Author Archives: Pat

Shifting gears

26 Tuesday Jul 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief, New Biz, Sabbatical

≈ 5 Comments

You may have noticed that my twice-a-week blog posts are down to once a week, more or less.  My plan is to get on a stable schedule that gives me the flexibility of posting to my business site once a week also.  My sabbatical is not over yet, I don’t think… but it’s clear that my world is turning and the shifting gears keep me in motion quite a bit.

Bad news

There has been a little personal drama in the past week that has set me back just a bit.  My stepmother, the last link to a parent in our family, is in declining health. She fell back in early June and fractured her hip.  She had a partial replacement, but within days fell again and had to have it reset. Then she fell again and got a brace as a result. And the next time after that, she broke her nose. It’s not just the physical healing she is dealing with; it’s the after-effects of the anesthesia each time that continue to be problematic for her. She is 86 and she hasn’t been as able to get back on her feet (no pun intended) as if she was 76 or 66.  She has now been showing signs of her body shutting down, and Hospice care has been arranged. It has us all wondering if she is giving up, as we know she has been lonely and unhappy for a while since my dad died a bit over 2 years ago.  So prayers for her to be comfortable and have her pain managed during this last transition phase are asked for.

Delores

When I got the message two days ago that she was “not good,” I felt myself start to crumble.  I think I even got a little angry that she may be making a choice to give up, which was an option that Kevin didn’t have -or if he did, I didn’t recognize. That then got me to wondering if we all have this choice, and assuming we do, why anyone else thinks they have the right to insist we make the choice to stay here on this earth at this time. How very arrogant of us. So I quickly offered up a prayer for forgiveness for when I have done that.

I also got sad because she is one that keeps me still connected to my dad. When I have to let go of her, things change again even in subtle ways. Then I will be truly orphaned. Even at my age of 58 now, that just seems too much to think about.  And I know I’ve started my grieving already, although she is still here. Why is it so hard to remember that she will still be with me? Grief sure does make you think!!

There’s been a lot of death lately – Mary Jo’s dog, Rosanne’s nephew, Lorie’s dad, that I can’t help but be reminded how temporary life is.  And that thought has me impatient to make up for lost time – all the things I haven’t done yet, the places I want to go, the books I want to read.  Now I have fleeting thoughts that I should stay on my sabbatical forever (which would now likely be termed retirement).

Good work

But it’s the work I’m now starting to do that has me meeting new people and keeping me stimulated. This week already I have gone for ice cream with a new neighbor, and had lunch with a new friend Karen. Sunday I went to a meeting and got to know 6 fellow Toastmasters better as we start a year of being officers for our club together.  I went to lunch in Richmond last week with Karine to the eWomen’s Network gathering, where we both met new people – like us, women engaged in business, who want to make a difference, who are helping each other figure out the things we need to know and do. Next week I’ll be speaking at a luncheon of the Solopreneur Success Circle.  No, I’m not just keeping myself busy so I don’t have to think.  I recognize that this is my time, this is what I do to keep being me.  I’m having my kind of fun.  And yes, I know there are other kinds of fun to be had,  but for me, for now, this is pretty great.

My path

So even though the world keeps turning and I’m shifting gears along with it, I step back now and then to appreciate what I have had, what I do have, the people I’ve known and will know, the path I have been on that has lead me here and wherever I’m going. I know that Kevin and Delores have done their parts along the way, and I thank them. It’s not always easy stepping back into an active grief when you think you’re moving on, but in the Big Picture of Life, I have been so fortunate.  Even Delores’ failing health now has me exploring my thoughts and beliefs again about the meaning of life and death.  I guess I need to be reminded every now and then.  We all do, so we can make the most of what we have left, whatever that is.   Rest in comfort, Delores, until it is your time to go on to The Next Place.

