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The Threshold

It's earlier this morning than usual. I'm laying on the couch in the living room, sorting through sativa-induced thoughts, wondering how on Earth I'm ever going to get back into music and art. I feel so far away.

Two weeks ago I cut off all my hair, and just yesterday I shaved my face clean. People look at me like they are upset, and older people will always point out how grey I've become. In some ways I thought I was going to be sad about how I look these days, but it's nice to blend in a bit. My neighbor told me that I look like I'm wearing a disguise. I like that. 

So, while I put in a few months of growing out my hair and never shaving my face clean, I'm finding that perhaps I was reaching out for the 'reset' button, and perhaps also I need to stare at the loading screen for a while. I think my system needed to be shut down and restarted. Maybe I missed an update somewhere. F@cking drivers; they get me every time!

My life belongs to my son now, and I'm trying to stay focused on that. I'm trying also to stay present, but it's harder than it sounds. Staying present means being a better listener and eating slower. It means entering a room with a purpose and committing to not thinking about unfinished business in the room you just left. 

I sometimes wonder if there would ever be a point in my life when I'm so far away from the person I used to be that they become a storybook character I'm only learning about from old pictures and conversations. I might be pretty close to that. However, I believe in valuing the importance of thresholds. I believe that the lesson to be learned will sometimes be so glaringly obvious that it blinds you when you crossover. It's right there in your face, the painful truth, and it always comes with wisdom as long as you can relax your eyelids enough to let it in. 

It feels good to write about it. I'm somehow less worried about it only twenty minutes after loudly clicking on this keyboard, a little too much for early morning ambience. The moon was beautiful last night and it probably came up loudly over the water. I didn't see it though. I glimpsed it from my window, but I didn't drive down to the lake to see it. I should start doing that. It's right there.

It's right there. Somehow that seems so relative. The beautiful glowing mystery is silently peaking her bright eyes through the trees, through the clouds, and I'm pretending I'm too cool to notice. 

A Note to my Son Before We Go

Today your mother and I have been married for six years. You're staying with your grandparents tonight, and we're eating ice cream at home. That's just how it is, but I'm sure you're getting your fill with Uncle Jimmy. So, here we are son. Only one full week before we head off to Yellowstone. You just finished school last week, and we had a really cool party for you with your teachers and your classmates. I could only wonder if you'll remember these cute times. You see, today I also went to Aidan's graduation party. There was a lot going on today. Aidan is my best friend's son and I remember him clearly when he was just your age. So, that makes me realize that you are not going to be this age forever, but I wouldn't freeze time if I could. You have a lot coming up, my beautiful boy. Just remember to be thankful for where you are on your path and always be considerate to those who are just beginning theirs. I love you, Salem. Dad

Onward Again

Check back with me in one week. 

I have a feeling something cool is coming up.

Earth Berry Apothecary

I feel my connection to this blog taking a bit of a timeout.

Please enjoy the beauty that is Earth Berry Apothecary, our humble family business.

www.earthberryapothecary.com

Wyoming

This year we will drive to Wyoming. I had to write that somewhere.

Boy, I hate when you're gone

Boy, I hate when you're gone. I write this as if somehow you're going to stumble upon it and somehow feel me on this, but I feel terrible when you're far away from me. You're spending a few nights with your grandparents on both sides, and then on Monday you'll begin school. It's Pre-K, and it's kind of a big deal because you've never been away so long every day of the week. It's kind of killing me, and I feel like I have to hide it for some reason. Mom is really sad about it, and we're just trying to see the positive side of these changes. I just needed to write that somewhere because this is a lot harder for me than I typically care to admit. Something about you being in school for so long ties together the entirety of schooling in my mind, and all of a sudden I can see so many of the chapters laid out for our family. Until now it was such a mystery.