Why I Love the People Who Raised Me
An hour and fifteen minute phone call full of support. On father's day.
Shouldn't I be the one offering love on this day?
It's the way he says he loves me when we say goodbye. It's not just the words, it's the way he sounds when he says them. As though he just really needed to say it. Some day, those will be the words I remember in my head, some of the many words I will one day remember him by.
My father and I are similar souls in different bodies. We have the same facial structures and we carry around the same furrowed brow of concern, but mostly our similarities lie within. We are both very sensitive to the world around us. We worry too much, care too much. We work too hard, we sit with guilt too often and too easily. We re-fuel in our quiet moments.
My mother is the eternal optimist, the gentle hippie. I have her eyes, her voice and her fiery Aries spirit. She brings me back to the ground when I start to spin and levitate from stress and far too much rumination. She reminds me about patience and faith and the Buddhist inner sense of calm she carries with her most days.
My mom likes to send inspirational quotes with every birthday card, take me out for mother/daughter shopping trips and hug me for longer than most would be comfortable with.
I am fortunate and I am thankful.
Life takes me up, and life takes me down. Sometimes the span of time in between the hill and the dip is lengthy and stable. Other times, those hills and dips entertain themselves by watching me whip up and down them in rapid succession.
There's some big shifts on the horizon. I can feel the build up. It's not the calm before the storm. In my case, it's the storm before the calm.
I'm feeling tickled when I begin to imagine what kind of adventure these shifts will bring.
It's like a whole new life is waiting for me...to jump over the hurdles, pick door number 4, make a hard decision and leap into the unplanned and the unknown.
I'm almost ready.