I close my eyes and go back to Oregon. June, two months ago, me at the pinnacle of the ebb and flow of this whirlwind. A trip totally inspired by confidence and independence, to be alone, to explore, to discover and rediscover.

The feel of the sand under my toes. The crash of the ocean against the shore. The jagged cut of the shoreline as it ebbs and flows along the coast, cutting a drastic swath between what is solid and what is constantly changing.

The smell of pine everywhere. The fragrance of morning, of coffee steaming into the dawn, of the pit and roll of the valley ripe with vineyards below my balcony. The sun on my skin. The taste of every single moment on my tongue.

Voices familiar and voices silent. Every single experience so good, like the best chocolate. And as I drove along the winding roads of a new state of being, the lyrics of every single song resonated like a best friend in my ear.

This week, I am so far from Oregon, but everywhere I turn I am recapturing it in moments.

The best-laid plans…a relationship to last forever, youth unending, thinking I will forever be untouched by all the calamities I see and hear and witness around me.

It’s not true anymore. I have joined the ranks of everyone and everything and although I can’t tell you what I mean, trust me when I say that reality has knocked on my door more than once and I couldn’t lock it out.

So what. I’m still dancing in my desk chair to those great songs and believing that the sun rises in its pinkness every single day, with promise, with hope, with spirit.

I have not lost my way. I won’t. This is what they call life. The good rolled in together with the bad, like a basket of laundry waiting to be folded.

Eliana’s at dance camp and she’s happy there. Asher and Shaya went to the library with the nanny. I have a work meeting soon, a few phone calls, words to put on the page, to inspire people with.

Tonight is that huge community celebration for Israel’s 60th. The tickets are folded in my purse. My grandmother arrives to join us at 5:30. And somewhere in there, I’ll get phone calls with more information, the puzzle will come together for a picture I can almost see.

I miss the sound of your voice. I miss the rush of your skin. I miss the still of the silence as you breathe out and I breathe in…tell you what’s next.¬†Make you believe. Make you forget. (Come On Get Higher, Matt Nathanson) I ache to remember …

I am thankful for the moments. I am thankful for the people whose love keeps me standing. I am thankful for a new day.


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