Flashback to October, when we were young.
My gals and I went to Michigan to see the lake and remember that we are real. It has been a few weeks since the trip, and all my words about it have sort of slipped into the ether, covered up by what’s coming next and anxiety and to-do lists and change. So I’m not going to write about it. Much. I’m just going to leave this little photo diary here to remember it by. To remember the time that I threw actual rocks into the lake, feeling heaviness in my hand, throwing a particular fear away, to the bottom of the lake. A metaphor realized. Sand, water.
It’s November, and I’m thankful for these women, the way they walk beside me, listen to me speak. Too much to be thankful for here. The nightmare that 2016 has been, sliced through by three women who carry joy in their pockets.
I could say so much more here. I could tell you about each of them and about everything we did, about what we were thinking, what we needed, why we are friends. But I’m not sure what that would do for me or for you. I’d rather just show you a lovely impression, some light and some water, some pumpkin donuts, some stitching.
I don’t know what’s coming next. None of them do either. We are all, really, in the same boat, thoroughly confused, trying our best, crying frequently, carrying each other, all the same, all different. Saying I’m thankful is an understatement. This is survival. This is the very, very stuff of living. Saying you’re going to go somewhere and then going. Sharing an unfamiliar bed with a best friend. Getting the coffee started. Singing along to the music. Eating oven pizzas. Having nothing to say.