The Corona Zone

As you all know, its been a helluva month/months/years....I honestly don't know how long its been. I do know that we are living through cray cray times. "My Corona" has got us all living like we're imaginary characters dreamed up inside Rod Serling's head on a very potent LSD trip. Everyone wearing masks, staring blankly into space, trying not to scream "why god" out loud over and over (just me?). We are all in this together, yes....but we are also all experiencing our own, incredibly unique episode of "The Twilight Zone". So, I thought I'd share a bit of mine...

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space, and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow; between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination, it is an area which we call..." The Corona Zone.

The day they announced schools would be closing I went into a kind of denial. Homeschooling was never an option or desire of mine. Like ever. Didn't even cross my mind as a possibility in the realm of possibilities. I would have rather worked in a coal mine than try to teach my child how to read. Ok, slight exaggeration but you get my point. The day Benny went to kindergarten I did not cry tears of sadness that my baby was grown, but rather tears of joy and gratitude. I would finally be able to poop in compete silence and peace! And that was a gift from the Gods. But alas, there was no choice in the matter. So, back in March, I became homeschooling mama (along with every other mom). I assumed it would be more of an anarchist education. We'd wake up around 10:00, watch some educational youtube videos about orbeez or nerf guns whilst I slowly sipped my coffee, then we'd take a walk in a park and Benny would climb trees, then we'd eat a long lunch, then learn about frogs or the history of hip hop. This has not been the routine. At all. I have realized, amongst other things, I am not very good at creating routine in the home. "Not very good" is a vast understatement. I am horrible at creating routine. I've written out several apocalypse schedules, stuck to each for about 3 days on average, and then totally crumbled. I was a stay-at-home mom, doing it solo, for the first 5 years of Benny's life...minus the "stay-at-home" part. We were always off on an adventure or three. Always on the move. Going from playground to children's museum to playground to walk. We moved around so much I was often occupied with packing, unpacking, finding the new playgrounds, or trying to remember which zip code my debit card was associated with currently. I always thought it was for Benny's sake, but, since this isolation has occurred, I have realized it was really for me. I thought I was very chill and good at being still. Turns out not so much. I needed the movement. I needed the constant change. I needed to escape the emotions hunting me down. I couldn't dare let them catch up.

Now I am left with a child who is 0% capable of entertaining himself. Before this shit-show began I had him in 4 extracurricular activities and had 2-3 playdates scheduled per week. It was like being a personal assistant to a celebrity at times! I knew it was over the top but I did it anyway. Now I am paying the price. He is bored, even depressed at times it seems. I feel like I have failed him and his developing imagination. I need to find a way to shift this dynamic.

A couple of weeks into this adventure, I also had the pleasure of breaking my ankle! Yahoo! This has made the experience infinitely more difficult. For the first few weeks I was on crutches and just taking a bath a day felt like a huge accomplishment. Now, infinity weeks later, I am still in the big, heavy, cumbersome boot. More lessons learned through this delightful experience. I am a bit crazy about the level of organization in my house (ok I knew this already but I honestly thought I had mostly dropped it). Not being able to clean up messes almost drove me to the loony bin. I do not, by any standards, keep a spotless home. I do, however, like to feel some semblance of peace and order in the home. The ankle would not allow this. Crazy-making. I swore out loud more than once at those damn crutches too. We had a love/hate relationship for sure...but I'm happy we have now parted ways.

Now to the mental health portion of this. I have struggled for years with anxiety, in particular the social variety. It took me meds, work, practice, getting back off the meds, therapy, and lots of courage to work through this and cultivate a social life here. When the corona broke, I was at a peak in my life. I had busted out of my self-imposed isolation and had a healthy balance of socializing. I no longer got panicked about going to the grocery store or the possibility of seeing someone when I went to get the mail. I had started substitute teaching and I showed up to almost all of my in-person classes. I started to date someone for the first time in years. Benny was doing wonderfully in school and at home. We were down to one hour of screen time per day for the most part. Life was better than it had been possibly ever for us. Then...boom. I was forced into the isolation that was previously my comfort space. Yes, we have a nice home and yes, my income does not depend on substituting. I know we are very fortunate. But my anxiety didn't get the memo. The longer this goes on, the weirder I am becoming about socialization. It started with not wanting to talk on the phone anymore, then not wanting to go to the store (even when I finally could). I am feeling like I don't want to see or talk to anyone outside of or home (which I know is kind of the point but this feels different). My anxiety is returning and that scares me. A lot.


