Having Faith.

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There’s this adage about how when you let go of something that doesn’t serve you, you create space for better things to to come into your life.

On some level, it seems a little woo woo…I mean, you can’t expect to just ditch everyone at any sign of discomfort and then expect “better” things to just drop in your lap, you know?

But when you are aware, paying attention to *why* certain things/people don’t serve you, and how you create more space for yourself to take care, and then also try to build connections with people that genuinely do respect what you have to offer, whether personally or professionally…

Well, it is somewhat organic, but not effortless.

It’s part of life work—and when we treat it as such, when we trust our intuition, it does work in our favour.

As a semi-nomadic freelancer, I feel like I have a little heartbreak a few times a week these days: a weird client, something that reminds me of a past lover being gone from my life…almost every day, there’s a little goodbye.

I’ve struggled to find the *hellos* the past couple of years; really there’s been a lot of transition and I have found myself extremely lonely on a regular basis.

I don’t mean to dismiss the amazing connections that I’ve made…it’s just been different.

Out of these transitions came a ton of space that I’m finding the courage to work with, and it feels like something is finally happening. I still have to work at it, and I still have trouble with the goodbyes.

But today I had that little (big) feeling of knowing that…yeah, I’m actually creating the perfect life for myself. There will be bumps, but maybe I can actually, really, do it.

So: Gratitude to the ones who choose to work things out, who ask how things are, who just take the time to connect, professionally and personally, those people who say “I know you are good, I know you can do it, keep going,” in some way or another.

You are the people that make me understand why I can’t hang out in the darkness of goodbye.

Thank you for letting me know that the space I take up in this lifetime, whatever life is, matters.

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sloping into autumn

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Last night was the first night in a long time that I really, really didn’t want to be alone. I’d had a glorious day: a massage, beach time with lovely friends, a bit of elephant journal work.

But I woke up around 130am feeling feverish and scared, but I didn’t know why. My legs couldn’t shake that too-close-to-the-edge feeling, that vertigo-style pain and weakness. I don’t know where that feeling came from. I’d even scanned back into my dreams to try to figure out if they’d been nightmares.

They’d been strange and kind of scary, but I didn’t remember feeling terrified enough while in them to warrant this kind of feeling.

It wasn’t one of those things where you think someone else is in the apartment, or breaking in. I looked around for signs of that but it wasn’t the case.

What the hell were you trying to tell me, body? What was so deeply frightening?

This morning that feeling hangs with me, and so I’m not myself.

I know that with the onset of autumn, it’s going to be a relatively fast drop from the apex that was my birthday month, July in all it’s (my) glorious sunshiny ego. July with all it’s playtime, the place that spring had sprung us towards.

It didn’t take much effort at all to get up there; it felt like we’d been sprung upwards and forwards, landing at the top, new, loved (loving), faces all aglow.

I can already feel the shorter days, smell the drying grass, spot the dried leaves.

I would rather enjoy the roll downhill than fall down it, but I might need a helping hand.

Which hand(s)? Where are you? Do you need to be steadied too?

These lyrics (the song) seem to resonate of late. Perhaps it’s all the ocean and beach imagery.

“And darlin’ we will be fine but what was yours and mine 
seems to me a sandcastle that the gibbering wave takes. 
But if it’s all just the same then will you say my name 
say my name in the morning, so that I know when the wave breaks?

I wasn’t born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight
No I was all horns and thorns, sprung out fully-formed, 
knock-kneed and all bright. 
So enough of this terror, we deserve to know light, 
and grow evermore lighter and lighter
You would’ve seen me through but I could not undo that desire.”

~ Joanna Newsom (Sawdust & Diamonds)

Smudge!

Daily prompt: Do you have animals in your life? If yes, what do they mean to you? If no, why have you opted not to?

Hi everyone: meet Smuuuuudgge (aka Schmo, Smudgella, Schmoley, Schmolina, Poohead, Boobface, Sweetie, etc.).  You have to say it in one of those really silly ridiculously high-pitched voices that girls tend to use when they are talking to pets or babies.

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I’ve had her since before she was born, and I believe she turns 17 this year!  She was the runt, but is huge.   Her mother (who was also my cat), never taught her to hunt, and she’s always been a sweet, gentle thing.  Never a fighter, more likely to run and hide.

We’ve been through a lot together: moved to a few different places, lived with a few different cats, boyfriends, roommates.  I’ve also discovered I’m allergic to her, so I’ve had to minimize contact in many ways.

She is a handful, and I get irritated at her frequently: she poops in the corner daily, she scratches at my door every night at 3am.  She is whiney, crotchety, scruffy, eyes and ears no doubt failing.  She has arthritis and weird warts that are making her fur into gross sticky little dreads.  She snores.  She is getting more and more senile — sometimes I catch her just meowing loudly into a corner.  I wish I knew what she wanted!

She’s been overweight forever, ever since she was in a house full of cats when she was much younger: I honestly think she ate the other cat’s food out of insecurity!   I have tried to put her on diets, but now she is old, food is one of her few pleasures and I just feed her little bits whenever.  I feed her good quality food and I think that has been key to her relatively decent health.

There was one time years ago where she was missing, and we found out that she crawled through this teeny little hole under the front steps.  I could hear her meowing, but I could not get her out.  When I found her, her back legs weren’t moving.  I was terrified that she was paralyzed – and the vet that we saw didn’t know at first either.

As it turns out she had just damaged her tendons very severely and eventually started to walk again.  Yup, she’s a tough little cookie!

The thing is, I love her like crazy.  She has been this constant companion, and she is just so bloody cute and sweet.   She practically purrs on command, and she gets really excited when I whistle.  The way she rubs against things (really hard) is also just so cute, and the way she turns in circles as I feed her (she whines for food many, many times a day).

Even though it makes my nose itchy and breaks my concentration, I love how she lies down on the floor with me, purring loudly and rolling around playfully when I do stretching.

She always crams her cheeks into my extended fingers, essentially forcing me scratch her.  It is the cutest thing ever.

I have lived alone alot, and she has been my most constant companion even through dark times, sometimes coming up to me with such love and innocence, and the loudest purr ever, during a darkest hour.

I think she’ll be my last pet, at least for a long time.

I love you Smudge!