So last week I wrote about this instantaneous Aha moment that comes when the shift is fast and, whoa, ok, here I am now in this new thing.  
 
And today I want to talk about the opposite of this.  Because this, this happens too.  
 
The thought came to me while I was in my ballet class this last weekend. I was watching myself dance at the bar and was friggin’ blown away, because really, look at my body’s ability to retain the structure and movements, the grace and intention, the totality of this dance modality without my brain even having to think about it.
 
The essence of ballet and the structural manifestation that goes along with this is so deeply ingrained in my body that it is my nature.
 
I can go for years without taking a class, and when I step back into this studio space, everything drops in and shows up in alignment and in a beautiful, beautiful way. 
 
My heart truly sings along with the music and movement of this class.  Not just because of my body’s ability to remember so deeply, though this certainly is just a wondrous and fulfilling piece of this dance puzzle— 
 
But the joy that I feel to be able to take these movements, and to be able to fulfill this desire to dance in this beautiful and profound way… My eyes fill with tears as my arms move in unison with the combination of my feet.
 
And so I’m in this ballet class and moving in this way and feeling my heart soar along with my Grand Jeté across the floor, and this thought drops in about these deeply ingrained patterns we have that maybe don’t serve ourselves in this beautiful way. 
 
These deeply ingrained patterns we have that have layered into our muscle memory nervous system activation, as this dance practice is for me, and yet they no longer are supportive, but rather are constricting and limiting and perpetuating of a story that is old. And then what do we do?
 
I have this. 
 
Layers and layers that smell of old sweaters and feel so comfortable and so familiar on my body, even though they are now too worn to keep me nurtured and cocooned the way they used to.
 
These layers are hard to peel away. They are sticky. They are facia-like in their ability to hold tight to the bones that are my true being. And they are confusing.  Because some of these sweaters, oh god, I love them. 
 
How do I give them up?
 
I am in the practice these days of rewriting my stories. These narratives in my mind that play in the background and come front in a moment they think I need them.  
 
“Thank you,” I say, when they drop in. “Thank you for showing up and let me take a look at you.  Can I try you on for a sec before I let you dress me in this moment? Can I make sure that you still fit just right.”
 
And I ask, “Who is wearing you?” “Am I five, or eight. Ten, fifteen, twenty-eight, or forty-five?”
 
And then I wait for the answers to drop in.  
 

I love when the sun comes into our home. When the light move and the shadows and textures, the line and space, change. One moment the couch is really blue and you can see the tweed fabric from afar, and the next, the yellow sculpture on the coffee table turns to this off shade of green, a color that I am sure does not have a name.  There is movement in a moment. In an instant.
 
And I love this photo for this writing because I’ve been thinking about these moments that happen when this movement moves fast within us. 
 
When all of a sudden something that you once thought was one way, it shifts—and everything that you believed was true about it all, all of a sudden you see completely differently. And that this is a really weird moment because in an instant, “poof” and you are in a completely new paradigm. (I love this word)
 
And I am reminded of that beautiful moment in the play, The Miracle Worker, when Helen Keller is with Anne Sullivan and water is running over Helen Keller’s hand while Ann Sullivan is writing on her hand in sign the word for water and all of a sudden Helen Keller has this moment, this epiphany, this “wow, this is enormous. This is huge. Things have names. Things have meanings.”  And boom, everything became clear in like a nano second.  And boom, an immediate shift from darkness into light. Into understanding. Into connection with the world. 
 
Our spiritual growth is often like this. 
 
With Helen (can I call her by her first name?) there was no question that this was so. That what she was experiencing was in actuality happening.  It was tangible and solid and landing right there in her hand along with the cool flow of water running through her fingers. Boom. Words. Boom. Meaning. Connection.
 
But in this spiritual realm…
 
It’s a weird thing for me sometimes. Because I have this amazing ability to create meaning sometimes because it softens the reality of things. To create meaning that makes things more tolerable. Because, well, we all kinda want that, right?  Get me out of the discomfort in that spiritually bypassing kind of way.
 