So, with all that being said....if you know me at all you know I'm going to look for the brightest side of this coin. I like to bitch but I do not like to dwell. Yes, this has been really really hard. But, as always, with the darkness comes the light. Like I said we are fortunate and this has not impacted our ability to be financially stable. We are healthy and have plenty to entertain us in the home. We live in a beautiful home in an amazing neighborhood. The kids still have outdoor only playtime which is a saving grace for Benny. I am still with the wonderful man I was dating when this all busted open, and he has been taking care of me through this. He has really stepped up to the plate for me/us and I cannot be more grateful. Falling in love during this has been strange, but has also made this experience so much easier. I honestly think I might have chopped the whole foot off and made a wooden one if he had not been here to support me! Another positive has been with Benny's level of capability. Before this I catered to him too much (another broken ankle realization). His nickname, in fact, is "Little Lord Fauntleroy". I knew it was bad when my 11 year old nephew had to tell me that Benny was old enough to get his own water now! So this experience has made him slightly more independent, which was necessary.

I still feel enormous guilt for the amount of time Benny has spent on the screen and I feel I am losing my creativity and intelligence more every day. It is hard, no doubt, but I know (hope) it won't last forever and we will get through to the other side...ever more appreciative of the little adventures, friends, and school.

Connection through Community

Today was magic.

It started with the usual get-up-and-rush routine to which Benny and I have become grumpily accustomed. Let the alarm go off, hit snooze, roll over, hit snooze 8 more times, finally get up in a mad rush to make coffee, feed the cats, get Benny breakfast, turn on a show, and scream like a military drill sergeant for him to get dressed. Then hurry, in a mad frenzy, out to the disgustingly messy car. Drive him to school (usually in my pjs), experience some sweet early morning road rage, and arrive just in time to not be counted as tardy. I give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him I love him. He turns to tell me he loves me too.

Go back home. Shower. Drink more coffee. Brush up on my Spanish.


I've had the liquid shits for two days anticipating this next move. I am getting back to "work" (outside the home) for the first time in almost 8 years! I put work in quotes because I have actually worked harder from home over the last eight years than I have ever in my lifetime. It has been exhausting, rewarding, crazy-making, constant, and worth every second. I am so grateful I have been able to spend time with and watch my son grow up to be an amazing little human. But now I've got to get that cash money. So, I had my very first substitute teaching gig. I was terrified. I didn't know if I could handle a random classroom of kids thrown at me. I was so afraid I would mess it up, not have the energy, say something inappropriate to a kid, get a spit wad flung at me. But I showed up. I faced the ever-present anxiety. I dived directly into the deep end of the pool; no swimmies. Turns out, it went swimmingly (had to)! It was a bit chaotic at first as the teacher spoke very little English and explained everything quickly. But I opened myself to the kids. They stepped up to help. They showed me the technology, gave me the rundown of the routine, and were just wonderful. We did great together. I helped them find topics for their speeches and gave them advice on writing techniques, we came up with our very own Harry Potter quiz, I got to know their names and individual personalities a bit, and we connected quickly. It was so easy to care about them, to see them, to like them. They helped me and I helped them. The relationship was more symbiotic than I had expected. As we got ready to leave for the day three of the kids wanted to know if I could come back to teach them again. My heart was full.

Go back home. Have a piece of toast. Head out again.


I took that energy of connection and brought it into my next event of the day. Benny's school had a burst pipe and got flooded this morning (one of the round buildings that contains four classrooms). They were calling for help to move out furniture, papers, books, etc. It is a very small school and they depend on community support to get a lot done there. Usually I shy away from anything involving conversations with unknown parents and teachers. But, rising on the wave of connection I had formed in the classroom, I showed up. I, yet again, dove right in. Started lifting furniture, packing boxes, connecting with other parents and teachers I hadn't yet met. I took down paper birds made by the children off the walls and tried to preserve each unique piece. I talked to Benny's art teacher who told me he is very focused and extremely talented. I saw these teachers, parents, and kids all working together to get this done as quickly and with as much care as possible. My heart swelled at the dedication of these educators and parents. The school that was formed by a teacher who wanted more for the children of this community. A school run by its teachers. A school my son is fortunate enough to attend.

