Sunday, May 31, 2015

I'm Still Here

It's been a week without blogging and it feels good... but as I used to say on my old blog: through a writer's eyes, the world is a tale to be told...

And I'm a writer, no question about it.

So I need to write.

Maybe not every day, but I need to write.

I've been thinking a lot about the reach of writing. I'd like to write a book. The thing is, I already have a book. Here. On this blog. Hundreds of posts would certainly add up to hundreds of pages... and sure, it's written in daily format... the process mapped out day by day... but that was kind of the point.

And what do I do? Seek out an agent to help me get this work to a publisher? Say, "Here is my life, all tied up with lessons on grief and loss and living. Help me throw it out into the world," and cross my fingers?

So many people are reading the blog. So many new people still join the ranks of readers all the time. They whisper it to me when they see me for that fleeting moment, as I go about my day in the Lehigh Valley. They email it to me. They search me on Facebook to send me a private message. "I'm reading."

Thank you for reading... and thank you for telling me. I know you want to know how the story ends. I won't stop writing.

I've written children's books, poetry, short works of fiction, novels, research studies, and articles... I have a collection of literary works just waiting in the wings... most of which need to be re-done due to how long ago they were written... but THIS... all the writing here on this blog is what I need to say most right now.

Perhaps one day soon a new blog will exist as my identity as the cat widow fizzles out to make way for new things...but this one will always have a place. And maybe, just maybe, that place is not limited to the world wide web.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

At Last: New Beginnings

I position myself in the billowing breeze,
Just to see if I’ll waver,
And I say what I please.

The triumph I feel when I stand on my own
Lifts me up to the sky
Unlike all else I’ve known.

© Arielle Lee Bair 2008

I went away with specific intentions to fulfill and came back lighter, completely ready for new beginnings. 

Saturday, May 23, 2015

Ceremony at Sunrise

Back in September of 2014, I wrote a post called Ashes to Wind, and I envisioned what I'd do when I finally scattered Rick's ashes in Maine. I've had a picture in my mind of what I wanted that event to look like... and here I am, fulfilling it at last.

Today, to mark a year, to say good bye, to fulfill his wish, and to get some closure around his death since there is no grave and abruptly never got to see his face or body again, I scattered Rick's ashes near the sea.

A ceremony of one.

Just before sunrise, I walked the Marginal Way and I settled myself in a cove of stone and sea to read Rick the letter I wrote.

Dear Rick,

Here I am, sitting along the Marginal Way, near the “mermaid rocks” where you took my picture several times. The last time I was here, you were here too. I can’t believe a year has passed…but at the same time, I feel that I am already living a new life. I think that you’d be proud of me. In fact, I can almost hear you say, “You did it, kid. Way to go, A.” 

There have been times along the way when I’ve been angry at you for putting me through something so tragic…so traumatic…so heartbreaking. There have been times when I’ve been frustrated I couldn’t get answers to some of my questions. There have been times of loneliness and times of feeling sorry for myself. There have been times of stress and sadness. There have been times of confusion and pain. But in spite of all that, and actually because of all that, I’m living a new life. And so, as strange as it sounds, I want to thank you. 

I will never fully understand why you did what you did, and I will always be sad that you put out your own light…but even in the midst of your emotional pain and desperation, I know you knew I’d be all right. I lost count during the years of the number of times you told me I was “amazing” or “full of energy.” You always saw a resilient creature who could easily make her own happiness. You knew I’d find my way through the darkness you created. 

It’s been quite a year, Rick. I don’t have to tell you all the things I did, because you already know. You always thought I was a great writer, but I think I’ve surprised even you with the daily blog I’ve kept for the world to read. What a journey this has all been. What a year I’ve had since you’ve been gone. 

It’s strange to say good bye to you again when you’ve already been gone a year. But I need to let you go. I came back here to leave a piece of you as you wished, and to say good bye

So many times this past year, when I’d cry out of the blue, a grief burst socking me in the stomach, I’d find myself whispering, “I’m sorry.” It took me a while to even realize I was saying that as I’d wipe my tears. I think I was apologizing for not being able to help you. I know what happened wasn’t my fault, and I know I don’t have to take responsibility for anything, but I’ve always been so sorry that you could be so low and not get what you needed out of life. I wish it could have been different. I’m sorry, Rick. 

I am so full of life and I’m never going to waste it. I am going to live this life so good. No fear. No regrets. No settling. 