I’ve written about spiritual by passing before. I wrote about it in that speaking to God and the Universe and sitting in my higher self and oh my goodness the veil is thin and the portal is so easily accessible. And it is nice here, being the being in human being. And dropping back down into being the human can often be pretty fucking painful but you know we gotta do it because we’re here living this human experience on this Planet Earth School of Survival… So while you can step through to the other side of the veil, you can’t just live there. Just not part of the deal. And…
 
I am aware of this. The habit sometimes. Of creating meaning.  And then having to differentiate my story with the Universe’s wisdom. And so when, boom, there really is this moment of whoa this means this now, not that anymore, I often have to sit in this and make sure it’s the Universe and not me.
 
Does this make sense?
 
So I’m thinking about this, these days.  And really making sure I am truly stepping into the paradigm shift, and not bypassing my experience of something by creating my story of the moment that keeps me away from the truth of the moment.
 
Most of the time.
 

So I am thinking about where I’m at on this almost New Year’s Day, day before New Year’s Eve, Monday Morning Writing.
 
Where I’m at and what I want for this New Year.  And what I want is sweetness. 
 
No pressure or resolutions. No agenda or expectation. 
 
Only a wish for a sweet and slow transition into 2025.  This last year went fast, it feels.  
 
I do have a word for this New Year 2025. My word is ease. Ease. Easeful. Not easy. It doesn’t have to be easy.  Just easeful—with comfort and peace.
 
Wishing you that which is best for you as you step into this New Year, as well.  
 
And thank you for your support of my writing this past year. And all the past years before this past one, too.  I am grateful that you are willing to join me on my writing journey.
 
So here are my dogs.  I mean really, could they be any sweeter.
 
I think they have pretty much the same shape face and body except that Moose is wearing a sweater and Pixie is not. 
 

A Happy, Happy New Year to you.   

I remember, I think it was my sophomore year of college. I decided that I was going to write a paper earlier than the last minute. And I remember doing research on it and writing an outline and preparing and doing this organized, structured, and responsible process and my paper sucked ass. It was probably the worst paper I wrote in college. I know I got like a really shitty grade. And I decided never again that I would do that. That I would go back to what I always did which was wing it at the last minute. And be creative and pull shit out of my ass and be great. And that’s what I did.
 
And then I pretty much ended up doing that for everything else I’ve ever done for the rest of my life. Which is why I like cold reads in the theater, because it’s just spontaneous and in the moment and why I would never prepare for an audition and why I don’t practice stuff often before I do it and all of that.
 
And then I had an audition last week for a play that I really really really wanted. And I prepared for it and I friggin memorized the monologue and rehearsed and worked with Teagan on it and made sure that I had it down. And I fucking sucked the audition like I sucked ass like I walked on the stage to do it in an outfit that matched the character and started in and I was nervous—my nervous system was completely deregulated—and I couldn’t remember a thing that I had done.
 
And I had to stop and start again and then I had to stop and start again, again. And then I had to hold the script and even holding the script I spoke too fast and I wasn’t in character and then I got to do it second time where I got a little bit better. And then I got to read for some of the other characters that I’d also somewhat prepared for, and I sucked ass at those also. And didn’t get a role.
 
Maybe I’m not supposed to be in this play because I am in this other performance in Santa Barbara that I’ve been wanting to do for many years now that Teagan has been in, and has been directing the last few years, and I’m actually performing in her piece.
 
And I couldn’t do both. 
 
For her piece—I fucking thought it was a dance piece, which is my sweet spot, and it’s actually a voice piece which is awful because it means I have to make sound. And lately in my internal self-reflection work I’m learning that I am really uncomfortable making sound. And I have stepped into a piece about making sound where I have to make sound. Fuck.
 
But anyway, not getting this role in this play that I so badly wanted to be in and that I’m so upset about letting myself down on because I sucked ass on my audition is maybe a blessing because I get to be at this other production that I really want to be and also, that is putting me into this container of discomfort around making sound which aligns with the fact that I’m doing work right now on that. 
 