Drive home. Drop Benny off at the mailbox. He ran over to the neighbors before I could even park!

The neighbors had graciously invited us over for a nerf gun battle and campfire (the second neighbor fire this week). I walked over to friendly greetings, snacks, and drinks. Benny was already deep in the play zone with his buddies. I was excited to be amongst other adults. We sat around the fire and talked. We joked, shared, went ever deeper into the conversation. We discussed politics, 9/11, child rearing, love, loss, and poop. The sun set was too beautiful to capture in a photograph. The background music was perfect. It felt like a therapy session, comedy show, and much-needed stress reliever all rolled into one. I looked around amazed at what I am fortunate enough to have here, in my own backyard. Community. Tribe. We realized we had to end the night (to my dismay). We walked inside and the kids were creating art and paper airplanes while one read her own book of funny quotes. I realized through all the difficulty and exhaustion, we have raised some pretty amazing children. My heart is full.


We need this, as humans. We are an interdependent species. We need connections, and not just of the romantic kind. We need friends, neighbors, children, and communities. We need intimate connections and realness. We all need help and we need to be needed. It is as important as food, water, and air in my opinion. I am so grateful for this reminder today and so fortunate to have found this here. I am home.

Yes, I'm talking politics

We are at such a pivotal turning point in our nation. I used to back away from politics because I didn’t think I knew enough to have an opinion…and maybe I still don’t. But I am an American citizen and I have never felt proud to say so (truth bomb).

The North Carolina primaries are weeks away (and even sooner with early voting) and I will be voting for Bernie Sanders. I voted for him in the New Hampshire primaries in 2016 and have seen him speak twice in person. People back then thought I was radical (many still do) and consequently thought I was crazy for even considering him as future president of our “great nation”. Now, just four years later, I am getting ready to vote for him again right here in Asheville. However this time around he is a front-running candidate.

So why Bernie? My obvious wet dreams aside, the man has an extremely consistent track record. Since the 1960’s he has fought for the rights of the underprivileged in society. He fought for civil rights. As mayor of Burlington, Vermont he passed rent control and created affordable housing options as the city changed. He is saying the same thing now that he has been saying for the past 50 plus years (and much of it is well documented). He knows politics from the inside. He understands the corruption and has the backbone to speak up about it. He is courageous and he oozes integrity. The public figures who stand behind him I find are just as brave and consistent. They are smart, well-rounded, and a bit radical…but have proven themselves (think Dr. Cornel West, AOC, Nina Turner, Micael Moore, and, my personal favorites, Ben and Jerry). This man is the real deal. It is no longer radical to think that we could have a nation that actually cares about every single citizen, regardless of their economic standing, race, religion, or sex.

I know many people believe it is a stretch to imagine Bernie winning the nomination. I understand that. I am asking you, however, not to make voting decisions fueled by fear. The most “moderate left” candidate will not beat Trump. We all desire change and revolution in America, except for the ones at the top benefiting. No one else is offering the level of passion and progress that Bernie offers. He can beat Trump if the young voters show up! Remember when no one believed that Trump could win? We were all blindsided and now we can use the same tactic to beat him in 2020.

I believe that, even if Bernie does not win the presidency, a wave has formed that cannot and will not be stopped. People are fed up. They are tired of working their asses off, paying ridiculous amounts for healthcare , childcare, housing, and the basic necessities of life, just to “get by”. No more! It is time. Speak up, get up, and please…get out and vote!!


** Disclaimer: no matter who you vote for I still love you. Maybe ;)

Mommy/ Daddy

As I was watching Benny's basketball practice the other night, I noticed a fellow mom with her baby. She was bouncing the baby on her knee, making high-pitched, made up words and gurgles, and genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself whilst doing it. The awareness suddenly came over me , as it does from time to time, that I am actually a mom! "I'm a mom??"