 

Dogs are a girl’s best friend

21 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by in Uncategorized

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My cousin Mary Jo just let her Lucy go over the Rainbow Bridge.  Another friend Shawna saw her dog take the same trip.  And yet another just found out his dog, whose health has been precarious, is in steady decline and has developed a strong heart murmur.  It’s so sad to hear all of this, partly (or maybe especially) because I have two of these furry loves, and one has been closer to this path at times than I want to think about.

We got Buddy when my youngest son Gabriel went off to college.  It was several months later, and I apparently had a strong need to nurture that Kevin thought would best be filled by a puppy. It was truly love at first sight, and 12 years later, there is still a special connection between me and my Bud.

Baby Buddy
Buddy after surgery
Baby Bo
Bo and Buddy
With Daddy
We’ll miss Buddy!
Bo likes the stairs
Bo-Bo
The Budster

We got Buddy a brother two years later because he was exhausting us, and we thought a playmate would help him release his energy.  It turns out that beagles never lose their energy, no matter what!!  While Buddy has required a few thousand dollars in medical care and medications, Bo is the poster-pup for the perfect beagle.  Maybe it’s because Buddy really has needed me that I am so very fond of him.  And yes, Bo has his special moments, too. Bo is the cuddler in bed, the one who sticks his head under my hand to get me to scratch his head, and the one who naps right next to my leg. Buddy is the dog at my feet while I’m working, the one standing guard when I go to the bathroom, and the one who can’t help himself but get underfoot when I’m cooking in case I accidentally-on-purpose drop something to nibble on.

I’ve thought I was close to The Big Decision for Buddy a few times since Kevin died. Once when he was a puppy we did almost lose him to a reaction to a vaccination where he spent the night in the Vet’s ER trying to get a 105 temp to break.  So I know what being “this close” looks like.

It’s a hassle sometimes to have to make doggie-care arrangements when I go out of town for work.  And of course, there is a financial cost to that, too.  There’s the other money required also – for food, treats, vet bills, Rx, shots, tags, and and and. But when I walk in the door and they are so happy to see me they almost pee themselves, it’s all worth it. Every time, every dime.

I knew when I got them I could expect to have them with me somewhere around 12-15 years.  Every time I hear of someone else’s furry child leaving this Earth, I do a little grieving for my dogs who are still here with me, hoping they are not on borrowed time yet.  I hurt for you and for me.  And I love mine a little more, giving extra treats today, and extra petting. Grief is still grief, no matter who or what you lost.

Feel free to share a picture of your furry kids. I’d love to see them.  I’ll even show them to Buddy and Bo.

An interview with me

14 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief, Transformation

≈ 1 Comment

I don’t think I have ever posted twice on the same day, but this just came out today and am excited to share it with you. Check her website www.yvonneortega.net.  She is an author of three books.  She knows all about moving From Broken to Beautiful.  Here is her interview of me about my past year and a half as a new widow:  http://yvonneortega.net/patricia-duggan-moving-forward-in-widowhood/#comment-1759.

How much do you trust your GPS?

14 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by in Traditions, Transformation

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Last weekend I went to Pittsburgh for a conference.  I checked MapQuest and was prepared for a road trip of between 335 and 374 miles and 6 hours of drive time, depending on the traffic and the route selected. When I set my GPS (who I call Gypsy), she gave me options of 377 and 380 miles.  Off we went.  She always gets me where I want to go, although sometimes I have to wonder at her logic and what she knows that I don’t know. This turned out to be one of those times I seriously argued with her!