You taught me a lot of lessons in life and in death. I’m grateful for that. I’m happy I’ve had the experiences I’ve had with you and because of you. Good and bad. I really mean that. 

Your life touched mine, Rick. The world may be different because you are no longer in it, but the world will also be different because I was shaped by the experience and now Ido things and will be things I might not otherwise have done/been.

This world will never be as it was when you were here, interacting with people on a daily basis. I know that places will seem emptier, that hearts will seem heavier at times, and that everything has forever changed. But I also know that because of your death, because of how it’s changed me, I will be different. I am different. And because I am different, this world will be different. 

I can search for happiness...or I can choose to create it. This is a choice I get to make every day. I feel lucky that despite the lack of control I’ve had over so many things in my life, I always have this choice. I always have the option to search or to create. And I will always choose to create happiness. 

For me, there is no other way. Rick, you always knew this about me, and I like to think that it was one of the things you loved. 

The choice you made affected me. It's a choice that will always affect me. But I know I can also be happy. The whirlwind of emotions I’ve felt over the last year do not negate my desire to live and breathe and thrive. 

So here we go… My life will go on, and it will be different than I imagined... And I’m okay with that. I’m happy with it, Rick.

Your life made a dent in my life. There’s a groove somewhere in my existence that you made. That’s what I’m saying “thank you” for today. 

Life kept moving, even after you died. And I have to keep living too, Rick. Keep cheering me on.

Love, Arielle
Right here, with the sun newly shining above the water, I released Rick's ashes and watched the sea carry him away. This is the spot. 

And though I cried all through my letter, I felt freer with every word. And though I cried releasing Rick into the stone and sea, I felt a release too. And though I cried as I looked out over the water alone, when I turned to leave, it was with a smile. 

Tuesday, May 19, 2015


One day, I don't want to be known as the cat widow anymore. I can appreciate that what happened to me has shaped me and given me new perspective. I am glad I ran with it and made a new life for myself. But I don't want my struggle to be my identity. 

And day, I don't want to be the cat widow anymore. 

I think my life is moving in the right direction...and I'm excited.

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Where It All Began

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the worst day of my life. But many people read my nightly blog posts the following morning, so it seems fitting to get this all out as I prepare to settle in for the night and wake up on May 18th - a sad, scary day which also happens to be my new Day One. Today is the last day of my year one. Today I described my first 365 days as a widow as "this terrible, crazy, eventful, beautiful year."

When I began this blog last May, I did it with the intention "to grieve, learn, accept, and adapt." I also did it "to cope, heal, and to reach." Those are the words I chose to use in the first post I ever wrote here.  Those were my intentions... and I believe I have succeeded.

On May 26th, just a week after Rick left this world, I began this blog, stating:

"A new beginning has presented itself to me, and though it was not my choice, I am choosing to welcome it."

How do you welcome a life-altering event with open arms? How do you relinquish control and give yourself over to the process? How do you move forward each day without expectations, just gratitude?

These are the questions I've asked myself over the course of the last year. And the answers to these questions lie in the posts archived here. The posts are the process, bared for all to see. This has been work. The answers to those questions lie in the work. I have worked very, very, very hard not only to live an authentic and fulfilling life after grief, but I have chosen to share that step-by-step journey with you.

This blog has sent more things my way than I could ever have imagined. I have gained surprise readers who have made an incredible impact on my life. I have been sent anonymous packages. I have developed relationships with strangers who have been through similar experiences. I have deepened existing relationships with friends and co-workers. I have been the recipient of random acts of kindness by way of cookies, cakes, letters, cards, cold medicine, tea, coffees, etc. - and I don't mean just in the first week after Rick's death. The love and support and sweetness has been ongoing, sporadically showing up over the course of this past year.

In good and bad ways, I have been shown the true nature of those in the world around me. I have been guided by a number of people, including my friend Pastor Ginny, the residents I serve, my parents, my best friend's mom, and even myself. I have been surprised, again and again, by the messages, comments, and emails that this blog has generated.

But most of all, I've been surprised by life itself. In a lot of ways, so much has been taken from me...but I have gained so much from this experience too, as strange as that might sound. I believe I have gained so much, because I chose to enter this transition LOOKING for all the positives. Look and you will see. Seek and you will find. 

That's not to say I haven't had my awful moments. I have been sad, angry, hurt, lonely, and confused. And everything has been documented here. But the only way out is THROUGH - so I let myself feel all those things instead of pushing them away or hiding them somewhere no one could see. 