I didn’t realize that I didn’t like making sound. Back when I was unaware, I made a lot of sound in terms of raising my voice and yelling and being angry and dropping into rage. Sound comes out very easily in those moments. 
 
And then I stepped into a triad during my somatic experiencing workshops that I’m training in and we had an exercise around sound, and I had to turn my camera off because I didn’t want anyone to see my face while I made sounds I needed to make because it was just so uncomfortable. And I’m like oh shit man I just don’t wanna do this. 
 
So what’s that about? 
 
And then I was rehearsing the monologue for the play that I really wanted to get that I just sucked ass at for this audition, and Teagan was doing some voice work with me to annunciate better and wanted me to make sounds and I started to cry. Because you know I don’t wanna do that because for some reason… Well I’m not even gonna try and figure this out… it will come to me when I’m ready.
 
Anyway, I didn’t get the part in the play and I’m never gonna prepare for an addition again. I’m just gonna go in and cold read and wing it and bring it and do it. And in the meantime, I get to be in a performance of sound. And stand in this for a while.
​

I collect quotes.
 
Quotes, statements, paragraphs packed with wisdom.  Memes. Often they are memes. The current Prophet’s current communication vehicle. 
 
Sometimes I am like, “woah, this fell into my lap/phone screen in such a profound way. I must really need to hear this.”
 
Other times, I am like, “fucking FB algorithms.”
 
I recently deactivated my FB. Not because of the fucking algorithms. Because of the brain suck. I literally could lose an hour(s) at a time scrolling.  Well aware that I am losing an hour at a time scrolling and giving that some thought while doing it.
 
I have an AD(h)D mind and so can multi-task within the confines of my brain.  Often the tasks are in conflict, as is (was) the case with scrolling for an hour at a time while working through the process of not scrolling and how that would feel during the hour at a time.
 
While thinking of needing to learn a monologue for an audition while thinking about an old friend or not and what is that email that I need to send as a recap for my work and where are my dogs. 
 
My AD(h)D mind doodles. It is a way to keep part of this mind of mine so busy so the rest of me can pay attention to the task at hand. 
 
I had a funny conversation with my husband the other day. Well not really a conversation, I asked him a question. In the midst of the conversation. I asked him a question and before he could get like two words of his answer out I asked a different one. They seemed related to me. We laughed.
 
He’s got to get quicker on the answer or my mind gets bored and it’s time to move on.
 
Did you know that you can’t be in anxiety if you’re in curiosity?
 
I didn’t ever (like ever) think I had AD(h)D.  I don’t think I have the “h” actually—hence the lower case “h.” Though I do understand that…    I forgot what I was going to say.
 
This is a great quote— “No person can step into the same river twice,” from the Greek philosopher, Heraclitus.
 
A great quote, right! 
 
That has nothing to do with anything else I’ve just talked about but hey…. Well maybe it does. I have to think about this.
 
Did you know that the nervous system is constantly trying to regulate itself?  It’s called pendulation. I’m taking a training for my Somatic Experiencing certification. I was in my Beginner, Level II training last week for four days, from 10-5:30 each day. I cannot sit still.  
 
And this is cool, I have an audition tonight and did a play reading just this past weekend.  Lots of creativity going on.  We flew to Massachusetts for like 36 hours. My husband and I, for me to do this reading of a play that a friend wrote.  I had reached out this past spring with a “would you write a play again” request. And what an amazing play that we got to read to a small audience for feedback and reaction. It was beautiful.
 
A quick trip. We saw our grandkids. God they are so friggin’ delicious.
 
Here’s a great quote from my SE training teacher: “It’s difficult when we want to be in connection with ourselves, when being in connection with ourselves was dangerous in the past.”
 
Oh, and I took a ballet class last week. My back said “what the fuck” and my soul was like “this is the best thing ever!”
 