We (me and Gypsy) had gone the first 20 miles when she told me that there was “stop and go traffic ahead.” I could visually verify that; red taillights in abundance and traffic was nearly stopped.  She asked if I wanted to reroute around the traffic, and I said yes.  Big mistake.  She apparently thought I meant take a different route entirely, because we never did get back on that interstate.  I was enjoying the scenic detour through most of Virginia and was okay with skirting Washington DC.  But then I found myself driving IN the mountains of West Virginia, sideways to where I thought I should be.  I ended up on a National Historic Scenic Highway or something, which was interesting, but my trip ended up taking 9 hours and covered 408 miles, at about 35-40 mph!  Which wouldn’t have been all bad if I had gotten to my destination.  Instead, I was somewhere in Pittsburgh but not downtown where I wanted to be. After a few tries at deleting my destination and resetting it, and one phone-a-friend call, I got out my phone and had Google take me the last 15 miles.  Admittedly, I never ran into any road construction or slow downs after the very first one, but Jeez, Louise!

On the return trip, I dubiously set my Gypsy again, and verified the route.  It took me the reverse way I thought I would have taken on the way up, so I was comfortable with that. It  was 380 miles and 6 hours of drive time.

It’s funny that I trust my Gypsy, but not all the way.  Life is like that, too, I guess.  I mostly trust people until they show me they can’t be trusted. I trust some brands and not others, based on my own experience, but occasionally taking someone else’s word for it.  And I start out trusting something, like Gypsy, but then if she takes me somewhere and I think I know better, I will just not follow her directions.  She tries and tries to get me to “make a legal U-turn,” but only until I shut off her guidance.

Why is it so hard to trust – to give up control and just go with the flow? It is interesting to me that right after Kevin died, I seemed to trust everything, but in retrospect I wonder if it was just apathy? My internal GPS didn’t care enough to battle for control. I was too tired to fight the good fight.  But now that I am adjusting to my new life, I find myself arguing with a computer in my car, defiantly not taking an exit she wants sometimes. Is it because I want my life back in my own hands again? Is it because I have now changed and I don’t care what others think – even if the other is a computer? Is it because I value my time more now and don’t want to do this joy ride when it is going to mean less time with my friends? It’s something to ponder.  A road trip with no destination in mind and the purpose of which is clearly to just go where the road takes me is not the same as having an end point and time in mind. I’ll take my motorcycle when I want to wander. My Gypsy is on a time-out for now.

How about you? Do you argue with your GPS? Do you follow it faithfully? Maybe you rely on paper maps? Or do you only go where you have been before? I’d like to hear what you have to say, and to know I’m not the only one….

 

The “feels like” factor

07 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by in Dreaming

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It seems as if summer in Virginia has arrived.  It’s been the week that I feared when I moved here – hot, humid, sticky, buggy, and accompanied by a fair amount of rain. 90 degrees “feels like” 106.  And it’s only early July. I am very familiar with the feels-like factor because in MN and SD we used to have to account for the wind making things seem much more chilly in winter than the actual temp.  Here it’s the humidity, and now I know what people mean when they talk about the dry heat of Arizona. It’s real!

Plenty of times I have had that feels-like factor creep in, and sometimes not in the best of ways.  Earlier this week, for example, would have been our wedding anniversary.  Last year on July 5, no one (and I mean no one) said “happy anniversary” to me. Of course, he’s gone, so why would they? I talked to a good friend that day, and I thought she would at least mention it and say she was thinking of me, or remembering that day, or something.  Nada.  I was a little put out that no one seemed to remember.  It “felt like” the memory had been dismissed, so that would mean my marriage was dismissed, right?  But last year at this time, there wasn’t much that could have been said by anybody that would have made me feel better. Then this year, this week, I got two Happy Anniversary wishes, one that was public on Facebook.  At first, it felt like salt in the wound, because now I have fully accepted my adjusted life.  But I know they meant well; they were saying that they did remember, and they knew I would be remembering, so they were with me in spirit. And the feels-like factor made a good day better, after I stopped crying.

