In My End is My Beginning

In T.S. Eliot's "Four Quarters" he writes: 

What we call the beginning is often the end, and to make an end is to make a beginning.

****

I don't know who decided that there was anything special about the clock rolling over into a new year; why, as humans, we celebrate the passage of time in this way, as if getting one step closer to the inevitable end of life as we know it was something to be excited about. But, as far as rituals go, this shedding off of the old and invitation to the new seems to surpass all things: religion, language, culture, location, there is no barrier really. Around the world, humans inhale this fresh start, this beginning again, and exhale the year they want to leave behind in one huge collective sigh. We send that which we want to forget and/or celebrate up into the air, in bursts of light and color and crackling thunder, and we enthusiastically toast to the hope for something better on the horizon. It is as beautiful as it is bonkers. 

Personally, today is a very mixed bag. It marks the end of a very difficult year, inviting the hopefulness and excitement (and if we are perfectly honest, anxiety) that comes with the opportunity to begin again, albeit unsought. It also marks the day that I met my former life: 27 years of knowing the person I thought would be my forever. I come to this place with the same heart and soul and even slight dose of skeptical optimism as I did 27 years ago. Outside of the five kids, the biggest difference is the intermittent joint pain and oh, the wrinkles. (My grandma called them her trophies of a life well lived. I am not ready to concede that just yet but I do hold out hope that I will end with laugh lines that outweigh the sorrow.) 

****

In my beginning is my end. In succession

Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,
are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place
Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.

Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, 

Old fires to ashes, and ashes to earth

Which is already flesh, fur and faeces. 

Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.

Houses live and die: there is a time for building

And a time for living and for generation

And a time for the wind to break the loosened pane

And to shake the wainscot where the field mouse trots

And to shake the tattered arras woven with a silent motto.

    In my beginning is my end. 

****

As our house has crumbled and we work to rebuild from the ashes once disguised as hope and promise, I have come to see the intersection of beginning and end, end and beginning, as one. They are merged into unity and I begin to understand that this turning over of the new year is simply part of that union. As the wind shakes loose all the broken dreams and we continue to show up, sweep up, build back up, perhaps a bit more tattered and worn than before, I understand T.S. Eliot:

To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not, 
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstacy. 
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by the way which is the way of ignorance. 
In order to possess which you do not possess, 
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not

You must go through the way in which you are not

****

Today is so simple. And painful. And hopeful. And sad and exciting and every other big feeling rolled up into an enormous emotional sushi roll. And instead of dissecting it into its individual parts, I am embracing the way they mingle and mix to create this crazy, nuanced, lively existence. In order to arrive at what I am not, I MUST go through a way in which I am not. 2025 has been very much that 'way'.  

Like it or not, this year was a year for learning. I learned about cognitive dissonance. I learned to reside there, to sit with the discomfort, to lean into it. I learned to ride a zero-turn (super fun), to paint walls (albeit poorly), to painstakingly choose my own colors, and furniture and decor. I learned to fix things and ask for help and accept the loving support of those close to me; to make choices and mistakes and financial decisions, and more mistakes, and I learned to bounce back up each time ready for the next best thing. I learned that what I had once considered to be a character flaw - my sometimes loosy goosy lack of clear hard fast opinions or feelings on so many things, the seemingly chameleon-like quality of seeing things as "both/and" or "it depends" (not some rigid black/white) - was actually healthy and that this dialectical thinking and acceptance of the coexistence of opposites operating around and within us simultaneously, could be exactly the balm to heal my tender wounded heart:

I can delight in the freedom to be my full self while also mourn the loss of my former life. I can both genuinely long for the comfort of the life I was formerly living and appreciate the dissolution of the life that is no longer mine to live. I can miss the person I chose to spend my life with, even find myself wishing for things to turn back around, and still be thankful for a home free of anger, rage, trauma and fear. I can rejoice in my freedom and awakening and weep over the excruciating loss. I can experience love, so much love, and still be alone. I can be alone and also relieved. 

This paradox of life has always stood out to me: highs and lows happening in tandem. In the depths of the harsh darkness, the light has been with me as well: Grief and joy walking hand in hand. 

****

A friend asked me this week what would make me happy this coming year. I didn't think too long. The thing is, I have always been happy. It is my default. Like others, the full range of emotions is readily available to me; fleeting moments of frustration, anger, disappointment, fear, anxiety (oh how she sometimes makes herself too comfy) and all the others we don't like to linger too long with as well as all those we celebrate and crave. Through it all, the access to joy has never been extinguished. My natural state leans toward happiness. The lowest moments this year, the days I could barely catch my breath through the weeping, were met by gentleness and eventually made way for calm and peace and suddenly, as if it had been watching and waiting, joy. 