~
 
An afterthought:
 
This photo, with this writing, is an attempt at a “pano” on my phone.  I use this panoramic photo option all the time and my panoramic photos come out great. So, not sure why this one came out like this, this time. But so friggin’ cool, right!? 
 
I wasn’t sure of the best photo for this writing.  And then I found this photo on my phone and thought this would be a good one. Not an AD(h)D one just an interesting one. But then, placed below my title of my writing I was like “is this my AD(h)D brain? It is not. It may look like that to you if, a) you have an ADHD brain that looks like this, or b) don’t have an ADHD brain. For me, my brain is not swirly. Chaotic, yes. Swirly, no.
 
And here's the thing that I think this photo is telling me. It’s saying that maybe when we try to see more than we are able to see, it gets misconstrued and out of whack and not quite right. Maybe we need to keep the camera, that is our eye, still. And the breadth of our vision will enlarge when we’re ready to have those outside our vision things come into view on their own time.
​

​1.
 
Do you remember when you were a little kid and you would be making like an art project or something? I don’t know, with glue and popsicle sticks or pipe cleaners or something, and you’re making this thing and it’s falling over or it’s not sticking and not quite working right and your mom or dad or a teacher come over and they say you know what maybe you should start from scratch.
 
Maybe you should start from scratch.
 
It’s not quitting. It’s not giving up. It’s recognizing that what you were making no matter how hard you try to fix it with extra glue or with tape, you know Band-Aid it together… It just isn’t gonna happen.
 
Our government is like that.
 
2.
 
But let’s talk about being a Jewish student on our College and University campuses these days. 
 
The following took place over FIVE DAYS, from November 18th - November 22nd.
 
So, near Ohio State, pitiful face-covered cowards—who truly believe their outfits are cool—marched down the street with Swastika emblazed flags. 
 
Wanted signs of Jewish faculty were plastered all over the walls at the University of Rochester.  Four students were arrested in connection with these posters, as this act is considered an act of antisemitic vandalism (it should be considered a hate crime), and they are each facing up to 7 years in prison. (Good, finally, there are consequences to your actions)
 
A subgroup of the Minneapolis Federation of Teachers called “Educators for Palestine” hosted a 3-hour event last Friday with speaker Taher Herzallah (He is affiliated with the University of Minnesota), titled “Being an Educator in a Time of War and Genocide."…..  This is his quote: “Anybody who has any relationship or any support or identifies themselves as a Jewish person or as a Christian Zionist, then we shall not be their friend. I will tell you that they are enemy number one and our community needs to recognize that as such.”
 
At UCLA, Students For Justice in Palestine are all in on GLORIFYING THE INTIFADA. They violated the UCLA code of conduct 3 times already this school year! The year started September 23rd.
 
At the University of Virginia, Jewish students are being threatened with guns. By their “activist” peers. In their dorms.
 
There was a pro-Hamas walk-out at the University of Cincinnati.  Pro-Hamas ??!!!??!!
 
At the University of Missouri, they host a weekly anti-Israel protest.  A university Professor, Rasha Abousalem, often participates along with students holding signs that read “Save Hamas.”  
 
Columbia had a campus wide lockdown because of how unsafe it is for Jewish students, as pro-Hamas (pro-Hamas??!!??) students chanted outside the School’s Hillel Chapter.  They are demanding that Hillel be shut down. They are literally protesting the existence of Jews on campus.
 
At the University of Michigan, masked pro-Hamas protestors disrupted a talk about Jewish involvement in the civil rights movement. Masked?!? Like, grow some balls and show your friggin’ faces if you feel so strongly about what you are doing.
 
UC Berkely had a pro-Hamas walk-out.  Pro-Hamas ??!?!!!  WTF.   Participants were heard shouting “we don't want no two states, we want all of '48."  This is a call for genocide of Israelis.
 
Two Jewish students at DePaul University were assaulted while showing support for Israel, by pro-Hamas activist chanting “from the river to the sea.”
 