One year ago, my mind spinning with shock, sorrow, and things to do, I sent a Facebook message to Heather, my best friend's mom (and also a widow), part of which said:

"Maybe I'll start a new blog called The Cat Widow. 
Even in my grief, I think about a clever blog. WTF."

The next day, I made my half-joking musings a reality and this blog was born. When I began it, I had a vision of a site where I would daily chronicle my grieving process. And I have to admit, I do have a serious sense of pride in knowing that I committed and held fast to that vision without fail. I have written every single day, with very few exceptions, over the course of the last year. 12 months. Hundreds of days.

Today, I was contemplative all morning...running through feelings of gratitude for various people...putting together the pieces of the past year, if such a thing is even possible. I talked about some hard stuff with my co-worker friend Chelle. She thoughtfully brought me a piece of homemade cheesecake. At home, my friend Jennifer and I toasted to Rick's life. I'm mentally preparing for tomorrow...Monday...May 18th...a rough remembrance and a new Day One of a new year ahead for me.

This is not the end of the journey. I'm not ending the blog - at least not today. But don't be surprised if daily posts become bi-weekly posts, or bi-weekly posts become weekly posts.

My life, like these daily blog posts, has been tagged with the key words widow, death, suicide, husband, grief, loss, life... But I'm looking ahead, to key words like happiness, resilience, and love.  

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Waiting for Sleep

Last night, I had two nightmares...but then I had a pretty interesting dream.

I was sitting in the backseat of a moving car. Someone was driving me, but I'm not sure where I was heading. I had my hands in my lap and I was looking out the side window of the car, watching everything passing by. 

All of a sudden, an older man in the front passenger's seat turned around to look at me. With an awed look, he said, "All I want is to one day be as happy as you are."

And in that moment, it was like I realized how happy I was inside...and I smiled at him like I knew a secret. 

Today was okay and tonight involved a lot of laughing with two of my work friends. I am good at getting right in the moment and living in it so that I can push away any scariness or sadness. I'm still fairly anxious about the rest of the weekend + Monday...but I know that soon it will be over and I'll have hit all the milestones. 

At this moment, I'm living the worst part... that feeling of coming home to an empty house after a fun night...lying alone in the darkness, thinking...

It's time for bed... And hopefully good dreams instead of bad ones.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Thoughts Aloud

Today when I got home from work, I found myself walking around my house aimlessly, putting dirty laundry in the hamper, feeding my cats, replacing paper towels, looking in the refrigerator, staring at my calendar, gazing out the window...

I found myself standing in my living room, saying out loud to my cats, "Well guys, we did it. It's been almost a year. Can you believe it?"

Then I laughed at myself. 

But then I kept talking. "I wasn't sure what this would look like. I wasn't sure what a year into the future would look like. There have been some surprises, most of them good. Do you remember last May? Can you believe how different everything feels now?"

My cats didn't answer me, of course, but they listened just the same. 

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Almost There

I feel as though I am involved in a countdown of sorts. I'm just waiting for Monday to show up and pass. A year of pain over. I want to check it off a mental to-do list. I want to breathe that sigh of relief. I think I am feeling a bit of anticipation anxiety about the 18th. 

I feel healed and healthy and happy... I feel in charge of my life... but I am afraid (perhaps unnecessarily so) of the resurgence of memories associated with May 18th. I am afraid of the scary stuff. I am afraid of the pit that settles in my stomach when I think about that day. It's a flashback problem. A remembrance of sadness. I can feel myself worrying already about my emotions on Monday.

Knowing myself as I do, the two most difficult parts will be 1) going to sleep on Sunday night alone, thoughts tumbling around in my head and 2) waking up on Monday morning alone, remembering what that day held for me last year, remembering all it represents, feeling alone. I have kicked fear to the curb so many times this past year - and it's been one hell of a year - but I'm afraid of Sunday night into Monday morning. There is something about being alone with the heaviness of such a tragedy that makes a person feel helpless. 

I don't want to re-live that day. But almost as though there is a sentence or a deadline, I know I will. And I can't stop that... and I am afraid. 

A date has no power over me. I am bigger and stronger than any day, no matter how significant. But still... it's my first time... and I am scared.

It's a vulnerable weekend here upon me. I can't believe it's here. I made it...almost.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015


I didn't blog last night, mostly because I didn't feel like it. I'm feeling a change in the air... a good one.

I see multiple doors opening in various areas of my life. I feel transition all around me like a rhythmic  heartbeat.