How did this happen? Who allowed this? Shouldn't there be a degree or at least a license to obtain such an important role of intense responsibility? Mother. I have no idea what I am doing. I'm under qualified for the position. I am untrained. Is this a practical joke?? It comes over me like a wave.

The moment the nurses first set brand new Benny next to me at the hospital, I felt like I was pranked. "You're giving this precious, highly dependent, extremely fragile, innocent new life to me?" Stop! Theres been a mistake!

I was not a natural mother. Up until the point I knew Benny's wonderful, handsome, sarcastic, "best man I've ever known" father, I was never planning on having kids. It was not a possibility in my reality. I had no pull in my heart, mind, or body (ok, maybe a little pull there) to procreate. I knew the world was overpopulated and we were on a dying planet. Why would I want to add to that? If, at any point, I did start to feel the pull, I figured I could always adopt. Plenty of kids out there needed homes and love. Plus, I wasn't a fan of yucky babies. But, alas, the man with whom I had fallen deeply in love said his life would begin the day his first child was born. *Sigh* What was a gal to do?

So I got knocked up. That was the best part of motherhood. The creation part. (just kidding...kind of) I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. Just a feeling of dissociation. Like walking through a thick fog without a compass. Yes, we were trying to get me pregnant (my how quickly things change)but I didn't expect it to happen so fast. Ben had an unnatural sense of urgency about having kids (or so I thought at the time). I wanted to wait two years, but it became important to try right away. So, three weeks of trying later...(Again, the best three weeks of my life).

Most know about the tragedy that occurred next. Ben got killed in an accident when I was eight weeks pregnant. So there I was, grieving this unimaginable loss while planning to raise a child....alone. Yikes.

Back to the content mother with her baby at basketball practice. I think back to when Benny was a baby, and I was more likely to play a game of poker with him than sing "pop goes the weasel"! We would take road trips and listen to Aesop Rock like a couple of old frat buddies. I barely taught him any of the apparently normal toddler lessons (like numbers, letters, and how to use utensils and speak real words). Instead I taught him how to build houses out of sand, irreverent humor, and post-apocalyptic survival skills. Then it hit me...I'm a dad! I've thought this before but hit really it me in this moment. I've been down on myself for not being a natural mother. I've felt immense guilt and even envy when I see how natural it looks on other moms. I wonder if Benny missed out due to lack of cooing and bouncing on knees. I wish that breastfeeding was the best time of my life (my mom actually said that was true for her), but it wasn't. Far from it actually (think waterboarding).

If there is such a thing as Transparenting, I'm doing that. I inhabit an obviously mom body, but my parenting style is more like a dad. Maybe it's the solo parenting that has forced me to play both roles. Maybe it's just how I was raised, valuing masculine qualities above feminine(can anyone say Patriarchy?). Maybe it's just me. Maybe I am uniquely myself and this is how I show love.

One thing I do know is I love that boy more than I ever imagined was possible. This is the aspect of motherhood with which I completely align. I would die for him without a second thought. His happiness becomes my joy, and he is my favorite human in the known Universe (sorry Oprah). It is incredible. I cannot fathom not being a mother at this point in my life. I don't want to fathom it. His life is my main purpose right now (Don't worry feminists: I have other interests too....buried under a pile of dishes. I am grateful every day, even when I am lost alone without a compass, to be called Mommy/ Daddy.

Sullen Girl

“Days like this, I don’t know what to do with myself, all day and all night. I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath I say to myself I need fuel, to take flight.” This is my favorite line from one of my favorite songs. I first heard it when I was 14 years old and I related immediately. I first felt depressed at 14 even though I didn’t know how to name it at the time. My mom was depressed on and off my entire childhood but I just thought she was sad and tired a lot.

When I was 21 I experienced my first real bout of depression that left me in bed. No one really knew, not even me. I just thought it was a normal reaction to something I had been through. My friends would try to get me to go out and I would decline. Sometimes they would show up and physically drag me out of the house. Then I would proceed to sit in the corner of a room at the party, hoping desperately to not be noticed and snarl at anyone who dared to approach me. I thought it was a passing phase. That I was just unamused by drunken frat guys and uninteresting chatter (which was true). From that point on, however, the darkness would become a familiar passenger in my life.

