Love picked my broken heart off the floor, wiped away my salty tears and helped me believe that I could start over. It came in different places, times and faces over the years, holding me when I was falling to pieces. Even if temporarily, love lifted my spirit and stopped me from giving up. Whether in the face of a kind stranger or a loving animal, love chose me. And so, I will always choose love.
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Does doing things on your own make you a strange pea? Does that mean you’re lonely?
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We all have a rehearsed set of lines similar to our Facebook, Twitter or LinkedIn bios. These are usually simple yet exciting enough, witty but safe. It is the story you know people want to hear even if it is not yours to tell. It is a story of our past achievements, our future aspirations, our talents and outward appearances. It is a story meant for the file.
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We’re faced with grief in the form of the death of a loved one, a bad break-up, the loss of a job, a tanked idea, abuse in any form, or a fatal diagnosis. These circumstances mostly come unannounced, leaving you with tear-stained faces and empty pillow talk. You’re told to live well, and just when you do, it’s all taken away from you.
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Home to me has always been where I grew up, an address I remember almost instantaneously. And in the last few years, it’s mostly been a memory decked with stills of my childhood and young adult life. But the more I think about it, considering, the attachment isn’t with the house itslef but with those that make it home – family, friends, pets, moments. Home has always been these peoeple that ease every question and worry by really being around you with no barriers and restrictions.
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They say the way you spend New Year’s Eve marks how you spend the rest of the year. I looked over the water, drank some champagne, laughed with people I love and then laughed some more, FaceTimed with my better halves around the world, watched the fireworks and held onto my love with gratitude. If this…
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Christmas has always been about more than the presents under the tree and the lights on the streets. It is about family and friends around the table, it is about celebrating our faith and the gift of love and forgiveness from God. It is about the joy we share with every Carol sung. It is about the memories made over baking sweets and granny’s Christmas pudding. It is about every tradition from the past and every new tradition you create as you grow older.
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Fifty days to Christmas and a week over to the new year, this is my favourite time of the year. The days are getting long and the breeze is getting warm. As I walk down pathways covered in petals, the horizons are a blur. In the distance, I see a Christmas tree, golden and green. It is covered in lights, and wishes and dreams.
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Food for thought from one of my favourite humans, “Why does figuring and coming up with what’s wrong in our lives or even creating situations that make our lives seem bad come more easily to humans?” I don’t know. It just does. Lately, I have become more cynical about everything and everyone around me. My…
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When you lose someone you love, you don’t simply grieve their loss. With them, you lose yourself and parts of those around you. With them, you lose friends and family and partners you thought would continually stand by you. With them, you lose light. With them, you lose love. With them, you lose a piece of kindness from your whole. With them, you lose faith in the Almighty. With them, you lose a version of life you were prepared for. With them, you lose a piece of life too.
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