I have been thinking about the word "healed." Grief can't be cured or fixed or gotten over. But healing does happen.

Healed (verb):
- to restore to health or soundness
- to ease or relieve
- to set right; repair

Everything that's happened in my life has shaped me, chiseled me, and molded me into the Arielle who is lying here in this bed right now. But this woman I am - this woman I've become - isn't new. She is just a better, stronger version of the woman who was always here. Healing happened...internal focus played its part and external factors were at play as well.

I still get sad sometimes. I still find shock and horror in certain aspects of my life. I still can't control the trauma reactions that slip into my subconscious and into my affected world at points. But like the definition above says, I've been restored.

I know everything is all part of a plan. I know my life is on the path that's right. I know fate brings me to the destinations and people and gifts that most benefit me. In those things, I am free of doubt. And when I lie here in the stillness, realizing that I am indeed free of doubt that my life is good and that things happen for meaningful reasons, that inner happiness expands inside of me.

Monday, May 11, 2015


I started typing a whole post... but then I just stopped.

I guess I'm feeling a little speechless tonight. It's a good thing.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Lucky Me

It's funny, but I was more emotional today than I was on Rick's birthday. Grief is full of unexpected feelings.

I went to visit my former mother-in-law this morning with a card, flowers, and chocolate. I apologized that her son Rick could not be the one visiting her, that instead she got me. I told her even though Rick was dead, even if I eventually have a new mother-in-law, that she would always be my mother-in-law. I hijacked her box of tissues and wiped at my eyes a lot. We held hands and had a little cry together, but we recovered. 

I told her I love her. She gave me kisses and called me "precious." She tried to wrap her head around the fact that her son will be dead for a year next Monday. 

Today, I also posted on Facebook an old photo of my mom and me, accompanied by these words:

I have grown up always knowing I have the greatest mom as my mom. She has been an amazing example of a working mom (nurse), a caregiver, and a wife. She is also a comedian, a smarty-pants (though she can fool you with her lack of common sense at times), and a wonderful artist. She has always been supportive, non-judgmental, thoughtful, and fun. People would meet my mom and say, "Wow! I love your mom!" or they would hear a story about her and say, "I wish my mom was like that!" BUT during this last year, from May to May, I've never felt LUCKIER to have her as my mom. She held me on the worst day of my life and stayed with me at night in the same bed. She watched her daughter experience pain and tragedy, plan a funeral, and move forward...but she was hurting too. She took care of my cats while I traveled, she helped me do my laundry and clean my house, told me Rick stories, and she helped me navigate life. I love you, mom, and I wouldn't want any other mom but you! Thank you for being the person you always are, which is the person I always need the most! 

After I posted that and my mom read it, she texted me to tell me that the post made her cry, that she loved me, and that Mother's Day was the last time she saw Rick. I hadn't realized that. Rick died exactly 1 week later.

I spent the rest of today with my family - my mom, my dad, both of my grandmothers, my brother, his girlfriend, and my two nieces. I am not a mom, but I have a great one and I know many, many other fantastic ones as well. It's nice to know the world has so many awesome women in it. Today, more than one person told me these words: "Happy Mother's Day. I know you'll be a mom one day." I'm not sure how to feel about that, except to take it as a compliment and move on. I have so much good in my life already, I couldn't possibly ask for anything more. 

Saturday, May 9, 2015

Somewhere to Stay

Earlier tonight, I fell asleep in my living room chair for about 2 hours. While I was asleep, I had a dream that I was alone on vacation somewhere warm, walking from house to house and hotel to hotel, trying to find a place to stay. Every place I came to looked special in some way - fun or beautiful or comfortable - but I could never find a person anywhere who could help me. At once place that looked promising and peaceful, I looked into the window of the closed door to find that it was empty inside, vacant as though it had closed or gone out of business.

I have no idea what a dream like this means, but I do know that when I fell asleep in the early evening it was still light outside and when I woke up later alone in my living room, there was darkness all around me. I was disoriented and lonely. It took me a minute to remember what time of day it was.

My dream was like living disappointment over and over. Every time I'd see a place that looked great, I'd have hope that it would be somewhere I could stay. I'd happily walk up to it to discover that for whatever reason, I could not. Disappointment would hit. Then I'd move on to the next place. On and on and on.

I am so close to the end of this first year of grief. So ready for transition and happiness and new beginnings. No disappointment.

I have a terrible, terrible headache, so I think I'm going to go back to sleep...this time in my bed.