Hamas supporters (how are these students Hamas supporters, don’t they know Hamas would literally kill them in an instant?) at Sarah Lawrence stormed and occupied the Administration Buildings on campus.  They literally took over the Sarah Lawrence campus. They scrawled graffiti with phrases like “Zionism will fall, revolution until victory.”
 
At Stony Brook, in NY, banners are hung with red handprints. Painted red hands symbolize the “craze to see blood,” signify the emasculation of Jews and the desire for a "bloody defeat.”
 
At Harvard, students continue to gather and chant “from the river to the sea,” in support of the ethnic cleansing of Israel.  Don’t forget… even Claudine Gay (remember Claudine Gay) admitted that the phrase “from the river to the sea” is antisemitic. When Claudine Gay says you’re acting like an antisemite, you’re an antisemite.
 
A Teacher Assistant at San Diego State called Israelis “murderers” and walks around campus, with her face covered (of course) and a bull horn, chanting “from the river to the sea.” 
 
At Cal State University in Sacramento, Students for Justice for Palestine (SJP) writes the following: The Judeo Terrorist Zionist have had 100 years of unfettered time, and over 76 years of the worlds sympathy because of the Holocaust to lay their sickly roots. Zionist are disgusting humans and monsters.
 
Oh, and there’s new organization in town, FJP—Faculty for Justice in Palestine. Schools with an FJP chapter have anti-Israel protest activity that lasted 2.5 times longer and 9.5 times more days those that didn’t have an FJP chapter. In schools with FJP chapters, encampments were likely to last 4.7 times more days. Schools with an FJP group were 7.3 times more likely to have incidents involving physical violence targeting Jews than schools without an FJP group and were also 3.4 times more likely to have incidents involving death threats or threats of physical harm targeting Jews.   Not the most conducive environment for learning when your professor targets you for being Jewish, is it?
 
At Pratt, in Brooklyn, they are calling for the end of Israel.
 
I can keep going…. 
 
Nice, huh.

​Everyone who knows me knows that getting this phone, this is a knife in a trauma wound experience for me. Because I have technology anxiety.
 
I also have form anxiety which anyone who has ever received a (barely) filled out form from me knows. Like, what are all these questions and little boxes and way too many places for check marks? And I have to write clearly?  And in a tiny space? Seriously… my email will not fit on that line. And who asks for a home phone number?  And every friggin’ thing that the form asks for I can just tell you in like thirty seconds. Um, no. Nope. No forms for me. 
 
So this technology anxiety. 
 
You can’t touch my phone. Or my computer. Even if you are doing it to help me. Help me from afar.
 
And don’t lose patience with me even though am a little (a bit, a lot) bitchy about this whole interaction in this helping me bucket we are in.
 
And move slowly.  Like S.L.O.W.L.Y.  Don’t bounce around my screen if I do let you near it. Which I likely won’t. But if I do, move like a snail. But don’t leave that sticky snail track. Don’t fuck up my phone screen.
 
And don’t move things around.  Or change something. You have to tell me EVERYTHING that you are doing before you do it.
 
Better, don’t touch my phone. Just tell me stuff.  And S.L.O.W.L.Y.   Like talk slowly. 
 
But don’t be condescending. And let me ask questions.  In fact, don’t tell me stuff. Just let me ask questions. Even if they don’t make sense to you. 
 
Better yet, just don’t help me. I’ll figure it out on my own. You’re overwhelming me.  This is your fault.
 
And thanks for helping me. 

​I wrote a piece, on January 25, 2015—Own Your Shit—and it popped into my mind the other morning.
 
I was thinking about what to write for today, and a F&%ck You dropped in. Just a general one, though certainly specifics come to mind. But more a general F&%ck You for a ton of stuff.
 
So this F&%ck You dropped in and my mind went to Own Your Shit. Because the F&%ck You is blame, and the Own Your Shit is self-responsibility.  
 
