A day late

and a list short.

Hey Substack family.

I sat down yesterday morning to write, and maybe y’all will understand this — my body just wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t about self-discipline. Anyone who knows me knows I rarely sink. I push through. In fact, I’m a person who has pushed through everything, every single time, usually to more clarity and knowledge, even though I usually take the roughest and longest road to find it.

I’m resistant to answers I don’t want to be the answers. And writing is a process of self-discovery for me. I sometimes don’t know what I feel or think before I see it on the page or screen. It’s surprising sometimes — like a song lyric flying out of me and showing me what I feel that I’m not connecting to until I allow myself to focus and shut out the noise of the day. It can be scary sometimes to know your fingers know things your brain can’t yet admit.

There was a time I lamented what feels like a never-ending test from the universe. I’ve wanted to shake my fist, look up at the sky, and shout at God if she was really serious. The answer was always yes, to my chagrin and also to my wonder. But I’ve survived and even sometimes thrived through 100% of my life. It’s tough. It’s beautiful. It’s even poetic. I wouldn’t trade places with anyone I know or can imagine.

But I must say the truth and it is that I’ve had a sad and crazy summer. I am no longer in a relationship of the romantic persuasion. It wasn’t my decision or desire, but there it is. And there it will be. There will be no further discussion. I’ve been busy gathering my pieces, holding the ones I’m supposed to have and letting go the ones I can’t keep, and trying to put something back together with what I have left. Again.

I can do anything I need to do. So it’s not so much that I can’t start over again, it’s that I didn’t want to face having to again. I didn’t want to suffer another heartbreak, or more rejection and loss and soul-crushing sadness and disappointment. I didn’t want to lose another family. I didn’t want to be alone. But I am. It’s okay. I am okay. And months later, here’s what I know for sure that I will never not know again: life is a continuous act of building, tearing down, rebuilding again, tearing down again, and rebuilding and tearing down until you’re done. And that’s it. It will not wrap up in a package with a bow on my last day. There is no final destination, there is no place I go sit and watch after all of my hard things are over, there are no true answers to receive except the ones that come from God. I’m enjoying a deep, ongoing conversation with my Great Spirit, and that’s part, if not all, of the work I need to do while I’m suddenly climbing up my second mountain. I can assure you I am no longer on my first. That’s a relief. And though there are things I would go back and do differently on that first mountain if I could, I can rest in the knowledge that it all happened just as it was supposed to. And I don’t need to know why, I just need to move forward with the experience I’m lucky enough to gain by being alive. And I only need to remember that I didn’t mess it up any worse than anyone else did, I was just doing my part the best I knew how and I am forgiven for what I’ve done wrong. I was being shown what I needed to see and I was showing others what they needed to see. That’s how it works as far as I can tell. All that’s left to do is be grateful for it and know that it is through relationships that we learn what we need to learn the most.

There is only the journey, which is what we call life. There are only the questions, which always hold the answers. There is only one truth, and that’s the one God knows. If you don’t believe in God, I respect that and we don’t have to talk about it. Maybe you have an unconscious notion that you are God and that you have the power to control the outcomes of things, and that’s fine too. No discussion needed. But if I know anything at fifty-two, it’s that I’m not and that I have very little power on my own. I have zero influence over much of anything except my thoughts and immediate actions, and at this point in my life I’ll do almost anything to make them good, positive ones.

I can’t fix mistakes, I can only learn from them — that learning is the only way I can make it count and give my actions some worth. If you gain by living, how can you call anything in your life a mistake anyway? I can’t. As I said last week, living in a state of self-respect has become paramount for me. Self-respect isn’t achievable without serious boundaries, so recognizing where they are needed is a big part of my focus. I have never given myself permission to put myself first in my life, or even be in the center of my own self. It’s a big job to change a self-governing ethic that’s been in place for fifty years, but once I got in there and looked, my fragments were easy to see. It was even easy to see how they got exploded apart. They just needed the debris cleared from them and to be drawn back in place. In one way, literally drawn back into place.

So that’s what I’ve been practicing. Finding all the joy in my son, my music, my work, my tiny but mighty family, my friends, my home, my animals, and this incredible experience of re-learning who I came here to be. And seeing the truth of who I am in my work. I started remembering a big part of myself last year — it was September 2023 that I first drew Scout. I didn’t realize when she appeared that she was leading me somewhere.

I thought she was going to be in my novel. Y’all remember that novel I was talking about writing? She appeared as a character. But after I fought with my body over doing THAT work, I let it go a while and Scout eventually emerged to let me know I wasn’t supposed to be doing anything but drawing her. So I drew her a lot. Feathers, totems, hamsas, and all sorts of symbolism followed. It all led me toward remembering that child I used to be who was so sure of herself, who knew what she saw and wasn’t afraid to see it, who knew what she thought and wasn’t afraid to say it, who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to try to get it. The final realization was knowing I’m not supposed to shut her up (I was always told I should), that I’m supposed to listen to her and let her lead my heart. The actualization is finally knowing that my adult self — my whole, wise, experienced self — is supposed to protect her in every way. I’m rapidly learning to do so.

All I can say is, keep it coming, life. I don’t want to do anything but be right in the middle of my experience. If it’s filled with grief, it’s filled with grief. If it’s filled with joy and contentment, it’s filled with joy and contentment. Truth is, it’s all of it. All the time. We check out because it feels like too much. When I get still, or check in, it’s all easily handleable and even feel-able. I can see it all for what it is — something that is always rapidly changing no matter how we try to hold onto what is behind us, which is everything.

I’ve got this.

Don’t worry, and please don’t comment on this change in my life. If you want to support me, just leave a ❤️. Any other comments about it will be deleted so don’t waste your finger energy by typing anything but words of love and support for everyone. My heart is healing and starting to feel light again.

I love y’all and hope you’ve had a great long weekend. I made some Mexican chicken stew yesterday and it was good timing for the tiny snap of crisp weather. A long hike yesterday afternoon has me a little sore this morning. But I have the day off (perks of a job!) and look forward to doing some painting this morning, some yoga, and a full day of catching up with my sister and my friends. Maybe even some decorating for Halloween since John Henry will be home for a visit in a few days.

As for me, I believe in love. Nothing I’ve been through has been strong enough to kill that belief, and nothing ever will. It has never failed me, I have only failed it by not rising to its occasion.

The spirits say: It will all be well. It will all be well. And all manner of things shall be well.

I’ll be back this weekend.

Allison