And so was Kevin…with me in spirit. I was heading out to my car to go to a meeting, and had been dabbing at the tears in the corners of my eyes as I walked out the door.  I was walking down the front steps, and suddenly there was music. I checked to make sure it wasn’t the ice cream truck, but it was springy, new-agey kind of music I had not heard before. It was coming from my purse!  My hands were full, but as soon as I got in the car and turned it on, the Bluetooth kicked in and the music was broadcast on my car radio. music I could not believe it. I am absotively, posilutely certain that Kevin sent me this to let me know he was still with me and remembering our special day.  I wish I could figure out how to play this for you here.  It is uplifting, and floaty, and a little bouncy and sweeping.  It’s a happy sound that you could swing around and around to, arms out wide, in an open field  and be in a Downy fabric softener commercial or something.  Yet, it’s ballroomy and enveloping. It certainly wasn’t his kind of music, but he knew it was clearly my kind of music.

I believe he found this tune and pushed the play button just for me that morning. There is no other explanation for how it came on by itself. There is no other music on this phone, and I had trouble finding it again after it was over. It was a moment that had a feels-like factor of Heaven on Earth. Where else would “Over the Horizon” be?  I have no doubt whatsoever that he is still here, especially when I need him. Grief doesn’t last forever, and love doesn’t die.

Second chances

30 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Reading, Sabbatical, Transformation

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I just finished reading a book called Life’s Golden Ticket by Brendon Burchard. Burchard is a man who survived a car accident that should have killed him, but he is alive and well.  20160630_133921The story is not about him; it’s about another man who struggles to give himself a second chance when his fiancée walks out on him.  It’s a good read; you should check it out.

Anyway, it got me to thinking about my own second chances. 20160630_133731For one thing, I love second-hand and consignment stores. I get excited at the good deals, but more than that, I really get into repurposing things and giving them a new life.  Some of my favorite finds: an old metal toolbox I have turned into a craft carry-all; a birdcage that became some yard art; a towel rack I turned into a 20160630_133818magazine rack; and a dish rack turned into file stacker. Among the best good-as-new things I have acquired include a Gillio Compagna leather planner and a massage chair.20160630_133850

And then, of course, there is my second chance at life as a solo/single woman – with kids, grandkids, dogs, and a mortgage.  Deciding what to be now, where to be, how to be…all that being unattached in a ring-finger way means.  20160630_133620This sabbatical has been such a blessing, giving me time to think, to rest, to dream, to explore, and get messy. I just see how I ever would have embarked on this journey of having my own small business if I been on the magic carpet that swept me off my feet, again.

Interestingly enough, I have planned and tested these consultant/speaker waters before. I was a freelancer back in the late 80’s, but when my safety net quit his job, I went back to a “real job.” I thought about it again when I had to write a business plan in college, but I didn’t want to do the required travel when I had kids in school. I toyed with it a little and picked up some side jobs (working vacation days) the next time I thought about it, but the travel again anchored me at home. Besides, I got very comfortable in the salary trappings.  20160630_133826

This book has come along at the exact right time. I need constant support right now to keep the flywheel of momentum spinning, propelling me forward, pushing me to open doors held by new people.  I’ve learned inspiration and support don’t always come in the form of a person or a seminar, and this book reminded me, too, that my own memories and the voices I hear in my head (my intuition, in case you are wondering) are powerful tools.  I even get to put words in Kevin’s mouth when I am really on a roll!

We all get second, and third, and fourth and more chances if we just accept what is offered…or if we ask for what we want and need. I am now thinking of them as blessings instead of screw-ups that need fixing. Each chance (or blessing) gives me the opportunity to try something new, to throw off what isn’t working, to play and imagine. In other words, to really live and keep on living.  I’m happy for my second chances. Are you?

 

Dragonflies

27 Monday Jun 2016

Posted by in Traditions, Transformation, Uncategorized

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There is a story about a woman grieving the death of her daughter, or maybe it’s the other way around. Anyway, the one asks for a sign that the other is okay in heaven, and her yard is suddenly filled with dragonflies – which the other one had loved. It was the sign.