This year I learned that I can be both sad and happy. At the EXACT. SAME. TIME. (Seriously. What the actual....) I found that I can delight in all that I am grateful for while holding space for all that hurts. It can all be true. All at the same time. True. And freeing. And utterly exhausting. 

****

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, 
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away ---

The lights are out. 2025 has rumbled its wings. And just like that, the scene is changed and the facade has been rolled away. Enter 2026. 

****

I am here, or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning. 

Becoming

I dream of peace
Above all else
To share a world where we could be ourselves
We must learn to rise above the past
Before we can at last 

Begin again 

-Dream Theater

When I was 21 years old, I wrote this excerpt about becoming:

"I was not born a woman, as you were not born a man. These qualities of life have been granted us after long hours and experiences spent developing who we are, inside and out. And now, by being alone, we find that we are our "better half". It is so often assumed that a significant other fills that role in our make up. Now we know it is right there within ourselves and a lot closer than we ever imagined. We come to realize that not only are we worthy of being loved and cherished, but that this treatment must begin within us. We must first love ourselves and hold onto what is good about our own lives before we can step out and allow others to love us; before we can really love in return...."  

I wish I could hug the sweet child (dressed like an adult, kind of) that I was then. Apparently and unbeknownst to me, I was writing to my future broken self and entirely unaware that using the phrase "qualities of life" to describe becoming gendered would cause 48 year old me to face palm a bit too hard. Little did I know that the act of becoming isn't some linear journey with a beginning brimming with enthusiasm, a structured, electrified middle and a glorious final destination of pure delight and wholeness. You don't just grow up and magically stop "becoming" as if you've arrived at some static place of self where you live happily ever after for all the rest of your days exactly the same person forever and ever, amen. (I think I just barfed a little.) No, no. The thing is, we are continually becoming who we are. And every twist and turn in the road leads us to new understandings of our authentic selves, of who we want to be and how we want to show up in the world. And, news flash, sometimes we suck at this. We fail to be our best selves, we show up poorly, we act out of character, we judge, we condemn, we fight growth (it's not comfortable), we fight change (it's hard), we complain, we check out, we become dismayed or scornful, pointing fingers because why isn't everyone a little better than they are today and for the love of God, we cannot believe that other driver just cut us off ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME "USE YOUR TURN SIGNAL BUDDY"....we try and try and try but we are just, so, damn, human. 

And sometimes, it's downright exhausting. We are repeatedly challenged by the curve balls, bricks and boulders thrown our way; and just when we are swathed in a dulling cozy comfort that leads us into the temptation of believing we have arrived and have nothing left to do on the subject, we are pushed to our limits, brought to our knees, praying for a strength we wish we didn't need all while being shattered into a kaleidoscopic version of ourselves we hardly recognize through the blinding pain.  

And then, life, ooooh life, has the audacity of throwing us a bone, flashing a glimmer of joy and beauty and grace, giving us hope, a tiny ray of light, like maybe we stand a chance....

And that was just yesterday. Today we rise again. Our own personal phoenix tale. Round and round the circle she goes, where she stops, nobody knows....(but she's likely tired and maybe a little cranky so tread lightly.) 

****

As we find ourselves in this season of advent, may we let go of the past year, of who we thought we were and who we tried to be and maybe even who we imagine we are becoming, (you know, all that mushy middle stuff), in order to make room for beginning again. 

On Love

"After everything you have gone through, do you still believe in love?" she asked, so softly and gently my heart nearly melted.

I paused only enough to exhale into the stillness of the space. 

"Absolutely," I replied. "What else is there if not that? All I have to do is look around me. This moment, this chance meeting, you two sitting here sharing, opening up about our lives, our joys and heartbreak; the five incredible kids I was blessed to raise, the community surrounding me, holding me when I can't seem to catch my breath, even in the excitement of my dogs when I enter my house. Think about your adult children, your utter delight in taking care of your new grandson together. Love surrounds you, it surrounds all of us. Love enabled me to create a family and home, as it did you. I know love exists in all its various forms. I feel it in the beauty I see all around me, in the joy I experience over so many little things, even in the very depths of loss and pain and sorrow. Love held my family when my brother died, as it did you when you lost your son. Without love, could we have survived it all? Perhaps, without love, none of those other raw experiences could even exist. Love is all around us. This is God's gift."

