(excerpt) I keep expecting the big life affirming epiphany. I am still waiting for that experience of staring into the void, of hearing my own hospital room alarms go off only to see a cadre of night shift nurses hustle in and check me for signs of death to have a greater impact on my overall world view. It’s not happened yet.
(excerpt) I am the daughter of Danish Vikings and my people have roamed the sea from time immemorial and I am the tiniest blip on the timeline of these proud Nordic seafarers. I can’t help but feel connected to the ancient adventures of explorers in arctic waters searching for new lands. I have grand designs on the high seas, and very little skill but I know that it’ll come . . . eventually. Also, boats are cool.
(excerpt) Black and gray fur slowly encroached across the thoughtfully carved shapes. The walls began to soften and the structure became too fragile to support the art of the carving and the damp heaviness of the decomposition. As my pumpkin grew rank and misshapen, so too did my outlook. Halloween has come in waves.
(excerpt) What we believe to be true is very often our truth in the moment. What is real is real until it is not and then some other reality takes it place. It happens all the time in a million little ways. Have you ever watched a leaf until it turned out to be a bug and flew away?
(excerpt) I look at photographs of those bronzed explorers walking the beaches of last summer and find their faces full of hope and excitement and abject terror of the unknown. They are just a little wild eyed at the onslaught of big boats and old trains and endless days in motor cars. It looks to all the world like they have cast off the weight of the manor house and charged full on into the wild without tether or compass.
(excerpt) The distant past is like looking at a map of where I’ve been. Sitting in a chair and holding the map in my lap the distance seems so short. Not quite the breadth of the maroon and grey Griz afghan I crocheted expressly for sitting in this chair. But looking closer, at the legend of the map, I see the great secret. The map is to scale. One-inch equals five years, ten years, thirty years.
(excerpt) The edge of the earth is always moving, staying just out of reach, like a toddler challenging the tide to touch its toes but retreating quickly from the incoming waves. The horizon is an idea of what lies ahead and where we live is actually the in-between, in the journey to the destination that is always shifting with the time and tide.
(excerpt) The rain matches the sea and crests in waves against the windows blocking out the world and giving the illusion that I might be Captain Nemo gliding silently along alone in my version of the Nautilus deep beneath the surface of the ocean. When the storms pause, for there is more to come, and the wall of water tumbles to the ground revealing an endless horizon, I can’t help but think that this must be what Joshua felt like when the walls at Jericho fell.
(excerpt) I want my goal to be attainable. Isn’t setting realistic goals part of every self-help, recovery, positive action plan in every book you’ve ever bought when you were at the end of your rope and then later ignored because you were super proud of yourself for taking action by purchasing that book so much so that you forgot for a moment why you needed the book in the first place. We’ll never know for sure because none of us have ever actually read those books.