I really want to write about blame.  I kinda really want to blame.  “Why didn’t I do that” and “why can’t they do this” and “why is it this way” and “how come it can’t be that way” and, well you know…all that good and juicy, let’s wallow in victimhood for a bit because if it was all different I would be good, stuff.
 
I kinda wanted to write about this. Like I really do.
 
And, mother F&%cker, Own Your Shit dropped in.  My inner wise woman fairy witness, she just won’t let me have even a friggin minute of this wallowing in the depth of can someone else take responsibility for my discomfort please.  
 
So….
 
Own Your Shit, circa 2015.
 
I had a great therapist for many years.  It only took me like forty years to find her, after lying to pretty much every other therapist I ever had.  I mean, seriously, was I really going to open up and show some stranger with a fifty-minute hour rule that I was not all pretty and smart and capable and God knows what else.  But then I found this incredible counselor.  As I was trying to climb out of a deep hole that had sucked me down and sucked me dry and left me thinking that I better be done this time around because I am so not coming back again in some other life where I have to deal with this shit again.

This therapist I found, she was honest.  Straightforward.  Kind.  And she challenged me.  All the time.  Our sessions were like really great intellectual debates.  Well, not at first. At first they were me huddled in a corner of her couch, arms wrapped around tight, legs crossed over and tears of shame and pain and grief mixed in with fleeting moments of joy and acceptance as I made my way back up and into my life.   

And then, when I was again a functioning member of society (whatever the hell that looks like) she and I got to really spar.  I would come in with my deeply ingrained belief systems and she would raise questions.  Not to make me agree with her.  Never was her intention to convince me I was wrong.  But to make me see my choices, see my beliefs.  See them clearly.  And then mindfully choose what worked for me.  I was retrying everything on.  One item at a time.  Outfitting my internal closet. Keeping the things that still sat in my body beautifully while discarding those things that no longer fit.  

It was a long process.  Many years.  And then one day, I didn’t need her anymore.  We both knew it.  I had a wardrobe that worked for me. I was ready to walk my life on my own. But I can still hear her voice in my mind when I am faced with difficult decisions or challenging situations or tormenting moments.  She is not telling me what to do.  She is telling me to go through that closet I created and pull from it something to put on that will get me though what I am facing at that moment.  I have many different outfits.  For many different occasions. 

From this incredible interaction and truly lifesaving relationship I walked away with a great wardrobe.  Now, I am not saying that my sense of style—my best life practices—are necessarily right for you.  But I do feel blessed that I have created some really great ways to be in the world.  Here are three favorites: 

1.     Life is not fair.  Let me say this again. LIFE IS NOT FAIR.  That crap we were fed, and our kids are being overloaded with, that everyone gets a trophy and we’re all winners and everyone is treated equal and is supposed to be treated equal, this is not true.  Life is not fair.  And it’s not pretty.  It’s messy and complicated and doesn’t go the way we want it to.  And it is a huge disservice that we are perpetuating this myth that we’re supposed to be happy all the time and things will be nice and fun and fair (that word again.)  So what happens is that we have no skills to deal with the hard stuff.  The tough stuff.  The really lousy stuff and the stuff that is just uncomfortable too.  And so one of my favorite outfits - I learned to sit in my discomfort.  To see how it feels.  Feel how it feels.  And be ok with it.  I learned to sit in it rather than trying to numb it or ignore it.  I learned to sit in my discomfort and to honor it. To nurture it. The beauty that is being human often times lives in the struggles and the lessons we are able to learn in the process.  So I try to love the lessons life is teaching me.  And then I learn to move on.  Not to fix it necessarily, but to let it go.  This is not easy and I am not always good at it.  But I practice every day.   

2.     Don’t lay your unhappiness on someone else.  It is no one’s responsibility to make another person happy.  Or to fill up their empty spaces. Yes, I love my kids and they fill me with joy.  And my husband is a wonderful man. And I have deep, good friends and a very full, really lovely life.  And yes, I am happy in these relationships that I have. But being happy is the blessing, not the purpose, of these relationships.   And my responsibility to these relationships is to take care of them. By practicing self-care.  And practicing self-love.  By not needing input from others but rather meeting others in my life as a full, complete, person.  Again, not easy.  But I have learned to feel the difference—when I am engaging because I want to give to a relationship and when I am engaging because I am looking to get something from it.  The latter does not feel good at all. 