She and her husband sat quietly. He leaned in, "It's just that....we have been struggling. We are not sure if our marriage can make it. We don't know what to do."

The bartender turned off the lights. Last call was long gone. The three of us remained, cradled by our stools, by the intimacy of this moment. 

"What do you think?" he asked. 

I looked at them both. Tenderness filled me and a longing to take away the pain and hesitation between them stirred within me. Yet I knew it was not mine to carry. 

Slowly, words came back to me and I offered them this. "I am not an expert. I don't have all the answers, I wish I did. I can only say this: the thing that shatters me, the thing that fills me with such aching sorrow and dread that I have wanted to simply crawl under a boulder and let the weight of it crush me, is the recognition that later on, I won't have the opportunity to sit with my spouse, the one I have vowed to love and whom I have walked this life with, the one who was with me in the very creation of our family, and share in the storytelling of memories that we alone have together. There is no replicating or replacing that shared history with someone new. I will never have what you have: the shared joy of entertaining our grandkids together, of retelling our past together with the next generation, of enjoying each other's company with the satisfaction of knowing we did our job together well. The splitting of time with the people I love the most, my kids, and hopefully, one day, grandkids, is gutting."

"But you will be okay," they said, half reassuring, half questioning. 

"Yes, I will be okay. And so will you. Because love comes in many different forms." 

The conversation lasted into the night. She told me about their unmet needs and desires and expectations. He shared of his fears and frustrations. They let down the exterior they had been hiding behind and spilled it all out in front of me, hopeful to find some morsel to hold onto. And it occurred to me that it was the hopefulness itself that was the morsel to hold onto. 

**** 

I have been told that my superpower is that people, even complete strangers, will open up to me, almost immediately, and want to share the intimate details of their lives. This is a blessing and, at times, a curse. Yet in this season of my life, I am so grateful for this gift. I am so grateful for the love and vulnerability and depth of humankind. It is so hopeful and perhaps that hopefulness is a morsel we can all cling to. 

****

"After everything you have gone through, do you still believe in love?"

Absolutely. 

 

A Story in One Sentence

Note to self: Fill the bee hummingbird feeder at night next time.

The Best is Yet to Come

She's nobody's fool so I'm playing it as cool as can be

I'll give it a whirl but I ain't for no girl catching me, 

switch-e-rooney --Johnny Mercer, Satin Doll

Maybe I should have saved those leftover dreams
Funny but here's that rainy day
Here's that rainy day they told me about
And I laughed at the thought
That it might turn out this way
Where is that worn out wish that I threw aside
After it brought my love so near
Funny how love becomes a cold rainy day
Funny that rainy day is here

--Johnny Burke, Here's That Rainy Day

It was our last night in Utah. I had so needed the escape from what was a very emotional week: the 25h anniversary of my wedding and the first 4th of July in which I was no longer invited to participate in the celebration at my in-laws. The boys were with their dad at his family's lake house and so the girls and I made a trip to Utah to stay with Deborah and her family. It was exactly the distraction I needed. In-N-Out, mountains, trail runs, fresh air, In-N-Out, hiking, shopping, all sorts of entertaining moments; not to mention, incredible friends and hospitality, a beautiful home, views to die for, sunny days, cool evenings, did I mention In-N-Out? 

On our last night, they took us to a sushi dinner and we sat at a table right next to the jazz pianist, James. I was thrilled. Immediately, I snuck over to see if James could play me Satin Doll, pretty please. It was one of the songs my dad played when I was but a little girl, now a sentimental favorite. I could nearly hear my dad's voice singing along as James embellished a beautiful improvised arrangement. It was not long until the first glass of wine encouraged me to go chat with James again and see if he might play me another tune. I explained to him simply: I was suffering immense heartbreak and I would sincerely appreciate if he could play Here's That Rainy Day. And pretty soon, the old melody came sweetly singing toward our table. It was a beautiful evening. The best friends, conversation, incredible food, music, laughter, love and dare I say, hope? My heart was full. As we were taking a glance at the dessert menu, James called me back over. He said he wanted to sing me something and I needed to stay close to hear:

"Teach me how to love you," he crooned, as his fingers moved about the keys in the bluesiest of blues. He finished with a smile and, as I hugged him farewell, he said, "Don't you worry darlin', the best is yet to come, the best is yet to come baby."

                                                                        

They say the years you spend with your children growing up in your home are the best years of your life. You don't realize it of course until much later because you are too overwhelmed and exhausted and don't have time to pause for half a millisecond and then you blink and they are grown and gone and what's left? A bunch of achy joints, injuries of unknown origins, and blurry memories...."I laughed at the thought that it might turn out this way".... 