While I could be happy, outgoing, and even the life of the party at times, this was not the norm. I would just make sure to only be seen during times of high energy and exuberance. These states were socially accepted and I always gained friends this way. I learned to hide when the storms approached. Sometimes just in front of the tv, other times drinking alone in my room, sometimes writing poetry. My mom and I shared in our despair and also in our joy when we were both able to get out into the sunshine. It was always better during the warm months for us both.

Some months were better than others and at times I’d thought it was gone forever. I never fully acknowledged what was happening but it started effecting my life so negatively that I finally sought counseling. My counselor tried to diagnose me as bipolar but I wouldn’t let him. Pharmaceuticals were not my path. I was passionately against them.; as were both of my parents. (I grew up not even taking aspirin) And the only option for bipolar treatment was medication. So I was not bipolar.

Even though counseling helped the darkness would still take over, seemingly out of nowhere and without warning. A normal bad day for someone else would turn into thoughts of hopelessness and suicide for me. A breakup could mean being in bed for weeks, or even months, at a time.

Then it happened. The worst case scenario of my life. My mom committed suicide. She actually did it. She planned it, wrote a long note to me, and disappeared to a motel room. That’s it. She was gone. Just like that.

The grief that followed for all of us was indescribable. Something I had never felt. This was very different than depression. This was grief with meaning. It was justified. And it forced me to move out of depression entirely. Grief was a catalyst for me to live my life. And, for the next year and a half, I did just that.

It’s not that I didn’t experience sadness after my mom died or times of despair. I absolutely did. It just didn’t last long amounts of time. I moved to a new state, I said yes to every invite I got and each new potential friendship, and I smoked a shit ton of weed for the first time in my life. I had panic attacks often and the weed stopped them. I could work and function as long as I was high. And I didn’t sink into depression. It helped.

I met a man during this time. A wonderful man. A man who convinced me to have a child and get married, which were never dreams of mine. This man was so different from me, but so amazing. I wrote in my journal that he was “the best man I’d ever known” and this was true. I was the happiest I’d ever been in my life. Then I got pregnant. Then I stopped smoking weed. Then it all came crashing down. I hadn’t dealt with any of the emotions over my mom’s death, over my rape, over my internal struggles and darkness. I could no longer run and hide.

Then, a second worse case scenario hit my life. While I was visiting my family in North Carolina and planning our wedding, he died in a work accident. My love. The father of my child to come. My future husband. Just like that. He was gone. I flew back and was brought straight to the hospital. As I walked into the morgue I felt unreal. Not there. Not human. I shook, I felt nauseous, I looked into his one open beautiful blue eye. I saw the blood between his teeth. I held his cold hand. I was 8 weeks pregnant and alone.

Fast forward seven years. So much has transpired. I have an amazing son, who happens to have his dad’s blue eyes. I have moved about 12 times between 4 states and 2 countries since he was born. We have settled back in North Carolina. He is smart, funny, sweet, and wonderful. We are healthy and live in a great neighborhood. I have been in one relationship since his dad and it was horrific and tragic. I have tried to stay in therapy, have tried medications, have done yoga, stopped drinking for periods of time, done endless affirmations, read countless self-help books, changed my diet, smoked weed, not smoked weed for long periods, exercised, not exercised, and have gone back to school.

The passenger has stayed with me through it all. The darkness encompasses me unexpectedly and for unknown amounts of time. Then I will suddenly be filled with energy and creativity and plan our lives 5 years into the future. Then it begins again. I feel awful when I am down in it. I don’t want to be seen by anyone, I just want to hide. A simple act like going to the grocery store can take hours of self-talk and preparation. I feel like a horrible mother, friend, sister, aunt, daughter. I lose track of time and space. I miss birthdays and moments with my son. I miss myself.

I don’t know how to reach out from this space. I just don’t. I guess I’m writing this as a way to do that. I am, in no way, ever thinking about self harm. As long as Benny lives I will be here, cheering him on. I just don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to make excuses and only show myself when I am doing well. I don’t want to make plans and cancel them with no explanation. I don’t want to be ashamed anymore.