And finally, 

3.     Own your shit.  I try very hard to not put blame on other people or circumstances when something bugs me or upsets me or makes me really mad.  Because it’s usually not about them at all.  It is about me.  And the answers are right there, deep within me.  And deep within you too.  Truly, they are. So I ask myself: what am I supposed to learn here; why does my sister’s nasty mood, my kid’s messy room, the neighbor’s flippant stare, effect me?   What is truly going on here?  What are my triggers?  And I become aware.  It is not really about the fact that my daughter does not put her clothes away.  It is about something deep within me.  Maybe I don’t feel respected because I bought those clothes for her.  Maybe I am not able to be my best self when things are messy around me?  I try to figure out what is truly going on, inside me, and then communicate that with those I love and who love me. I do not tell them that they are wrong.  Because usually they are not.  They are doing their own thing just as I am doing mine.  And so I figure out what I am struggling with and then I let them in and share how I feel. And once they understand me, it is then their choice whether to honor me or not.  Chances are the people in my life that love me will honor the feelings that I have.  I am pretty sure the people in your life will do the same. 

So there you have it, three good outfits.  I have many more but these are my favorite. I thought I would loan these three outfits to you.  Feel free to try them on.  In fact, keep what fits.  That’s how it works.

​This is a photo of Nava in fairy wings. Well really bird type wings. I am pretending they are angel wings. This was taken a number of years ago. She was dressing up for Halloween. Notice how happy she is about this.  
 
This writing is not about this. 
 
It is just that I was looking for an image to use in this writing and thought I had this great photograph of clouds that look like an angel but I could not find it and instead found this photo.  Nava, my angel.
 
I met another angel. On Saturday night. At the Ramada by Wyndham at the Denver International Airport.
 
I was a guest here because my flight from Denver to Santa Barbara was cancelled.  Twice.  Well once but twice.
 
I was flying Denver to Santa Barbara and we had to board a new plane because our first plane had, quote, “mechanical difficulties,” end quote.
 
And we had to go from Terminal B gate 71 to Terminal A gate 17 and then, once there, because there was a delay, the fog rolled in on little cat feet (thank you Carl Sandburg) and into Santa Barbara and, no flight.
 
I got booked on an early flight to Santa Barbara, now via, LA.  And was going to just sleep at the airport because on some things I am really cheap. On others (shoes) not so much.
 
And my lovely husband said “nope.” And booked me at the Ramada by Wyndham.
 
So I walk in and, this angel disguised as the front desk person, after I gave my name said, “I was just at this moment on your reservation making sure you had a great room.” And when I said it was a long night, so “thank you so much” and that my flight was cancelled she said, “then it was not meant to be.”
 
And everything shifted.
 
Because this, this flight having been cancelled and my having to stay at the Ramada by Wyndham at the Denver International Airport, was meant to be because I met up with this most amazing woman, recent rendition of my angel. 
 
I had been perseverating for a number of days about something that didn’t happen that I wanted. A spiral of questioning and then letting go and then trying to make sense and then feeling I was until I wasn’t again and heading back into the frustration of the not getting what I wanted and then wanting out of the suffering of the not getting what I wanted to see clarity for just a moment before the next spiral pulled me in.  You get the idea.
 
I was in this.
 
I was in this as I walked into the hotel and up to the counter to this late-night desk angel in disguise.
 
“Then it was not meant to be,”  she said.
 
I took it at face value in the first moment I heard this. “Ah, my flight, yes I guess so” and then it landed in that place where we know. 
 

“I needed to hear this,” I said. “You are my angel this evening,” I said
 
“Have a sweet rest,” she said. “Welcome to the Ramada by Wyndham.”