And hopefully, the next stage also comes with a sense of contentment and satisfaction with a job mostly well done as we watch our now fully functional adult children launch into the world on their own.....sigh. 

I would not give those earlier years back for anything, not one darn thing. I loved being with my kids, doing all the things. But, I will admit, I hope James is right. I hope the best is yet to come. I don't see how yet but if he is right, this next chapter is going to be downright amazing. And even if it can't quite top the fun, chaotic bustling and overwhelming yet deeply purposeful and joyful years of having all my offspring near and prancing about, it's always a good day to be happy; a great day to have a great day; and perhaps enough of that personal mantra will lead me to at least the second to best "best years" of my life: forged with intention, overflowing with authenticity, leaning into laughter, and surrounded by love, light and a wee bit of harmony. Switch-e-rooney....

(And so is In-N-Out)

(A sincere thank you to Deborah and her family for hosting such a wonderful week! You're the best!!!)

The House

One of the big decisions to be made in the middle of unentangling spouses is who gets the house. I'll save you the train-wreck of ruminating thoughts, how many times I have gone back and forth about keeping the house, the decade of history latched on to it like a barnacle, and the fears around letting it go, but, essentially, I staked my claim early, and ever since, I have found myself wandering from room to room, trying to envision what I might want it to look like if it is solely mine (well, mine and the kids... and the animals...and the stuff....and the memories and....) The tough part is this: I have never truly loved the house. Not to sound spoiled, but I actually don't think any of us have really loved the actual house. While it is certainly more than big enough, and quite nice, the compartmentalized floor plan, the 20 year old colors, even the furnishings and ornamental details, make it feel stuffy and cold. It has never felt comfy, cozy or warm. There is nothing airy and open and free about it. It has actually been the antithesis of how I want my home to feel. But the property....oh, the land, the beauty....it is incredible. The grass, the rolling field, the view, the space. 

 

It is almost as lovely as living on an ocean or lake. (This is a distant almost.) And it is where my kids have mostly grown up and where they keep coming back to when they come home. So, I am slowly working on making this house a home that feels safe and nurturing and authentic to our new family unit; one that surrounds us with love and acceptance and peace; a place where everyone feels valued and knows their worth; a space that feels like a big hug from an adoring mom....where they will all come back to again and again. 

And apparently the process is going to require a boat load of paint. And as you know, I have a love-hate relationship with paint....and because of that, a first name basis with the guys at Sherwin Williams. 

So, one of the first projects I worked on in the initial days without kids in the house was the entryway. I needed to create the feeling I wanted in a reasonable space that wouldn't cost too much (money, anxiety or otherwise). Originally, I was hoping for a modern farmhouse vibe (at least on the inside) but somehow as the project ran its course, it ended up quite beachy.....apparently, you can take the girl away from the beach but you can't take the beach away from the girl....

Deborah's interior designer friend suggested I look at the color Argos. On a 2" tile, it looked nothing like what I wanted and so I bought 13 sample sizes of paint before giving Argos a whirl and realized, oh, she really does know what she is talking about. (Which you would think I would have remembered  from last time....maybe I am just a little slow.) Here is the end result:

And with that came the bug to start the next project: getting rid of the split pea soup green booger color in the kitchen. And as anyone with any experience whatsoever will tell you, once you start down this path, it is nearly impossible to come back. I asked Deborah's friend once again for more color ideas and this time, I went to pick up those two colors......and 10 more, because, what if she is wrong THIS TIME??? (Also, they have started to give me a contractor's discount.)  Sure enough, the first color up had a little too much yellow (although it maybe just needed 8 coats to cover up the pea green) and so I started painting different color splotches all over the kitchen. My new goal was not to get it just right the first time (that's WAY too much pressure!) but to just get an acceptable fresh slate painted to see where to go next on the project. Eventually, I ended up choosing the second color she suggested (because, well, she is better at this than I am, clearly!) 

And with that, the painter got going and the more he painted, the more I requested until, instead of just doing one side of the space, he had done three. (And I am still kicking myself for not just finishing the last wall but there's more to that one, like two stories more.) 

And then we celebrated Lily's 19th birthday, complete with a cake she made herself and freshly painted walls (see behind her). 

And after all that, Deborah had to go out of town and suggested maybe waiting a little while before we started a new project.....but all that extra paint was beckoning us and so, I gave the girls freedom to do whatever they wanted on one wall (which became the entire room) and the girls mixed and matched and got creative and now we have a  hang out space with so much character and light I smile every time I enter. (Just don't look too closely to the details as we learned our painting skills by watching Mr. Miyagi teach Daniel in Karate Kid....)