This story (or a version of it) was told at the funeral of my mom Elsie in 2002. At the church, it was just a nice story. Until we got home later that day.  My brother pulled open the drapes to let in some sunlight, and there near the window, behind the drapes, was a dragonfly wind chime my mother must have put there. (Sidebar: my mom didn’t really like wind chimes; she thought they were noisy.) This discovery caused all of us to pause for a bit, each of us remembering the story told at the funeral.

Since then, dragonflies have become a “thing” in our family.  At last count, I had about 58 of them in or around my house, depending on whether you counted a string of lights as one or as 10, and decorated flip-flops at 2 or 20 (I did not count in 10’s and 20’s.). Since then, most birthday gifts and often the Christmas gifts have some dragonfly motif on them – for everyone in the family.

I recently came across an article about the symbolism of the dragonfly.  In almost every part of the world, it symbolizes change, the kind of change that is about the deeper meaning of life. Dragonflies also represent power and poise, because it is so agile and can move in all six directions (up, down, forward, backward, and side to side). A dragonfly can fly faster than my old Schwinn scooter could run (45 mph v. 30 mph).  And a dragonfly represents simplicity because it is so effective and efficient in how much power it uses (compared to other insects) to what it does – and with graceful movements at that.

Because of their short lifespan (only a few months), it seems to me they really excel at living in the moment, moving away from and toward their desires with 360* insight. Ah, the wonderful, beautiful dragonfly.

I thought of it more than usual today because I have been working on some tedious details of the new business, but when I went out to get the mail, I had an escort of dragonflies. They t20160627_170628old me to slow down, to remember the dance, to smell the flowers. They will take care of moving in six directions at once; all I have to do is watch them.

It’s satisfying – it’s calming -it’s …. it’s important and it makes me feel good to be welcomed by my dragonflies wherever I go. And to have my kids or grandchildren or nieces or other family stay connected to me and each other through our dragonflies. Once in while, we all get the same gift with the dragonfly on it, but sometimes they are all different, as we are different, too. It’s a game to find one the others don’t have, or that they would love. We, too, beyond the surface and look deeper into our relationships and other aspects of our lives. The amazing dragonfly, whose gifts come with age and maturity, keeps us mindful to live without regrets.

What do you share with  your family that keeps you connected, even when things change? What have you kept over the years, to remind you of your connections? Do you keep them out where people can admire them, or are they tucked away for your eyes only?

The Break-in

23 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by in Transformation, Uncategorized

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I was headed out to have lunch with a friend, my arms holding a purse, a bag of her things I was returning to her, and some library books that needed to be returned. The car was in the driveway, where it had been parked overnight. I opened the front passenger door and immediately saw some candy on the front seat. It was mine, and it had been in the center console. Which had been closed but was now open. I looked over to the driver side and noticed that my Owner’s Manual to the car, which had also been in the console, was out on the seat. Needless to say, I was late to lunch. I wasn’t exactly rattled, and I wasn’t even scared.  I was pi**ed off, and mad at myself because I figured it was maybe my own fault. Luckily, no damage to the car, but there was still a trespass if not a full break-in. .

The first question the officer asked me was if my car had been locked. I didn’t know. I usually lock it, but I have the kind of key fob that opens the door automatically when you are near it, and I just don’t recall if I heard the beep or not. It’s possible the car was unlocked.  What was missing?  My iPhone 5 that I only use because it has my music on it, and its charging cord. I have a new Samsung phone now that was in the house with me. The charging cord for that was in the car but it was not taken. I had a Tom Tom GPS in the car, and it wasn’t taken. CDs, still there.  A few dollars in change, still there.  Coats, umbrellas, blankets, maps, still there.

This has never happened to me before – a break-in, or theft. It turned out that about 20 homes in the area reported thefts from vehicles that same day. Including the people directly across the street from me. He had locked his truck, and left his wallet and several other things in his cab. They only took the gear from the back end under his locked topper. Which was later found in the trees a half block away. Someone else’s Tom Tom was found – I guess that’s why they didn’t need mine!  My phone is still missing.

