525,600 minutes -
how do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes - how do you
measure a year in the life?
How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love.
Seasons of love."
June is my favorite month and it just ended yesterday. It's my birth month so naturally I'm reflecting on the past year, all that I've accomplished, all that I have enjoyed and what remains undone.
How have I loved?
How have I measured?
Does how I measure reflect what I've measured? If so, what does that say about my priorities? My goals? My fierce ambition that follows me like a ticking time bomb?
I chose this life of messy thoughts scribbled in notebooks, of messy rooms filled with lots of life being lived. I also chose a career of motherhood, a career of making it all up as I go and I grabbed writing and astrology en route. Now I carry them all in a frazzled dance.
As thirty-nine greets me, I'm trying to measure my year with the ruler of acceptance.
When I accept, there's a softness that welcomes love. I see love's fuzzy hair poke around a magical wooden door - with charmingly chipped white paint and historic keyholes.
I was born to write, mother, ponder and talk to people about their lives. Knowing that helps me move towards my center.
As things droop and loosen and my inability to see tiny letters leaves me scratching my head, I welcome the perspective that only age can usher in. We all know you can't have it both ways.
Here I come, thirty-nine. Woop woop.