Five years ago we took a work-free vacation. This year we are Seattle-bound again!

And this time with a baby and a fresh perspective.

Moving less into an upward motion and more into an internal one. Funny how life works out that way.

Our thirties were filled with kids and careers. A game we invented called This is Yours and This is Mine.

“I’ll meet you somewhere between the start and the finish of all of this shared life,” we had promised to one another.

You’ll know me right away. I will be wearing a Google Calendar stamped to my forehead, and I’ll be holding a little sign which says: 

Do you remember me?

Somewhere back there we compartmentalize ourselves by breaking ourselves up into little pieces, deciding where to place emphasis and where to draw away, not realizing at the time that we were doing away with all of the necessary things which made us whole.

Much of that was driven by external factors, expectations driven by someone else’s ideals we had adopted as our own because it seemed like the next right thing to do.

Who in the hell drew up this map we are all supposed to follow anyway? It’s stupid and it sucks!

Eventually, we began to realize that we were moving much too quickly on a bike with  no brakes. The only way to stop the damn thing was to crash it into someone’s front lawn. That was the only way to endure just a few scratches and maybe a broken bone, but to save ourselves from colliding with the perpendicular-moving traffic on the streets below.

Somewhere I think we both regretted climbing onto that damn bike to begin with and trusting that sign that said, “For your safety, turn this way.”

The safe route wasn’t so bad in the beginning. It looked like a brand new, shiny car and a gorgeous house, but the inside, over time, felt more like a cardboard hut in a field of uncut grass with ugly weeds leading down into a polluted lake. We wondered why in the hell so many people decided to live there, spread out all over the globe, reaching for more and more on lands that may look so different, but really it’s all the same.

We had managed to walk to the edge of the water, troubled that we couldn’t see our reflections there. The surface was dirtied with litter and debris. Mud was caked along the edges of the bank, a sign that we had been, unknowingly, for all of those years, disturbing the natural surface of the earth beneath our feet.

We stood there, looking at our own reflections and then at each others. We were a mix of pale colors floating around in our own separate hemispheres, struggling in a lazy fashion to come together into something familiar and into something we might recognize.

“Now,” I say, as I take your hand, “let’s allow the waters settle where they may.”

“But we have to be quiet and still. Shh!”


Let’s draw the scattered pieces of ourselves back into our center.

Let’s put the pieces back together so that life flows in one continuous stream with substance and depth in gorgeous, bold colors.

Let’s be obligated to who we were way back in the beginning instead of being obligated to everyone who doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

Remember way back then?

We were two kids.

One tech-geek drummer who was way too practical for me who rode his bike all the way to my house one Sunday afternoon to tell me that he loved me.

One writer who was way too dreamy for you who was trying to understand who she was in this world, and why, for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what exactly it was she wanted to do. All she knew then was that the constant stream of words in fonts of all different sizes floating around inside of her would one day come out onto paper into some kind of pleasurable form.

You know, as kids we were mighty small, but we knew how to live. We didn’t have it all together, but we knew how to exist within each day.

For love.

For passion.

For discovery and excitement.

My God, Mister J!

Life is beautiful;

in every single way it is so beautiful that it takes my breath away.

Catch it for me, will you, Love?

Hold it there.

Send it back to me.

And for you I promise to do the same.

Happy Father’s Day, my Mister J.

Look at this crazy, imperfect, amazing, emotional, distracting, busy, headache inducing, wild heartbeat inducing life we have made.

We did all of this!

Individually we are capable of so much, but together we can do just about anything.

Now, let’s evolve ever so slowly while somehow remaining the same.