I have episodes of deep depression and less often, episodes of mania. They are partially circumstantial and partially not at all. There is no “fixing” this so please don’t try. I am potentially bipolar. I have been diagnosed with CPTSD. I do not want to take medications again. I just want to be ok with myself and try my best. I want to figure out what works and what doesn’t. I want to feel the emotions fully. I want to stop running and hiding from myself and others. I want to be ok with not being ok. I want to befriend the dark passenger. Learn how to be in the world even as he rides alongside me, possibly forever.



“But its calm under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion”

What is Morality

Who determines what is considered moral and what is considered immoral? For most, it is decided early on by an outside influence or set of influences. If you grew up going to church your moral compass was created by your specific religious leaders. "Thou shalt not...", varying bibles, prophets from ancient and modern times: these are the designers of a vast number of human's morality maps. For others,their parents were the gods of their lores. Whatever they grew up with in the household became law. Then there are those who grow up to adopt an entirely opposite moral code than their parents for the sole purpose of rebellion and clearly asserting their independence. But this is still because of an outside influence. Some have been more influenced by media, authors, celebrity, or advertisements. Others still by their specific nation's set of laws and social norms. We get handed our morality on an invisible platter and then we fight to defend it, or get saturated in guilt and shame for breaking it...our entire lives.

So, my question is "What is Morality?" Merriam-Webster dictionary defines it as "a moral discourse, statement, or lesson", Moral as "of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behavior: Ethical" and Ethical as "conforming to accepted standard of conduct". So we start off very broadly and end with a blatant definition of conforming to norms. Then who determines norms? This is a never-ending worm hole with no real truths.

The next big question to ask is, who determines your morality? Is it you? Can you honestly say that? Can you say you came up with your own rulebook alone? Of course some would say it is an amalgamation of cultural influences, upbringing, media, experiences, traumas, country of origin, and religion...perhaps even brain structure that determine your specific moral code. And they would be correct.

So, in all of this awareness, how do we change this? How do we create our own, individualistic, creative, conscious, self-determined, experiential moral system? Also, how do we balance this without losing sight of a moral sense of responsibility to the whole (Of course this opens up another set of endless questions: are we inherently empathic and compassionate or is this a learned behavior etc.). I'm sure some out there have figured this out and are living from their own map right now (Oprah get it girl). Since I am not one of those people (yet) I am coming up with my own ideas on this complex and often difficult process.

I say start by doing nothing. Go blank. Meditate until your moral code has been sent into outer space. You will need a clean canvas. Working with a therapist is another initial step in the "Anarcho-morality" movement (do I need to hashtag that shit?). Feel all of your emotions, past and present. Welcome them. Allow them all to arise and bubble to the surface in order to evaporate. Endlessly question. Never determine anything as inherently right or wrong. Question everything. Deeply. Then dive ever deeper. When you naturally realize you don't know anything and you never have...then you are ready for the creation process. I suggest you be in this blankness a while, in this yin space, and then, once guided by intuition, begin again. Birth your own story, your own laws. Learn from your array of life experiences and figure out what is truly important to you. Use your intuition as this is your true moral compass and its built right in (ruby slippers anyone?). See what comes to mind, what inspires and enlivens you. Where are you of service or where can you be? Go into the forest, step into the rivers, ask the trees. They are wise and more generous than you could ever imagine (and they're strong mother fuckers). There, you will find your authenticity. Your inherent worth not determined by anything you do or don't do or how moral you are or are not, but solely by your existence. You are therefore you are worthy (haha sounding very new age here!). You will discover You, probably for the first time since early childhood, and you will know how to be in this world. You will know true love and move forward in and as that love. I suppose that is my definition of morality.

This leads us to the ever important question, who am I? To be determined.

Horns in the Breeze

My son and I took a mini road trip today. Went on an adventure as we have often done throughout his six years of life on this amazing planet. We are explorers at heart and it has been a while since we went beyond the boundaries of our home city and our daily routines.

