I have had quite a year and a half. My life, my friends, my body and my job, they all look completely different. The transformation did not start in a place of abundance. It started from a deeper valley than I have ever known.
Now, I walk up the other side of the ravine. My legs are covered in drying mud trudged through and the sun is just barely starting to warm the top of my head. Over my shoulder is a heap of heavy baggage unable to make the journey. A stack of broken zippered, handle broken suitcases lay useless.
I still carry some with me. I wonder if to leave that behind it might require the need to pull it up hill with me. The people who help me tug are new faces. Bright faces that swiftly cry when mine does. Hands that hold and feet that dance in my own happiness.
My family is still there. It’s strange because although it feels like they traveled with me, I am not sure they understood why. Like a baby tied to a mother’s back fleeing a massacre, they were just carried along. The jostling has stopped as a peaceful place is nearly found.
This morning, I sit in a place of gratitude. I accept the journey. I did not love it. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. I accept that it is not over. I accept this oasis and take a drink preparing for the next leg.
I sigh my thank you and sit down.