Friday, May 8, 2015

A Great Day

Today is Rick's birthday. As I stared at the greeting cards last night at Wegman's, it felt weird not buying him a card. But...

Despite the fact that I couldn't sleep and woke up and went into work way too early, today was not weird.

In fact...

Today was a great day.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Effects of the Sun

Last week, in a work meeting, someone tried to describe a tragedy that had befallen their family: "This is something that happens to other people. Not you." I nodded along. Yes. I understand that feeling very well. 

Like everyone else, I went through life reading books about people who committed suicide, watched TV shows or movies in which characters shot themselves in the head, saw news stories of tragic events or crime scenes. A person killing himself by shooting himself in the head is the kind of horrific thing you hear about, or read about, or know about and you just can't imagine it ever touching your life. It's a scene in a movie or the stuff nightmares are made of. 

It's removed from your life, because it is too terrible to ever happen to you.

And then it happened to me. My husband shot himself in the head. I came home to a suicide note and a crime scene. Suddenly, life was very, very different. I became those "other people" stuff like that happens to. 

I became a survivor, a widow, the bereaved, a woman in the back of an ambulance with a State Trooper's business card and the coroner's words ringing in my ears. 

Endless waiting. Mandatory autopsy. And the questions.

"What medications was he taking?"
"Where was the note?"
"Did you see ever see a gun?"
"What funeral home do you want to use?"

My neighbors lined the sidewalks like it was a show while police with shields went into my house. My dad, mom, and brother - all in separate cars - arrived at my side and tried to put me back together while I sat holding oxygen to my face and EMTs attempted to calm me down. They protected my view as Rick left the house in a body bag. 

I tried to feel the ground beneath my feet again. 

As May 18th nears again, these are the kinds of memories that flood my brain. It buzzes with the images and sounds of that earth-shattering day. The memories threaten to disturb the happiness I've built around myself. 

But when that happens, I do something important. I remember the effects of the sun. The sun on May 18th as I walked bravely back into my house after the police and EMTS left, to begin the evening and my new life. The sun coming strongly in through the window as Rick's brother and I taped old photos to poster boards on my living room floor in the days before the funeral. The sun outside as I left the funeral home to head to Hotel Bethlehem for a luncheon where a ton of people who love me gathered in one room together for the first time since my wedding. The sun just days after the funeral when my friend Daniele and I walked with her dog Tango at Paradise Valley. The sun pouring into Jennifer and Matthew's porch where we ate dinner just days after that. The sun in Branford, CT right on the beach with Libes. The sun on my long, thought-provoking runs. The sun...the sun...the sun... 

It nourishes the parts of the soul that are hurting the most, even in the times of greatest darkness. It always fills me back up with light again. 

The sun hits all the parts of me...from every angle. The sun illuminates the parts of my memories that hold the hope. The sun shows me what's right in front of me, so good and special, and lets the past lie where it was left. 

The sun is my spotlight in the best photographs, splashing life onto emotion onto body onto heart. 

The sun is what whispers, "You are alive." A soft caress of warmth, an oppressive heat, a dawning light - no matter how the sun presents itself, it makes itself known and just in case you forgot, whispers again, "You are alive." 

Wednesday, May 6, 2015


One word kept popping into my head tonight as I pondered this wonderful thing called life and the roller coaster of the past year:

capable (adjective)
- having the ability, fitness, or quality necessary to do or achieve a specified thing.
- open to or admitting of something.
- able to achieve efficiently whatever one has to do; competent.

I was capable. I am capable. I will be capable.
I endured. I lived. I prevailed.

The door on my first year as a widow will close in less than 2 weeks... and here I sit, cats at my side, happy dreams in my head, and a computer screen in front of me... totally and utterly capable.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015


Over the last year, I've written a lot of words. 

A lot.

Well, there's a nifty app that lets you input words to create a word collage... tonight, I made a collage of my blog titles over the last 330 days. The larger the words, the more times the word was used over the course of time. 

So I guess you could say at its core, this blog has been about Grief and Time. How accurate. 

Monday, May 4, 2015

Occupational Enlightenment

Sometimes I let my mind wander to the most random of things. I go about my day, completing task after task, only to discover that in the midst of doing something mundane, my mind has arrived at some random destination.

That happened today, and usually when it happens - when my mind stops spinning and arrives somewhere - it's a "full circle" moment or one of those pauses where I nod along to the clarity in my own head for a second.

I found myself arriving at the random thought: where do you find the most widows all in one place? 


A nursing home.