It has been a difficult year to say the least. Circumstantially nothing was blatantly wrong or terrible. Actually just the opposite. We live in a great city, in a wonderful neighborhood, in a cute home. We are basically healthy. My son attends an amazing school that I have dreamed of since he was in the womb. We both have wonderful friends and family who love us both near and far. Anyone looking in from the outside would think we were at peace, finally, after many trying and traumatic life events. But, alas, things are not always as they seem. At least not as they seem on social media to which I am self-admittedly addicted.

This year has been the worst of my life thus far. Not because of any outside influences or events. There have been stressors, of course. Being a single parent is a daily push and pull..always worrying I am messing up and not doing and/or being enough. Always reaching that sharp edge where I feel I could split in two at any moment. But I/ we get through each time and our bond is only strengthened. My son started kindergarten this year and, having so much alone time after almost six years of next to none has not been as freeing as expected. It has, instead, brought up an array of long-repressed emotions that I had been running away from for so long. A deep well of grief finally bubbled to the surface. I also came off of antidepressants in November after months-long attempts and withdrawals. So...as I spent time with my inner, darker worlds, I felt all that backwash of emotion. It was not easy. It was the most difficult journey I have taken to date. Recently, however, I felt a shift in my psyche. Long forgotten parts of me began to resurface and reintegrate. I started to smile again, to feel the sun on my face, to laugh with my son from my belly, to hope for the future just slightly.

And then there was today.

Destination: Greenville, South Carolina. I had heard so many people mention this city over the years. Only an hour south of us just across the state line, but I had never managed to make it there. So, we planned on a day off from school. Packed a backpack with cashews and water and headed south. It was much larger than I expected. The tree-lined streets downtown were reminiscent of Charleston, but I noticed a lighter feel immediately. I anxiously found parking and we began our stroll. A perfect stroll on a perfect day. Never rushed. Always time for pause and spontaneity. My son has reached an age where walking has become more normal paced and less whiny than in previous years. I love this so much. We walked down to the park first, stopping to throw wishes in fountains. We only saw part of the magic and headed back to Main street. We stopped to get hot dogs at a stand (veggie for me). My son ate his in a fury and stated "that was the best hot dog I've ever tasted"! We sat on a bench and listened to a man play the accordion from across the lovely street. I felt as though he played for just the two of us in that moment. We continued to meander, taking in all the sights along the way. Flowers, fountains, shade, sun peaking through the trees. We stopped in a toy store and got a trinket, then continued on our way. Then we headed to the children's museum. It was one of the best we have visited. We stayed for hours. My son made fast friends as he always does. I took photos and felt the joy of his experience. I love this. Feeling joy through another human that you love more deeply than you could have ever imagined. We headed back to Maine street and they were setting up a street festival.I promised we would return to the children's games being set up on the street after dinner. My son picked a creperie and we sat outside in the gorgeous shade. We watched a variety of people pass by. From women wearing fancy dresses to women in head scarfs to gorgeous black men to students laughing. Couples of all ages holding hands. A young Johnny Depp looking waiter recommended a glass of wine and brought us mouth watering food. All seemed to move in slow motion as I chatted with my son and we ate our food gratefully. Each passing moment seemed better than the last. We finished and headed back up to the games, as promised. We played corn hole as a band played "My Girl" and "Stand By Me" in the background. We headed to get our map of the hidden bronze mice throughout the city. My son said this was his favorite part of the day...searching for small statues of mice based on obscure clues. I loved that he loved it. We continued southward, across the big bridge and down to the river. Pure magic lived here. Strolled by us and held our hands by the river. We sat on a swing seat and felt the breeze. We walked across the suspension bridge as the suns set in the southern sky and looked at the beauty of the waterfalls below. Horns seemed to float in the breeze. Children played, bikers rode by, a man sat on a brick wall rocking out to his r & b tunes...lost in the music and free for that moment. Couples, again, held hands and solo walkers gazed into the distance. This, I thought, is romance. A love affair with a place. I was in love.

We headed back, now exhausted but completely fulfilled. I asked my son if he had a fun day. A simple "yes" and a squeeze of the hand was the perfect ending to this lovely day. This new beginning.