Anyway, I felt better that I wasn’t singled out or targeted for this. Still, the first person I wanted to call was Kevin. He couldn’t have prevented it, he couldn’t have fixed it, he couldn’t have done anything…but he would have listened to me blow off steam. I miss that. And I know it’s one way I have of maintaining my balance, so I did had to tell someone. Luckily I had that lunch date set up, so Debra was my relief valve.

This incident reminded me, too, of other times I had to fly solo, even when I was married. I had a car accident once in New Mexico, and I was by myself. I fell out of the garage attic once in South Dakota (the ladder fell, leaving me no choice), and I was by myself.  I tripped on the deck stairs here and landed on my arse, and I was by myself. After I got off the phone with the police, I remembered these other times and that I had handled them by myself and adequately if not well. It made me feel  competent, even if I had forgotten to lock the car. (Oddly, not much has happened when I haven’t been married…so I guess that’s something to think about!)

When I think about living alone these days, I haven’t been scared or felt vulnerable or insecure, even when traveling by myself.  In fact, I feel strong, smart, and capable.  Yet, since I don’t have Kevin to protect me or beat up my tormentors for me, I had recently taken a self-defense course. I just wish I had seen or heard my thief so I could have had a chance to try out a few of my new moves while they were still fresh on my mind. I’m pretty sure I could have made him/her wish they had not chosen me to mess with. “Not here, not now, not you.” Kick, jab, shove, run.  But for all that bravado, I really hope I never have to use those skills. And now you can hear every car up and down the street beep-beeping as they get locked when we turn in.

If you find an iPhone with a pink and teal rubber protector case, it’s mine. I’d like it back. I just downloaded the new Blake Shelton CD….

 

Pieces of the Grieving Process

20 Monday Jun 2016

Posted by in Grief, Traditions, Transformation

≈ 1 Comment

Yesterday morning I made myself some pancakes for breakfast. As I got out the plate from the cupboard, I was suddenly struck by the blah-ness of that plate.  I have used these plates for about a year and a half. Guess what happened a year and a half ago?? Yes, you guessed it; I started the next phase of my life.  I used to have these very pretty plates that I worked hard for, and I mean worked. I wanted them but didn’t want to pay the retail price, so I took a job selling Princess House products to earn them. It took me about a year to buy the full set and the stainless steel pots and pans, plus a few pretty bowls (I love big bowls!).  BTW, both sets of dishes are PH.

A few days after Kevin died, for some reason (subconscious, I’m sure), I put the pretty plates away and began using the clear glass plates and cereal bowls.  In fact,  I have never really liked the clear plates since I got those.  I can’t imagine buying a set like that now.  Anyway, before my pancakes got cold, I pulled the pretty set from where they had been stored and replaced the clear ones in the cabinet.  I am sure my pancakes tasted better! I know I felt better.

I had just finished breakfast when my phone rang, and it was a long-time friend of mine. Josie lost her husband Mike after a very quick diagnosis of pancreatic cancer in January of 2000, so 16 years ago.  I told her about the dishes, and she said, “Oh, Pat, I did the same thing!”  She said she sat at the table and cried one night shortly after Mike’s funeral, and it was because the dishes reminded her of Mike. She put them in a box and the next day went and bought a new set of dishes she has used ever since. We laughed over that, wondering what it was about the dishes. She has not regretted getting rid of her first set; I just put mine away in the bottom of the cupboards.

Later on I went upstairs for something and glanced at my bed.  It’s the same bed we shared, and I haven’t even changed the quilt, although sometimes I flip it over when I’m too lazy to wash it and so buy me a few more days. Oddly, I sleep on his side of the bed now, but when I’m in another bed in a hotel or at my sister’s, I sleep on “my” side. And I park on my side of the driveway still.  I sit at my same place at the dinner table. I sit at the same end of the couch when watching a movie. And I use my same sink at the double-sink vanity in the bathroom. But I gave away his recliner, his truck, and his boat, and I sold his motorcycle.

