take a hike

flower close up to Wheeler Peak


For 50 days and 50 nights, I held in my body the news of my mother’s collapse and then our time together as she died. I immersed myself in the business of estate and the work of grief. I cried and screamed and agonized and talked and talked.

Then one day, I asked someone I barely know how she was doing, and she said, “I’m great!” I was stunned. No one is great in the time of COVID.

Apparently, it’s okay to be great even as the world burns and our neighbors suffer. My sorrow does not make someone else feel better.

So I decided I also would be great. I don’t have to stop grieving and be all better right now. I also don’t need to be swamped by the grief. In the bright, rich abundance of hot July, I can stare in wonder at all that I have and all that’s good and right.

I'm in the space between who I was and who I am becoming. I'm ready to squeeze wobbly out of my cocoon. I expect to be caught by waves of grief, to have setbacks and panic, to get caught up in conflict and drama that I create rather than avoid -- all the stuff we humans do as we navigate change. When I do, please remind me to spend more time in the hammock. Tell me to go take a hike.