

exploring those and figuring out what to do with them

so I know how to dig in when they start popping off.

Ultimately I determined that I was scared that 

no one was expecting me to show up somewhere.

If I didn't have an appointment outside of my house

then no one would be aware that something was off with me.

I've said this before but since it's one of the central themes

of my character development, you'll get to hear it at least a few more times.

My over-acheivement and performance habits were developed

as a response to the abusive system of my family of origin.

I was smart, driven and capable because I was rewarded to be that.

It was how I found love and acceptance

AND

it was how I got away from my abusers.

There were two ways to get out of the house when I was young.

Work and school.

Both highly schedule driven.

Both tightly commitment bound.

I spent as many hours at school as I was allowed

and then when I was almost 14, I started working in restaurants.

That was very young to start working

but I would have fought you tooth and nail if you tried to make me stop.

Work was freedom, safety and access.  

Hillary McBride will walk you home.

If I was scheduled to be at school or work, then someone was expecting me.

If I showed up at either of those places visibly unwell,

then there would be consequences and questions.

I was never safe in the confines of my house.

I was never free or able to trust the motivations of those around me.

Life was unpredictable there and I did everything I could do to get out.

My life got much better once I started working and

by the time I was sixteen I was working full time while going to school.

The money I made meant I had access to things like food,

clothing and opportunities that I wouldn't have had without my own income.

I was very successful at this kind of multi-tasking.

My life depended on it (and so did a few other people's)

so even my abusers encouraged that outlet.

So I learned to stack my schedule with as many 'outside of the house'

things as I could possibly fit into a day.

A full schedule meant freedom and safety to teenage me.

There are a lot of things about the human maturation 

process that feel real dumb once you have a little experience with them.

I'm starting to think the definition of a mid-life crisis is refusing to deal

with your childhood wiring in an effective way.

 Those that learn to parent themselves, come out ok in their fifties.

Those that can't learn to parent themselves, 

look like a citrus fruit wearing a bad tupee.

#sorrynotsorry #roevemberiscoming

I've had to do quite a bit of rewiring this wrongly plumbed idea.

A packed schedule did actually mean freedom and safety for me

for about a decade of my life.

However, it doesn't mean that anymore and hasn't meant it 

for about two decades now.

I've created a life of safety and security.

I don't need to run away from home anymore.

I made myself safe finally.

Finally.

But my body didn't know that and 

was having a hard time accepting it.

When we need our body to accept things, we often

have to actually DO them so the body can experience the opposite

reaction and get used to it as a positive experience.

Remember, your body also has to learn to tolerate things that are 

good for you just like you've made it tolerate things that are bad for you.

You can get used to anything.

Even the good things.

Rupi Kaur's book Home Body is gorgeous.

I now have more than six months of experience with a fairly 

open-ended schedule and thankfully, 

it's starting to feel more natural and less scary.

Along with this new perspective on freedom, I've come to 

understand something fundamental that I didn't before.

I need time to take care of myself.

(did you just say duh?  I promise I'm smart in some ways.)

It takes about three hours a day for me to make sure that I am healthy.

Three hours!!!  

Does that seem like a lot to you?

It feels like a LOT to me.

Like who can take a whole three hours away from

all the other needs of the world to take care of themselves?

Except....it does take at least that long.

Sometimes it takes even 

more if I am tryin to thrive 

instead of live my life

like I'm in a combat zone.

I'm working on owning that care as my rightful inheritance

as a beloved child of the Creator because the world 

FOR SURE will not reinforce that for me.

I'm getting there, one long walk and one good night of rest at a time.

View from last week's mid-week grocery walk-10 miles and 25 pounds of groceries are a really good way to spend some workout time.

So what is on my professional schedule for the last few

 months of my year of #quitting?

Thanks for asking.

I've got some things going on that are different

than I would have ever expected six months ago

but I'm really excited about them.

I'll be finishing up my book draft by the end of October and

then I'll move into editing, book proposal drafting, etc.

I am taking on several coaching clients and have space for a couple more.

You can check me out here if you're interested or know someone who might be.

 I think I'm going to try and get a job at a coffee shop 

because I fricking love spending time in them.

I have three other ideas for books including another memoir

and an urban fantasy set in my home state.

I'd like to try and get some short stories published

and get a sense of that industry.

I've got a lot of hiking goals too.  I'm not going to miss

the upclose view to the seasons changing ever again.

Icy cold, sweltering heat, pouring rain, gentle breezes all

remind me I'm alive in a way I'm unwilling to give up.

Just a few things right?

My schedule has space to stretch now

and I can only recognize it as freedom.

Finally.