Why do certain things affect us the way they do, and others don’t? I can’t say.  Why do some things strike us as appropriate or inappropriate, acceptable or unacceptable, or necessary or unnecessary in the early days of our grief…and then shift again later (or not), as we move along in the grieving process and on through the days. This grief is a bit mercurial. I’m just glad I can laugh about it now. And I am okay with not having the answers. I just like noting that it is what it is.

Do you have a dish preference above? It’s okay either way; I’ve made up my mind which one I’m using, so I’m not looking for advice or agreement. I’m just curious.

 

This version of me

16 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief, New Biz, Transformation

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There are 11 things on my To Do list for today. Most of them were there yesterday, too, and some of them were also on the list Tuesday and Monday.  I should have come back from my trip home relaxed and refreshed and ready to do things. I came back with a handful of powerful questions AGAIN.

Should I pack up and move back to where my siblings are? Should I move closer to or very near to my children and grandchildren? How would things be different if I moved? What will my life be like if I stay?  Can I do this on my own? Now that I have stepped onto the path of The Next Thing, I should be more certain, right?

The good news is that “powerful” questions are those that empower you when you can think about them without getting overanxious, or that you can live with even when you don’t have the answers. Powerful questions propel you deeper and wider into discovering who you are, so you can BE even when you DO. This past year and a  half has seen a lot of time when I was feeling lost, which I now think means that my feelings were lost. Slow motion is not the same as slowing down. I was on autopilot way too often, and I didn’t honor my feelings. I just tried to wait them out, until I couldn’t any more.  When I realized I had to express them, and that I could express them, and I did express them, I let go of so much anxiety, fear, insecurity.  At the same time, I took in so much calmness and freshness and lightness.

Here is what it’s been like to feel my feelings just in these past couple of weeks. I was enchanted with the farmlands and the peacefulness of the Minnesota landscape. I was joyful to be riding around with my sisters, going for tats, shopping, and birthday dinner.  I was proud to have my brother show me around his workplace, and I noticed I missed male comraderie (admit it – they just think differently than women do). I was very happy to spend an evening with Kevin’s kids and grandkids, and to feel the peace of being connected to him. I felt like the old me again when I had dinner with two former co-workers who “knew me when.” And I laughed again with two good friends who knew me before I was with Kevin.  In all those ways and more, I was the old me again, and it felt good.

Then I came home Friday and jumped right into a packed schedule.  I went to an educational class on Sunday night, and I got pumped up because I learned something new, something that made sense, something that will definitely work for me. On Monday morning, I had breakfast with a good friend here, and I came away feeling so positive about myself. I spent that evening in a speaker academy class, and I was actively engaged in the discussions. Tuesday I stayed in bed with dogs until 11:30, and I loved every minute of not having to get up.  I spent part of the afternoon at the library, loving the freedom to go in the middle of the day. Wednesday I went to a networking event for women, and I met some fabulous new people and participated in a Wisdom Circle. It’s a forum I have been looking for, and I was completely satisfied I had found it.  Last night I went for ice cream with another friend and again felt a certainty about The Next Thing. I’ve read two books in two days, once sitting on my deck for an afternoon in the warm sun.  I was just doing what felt good to me.  Both here and while on my trip.

So what I know is this.  I cannot give up the wonderful flexibility of working from home, for myself.  I am willing to work hard to keep that. I have love in my life, and blossoming friendships, and intellectual stimulation…all things I need and will not give up on. I have learned to appreciate the moment, and I am pretty good these days at catching myself while in that flow as it is happening.  I have learned to slow down even while keeping busy.  I have an abundance of wonderful people and things and experiences in my life.  It doesn’t matter where I am, because this is the real me, the me I want to be.  So I will stay a little longer because I like this version of me.  I’ll just make sure to visit Minnesota (and my families) more often.