Before getting rid of all the red

It's like taking in a big breath of freedom and exhaling nothing but love and light and a little laughter. 

And it is also a gigantic reminder: We can do this.

Great Awakenings

Great Awakening: a religious revival in the British American colonies mainly between about 1720 and the 1740s..... The Great Awakening represented a reaction against the increasing secularization of society and against the corporate and materialistic nature of the principal churches of American society. -Britannica

If you are keeping up (with the whopping one post that I have written in the last three years), the sudden change in life story has made quite an impact, to say the least. Going from partnered to suddenly soon-to-be single has left countless pieces to pick up; lessons to learn, things to figure out. (Why is rethreading a weed whacker basically rocket science????) Apparently, I had been partially asleep, living on autopilot, and then suddenly the plane dropped several thousand feet, turning stomachs, throwing unsuspecting passengers about, scaring the bejeezus out of everyone so that going forward, even the slightest bump was now served alongside a platter of anxiety and panic. Enter "medication as needed" and a whole team of experts to help with the transition. Welcome to the current Great Awakening: a religious revival born of heartache, grief and an overdose of insecurity and uncertainty. Thank you, Life.

After my brother died back in 2021, I was counseled that you should not make any major life decisions the first year after a major loss. And so, I have tried to keep that in mind while my team of experts, who clearly did NOT get that memo, are asking me to make EVERY MAJOR (and not so major) life decision as if I had ever had to actually decide on anything important since becoming a Mrs. (I might plow down the barn if anyone asks me again where I see myself in 10 years....please people, I am focused on making it through the week here, 5-, 10- and 20- year plans are gonna have to wait.) It isn't that I have never made a decision or anything. It's just that for the past 25 years, there has been another voice, another opinion, a higher ranking alpha who knew decisively what they wanted and so that is what we typically did. (Family what color shutters should we get for the house? White you say? Green it is.) Decisions were easy. A question would be posed, I'd go round and round in my head until I could think no longer, and more often than not realize the simple answer was: I don't care as much as you do, so do what will make you happy. Sure, I would weigh in here or there on things that seemed to matter more (which often lead to some tense moments) but really, life is so fleeting and temporary that many things just didn't seem that important to me. 

Now I am learning I was wrong: IT IS ALL TREMENDOUSLY AND UTTERLY IMPORTANT...EVERY LAST THING! (At least, that is what my primitive brain is telling me when faced with the decisions lurking around every corner...don't worry, I have a different "team" of experts to help me sort through the intrusive, panicky feelings that come from living in survival mode.) 

All I know is that I can no longer live on autopilot. Don't get me wrong, there are days I still unintentionally try to, because inside the body of this 40-something year old woman is a young child who just wants to run and play and create and do her own thing and not think about actions and inactions and reactions and all of the adulting things. 

But then, as the child inside is going about her skipping and singing and merry-making, I am rudely brought to the present in random moments like at the luncheon I attended last week: You see, I was invited to go to an awards luncheon to support one of our high school athletes. In the buffet line, I grabbed a salad, added some balsamic vinaigrette dressing to it and sat down to eat like a normal human being. (So I thought.) As I was enjoying both the conversation and my salad, somewhere between fork, plate and mouth, a drop of the vinaigrette dressing decided to add some excitement to the day by launching itself off the springboard of my utensil and cannonballing directly onto my eyeball which instantly caught on fire, awakening every. cell. in. my. body. Immediately, that eyelid sealed shut, but seeing (poorly) that no one around me had noticed my horrific plight, I quietly stood up, head down, hand inconspicuously over half my face, and made my way into the bathroom where about four women (or maybe two but I was now seeing double through the liquid gushing from my eyes) were clearly just waiting to laugh "with" me. By this time, the tears were rolling down my face and the unsuspecting women were horribly concerned with my apparent emotional turmoil. After explaining my situation, they suggested that "maybe I should wash it out with some water" (yes, I would have rolled my eyes too had I been able) and I went to work flushing out the inferno and stopping the unfortunate, teary-eyed, snotty-nosed chain reaction. Insert my revival....maybe not so religious but it was certainly a revival of sorts.  

Eventually, I made my way back to the table, where the conversation was still going and the eating had come to a halt. Disaster averted. 

There are awakenings and then there are Great Awakenings. Most of life flounders around in between. And ever so often, we experience revival. I'm just hoping that the next one comes sans vinegar.