Day after day, night after night, what kind of place has the most widows all together?

A nursing home.

And that's where I work.

In the kind of place where there are the most widows.

It wouldn't surprise me at all if my personal experience has the benefit of attempting to make me a better social worker in my current line of work. I've come to realize that this tragedy is fraught with lessons, whether I notice them immediately or not.

I co-lead a grief and loss support group at my place of employment. The other leader is my friend Pastor Ginny who gave the funeral service for Rick for me last year. Together, we call our support group "Lessons in Loss" and every other week for almost a year now, we've gathered residents together to learn and share...while learning and sharing ourselves.

Instead of just a "kid" (to our elder population anyway) or the Social Work Director with a penchant for leading groups, I have something in common with the residents who sit around the table with Pastor Ginny and me every other week. I'm a widow too. I know about loss. I'm not just talking the talk... I walked the walk. And sometimes when someone new comes along and she's decades older than I am, but she just lost her husband... I've been there before her. And that's weird. Because I'm 30. But it's cool. Because I can help.

Sunday, May 3, 2015


I've been mentally mapping out a timeline of this past year.

May 2014
Just a week after Rick's funeral, I traveled to the Philadelphia Zoo with my friend Jenn to be a guest speaker at the official NEDA (National Eating Disorder Association) Walk. I'm not exactly sure how I had the stamina and mental clarity to do such a thing at that particular time, but somehow it happened. I had made the commitment and it was important to me to follow through.

June 2014
I traveled to Connecticut to help my best friend Libes shop for a wedding dress.

An impromptu day at Mauch Chunk Lake Campground.

My good friend Alicia traveled from Michigan to see me.

July 2014
Back to CT for Libes's engagement party.

August 2014
Girls winery weekend outside of Philadelphia in honor of my good friend Beth's upcoming wedding.

September 2014
Beth's wedding outside of Philadelphia.

October 2014
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Walk at Lehigh Parkway. My team was awesome, massive, and raised tons of money. 

I turned 30. My friends took me out for a surprise dinner. I skipped a night of blogging for the first time in 142 days.

Pumpkin Day 2014 with Jennifer - a new tradition.

Back to CT for my best friend's bridal shower.

Halloween at the Bair household, complete with Sotos and a Durn.

November 2014
Alicia came back from Michigan to visit! We went to Rittenhouse Square in Philly.

I escaped Thanksgiving and ran away to Denver, Colorado for a week.

December 2014
Back to CT for my best friend's birthday.

A special Christmas Eve dinner - Salisbury, Durn & Bair style.

January 2015
Off to NYC for Libes's Bachelorette Party. Visited the 9/11 museum with Lindy and Beth as well while I was there.

I put my house on the market.

My world started getting even brighter, especially towards the end of the month.

February 2015
Surprise package from the anonymous widower.

A visit to NYC with my mom for a Broadway show.

March 2015
Matron of Honor duties and wedding weekend in Connecticut for my best friend.

April 2015
Adventures and a concert in Philly with my friend Daniele.

May 2015
Virginia Beach for my friend Lindy's wedding.

3 weeks until Ogunquit, Maine with my mom.

May to May, it's been quite a year. I'm in the homestretch. It's all coming together...

What's next? :-)

Saturday, May 2, 2015

Thinking Out Loud

There's nothing more awkward and low than being at a wedding, being out on the dance floor for an upbeat song...and then the song ends and a slow one begins...and as you look from side to side, watching everyone else reach for someone, you slink away alone. 

I like to think I'm a fun girl...I like to think I can have fun no matter what...and I have, so many times...but damn, I was kind of mopey tonight. 

Dressed to the nines, hyper from my little coffee tour earlier today, and smiling with friends, I was ready to have fun...but I just couldn't figure out the knack somehow. 

The wedding was lovely, the reception was awesome, but my mind was elsewhere and I couldn't shake it. 

No big deal, just the way it is sometimes I guess.

But after 3 weddings alone in the same year, I think I've overplayed that role at this point. 

I'm ready for less alone-ness. It doesn't fit me. 

Friday, May 1, 2015

Coffee Date

Here I sit in a hotel room again, and I'm so incredibly tired I think I'm just going to sleep instead of attempting to be profound tonight. 

But I will say this: tomorrow morning I have a date with the fresh air, the sun, some coffee, and maybe even a little shopping. Then it's wedding time!

There are about 7 places to get coffee within a 2 minute walk and the weather is supposed to be beautiful tomorrow. I'm deciding how to fill my time...