Friday, September 3, 2010


hope is stronger than a hurricane.
**taken when we thought Gustav was going to be so much more worst than it ended up being.

Sometimes, it's late, and I'm processing, and taking notes, missing, appreciating, adjusting, learning...and I am overwhelmed.

This, this sense of being overwhelmed is so very different from a breakdown. So very different from falling apart. It's more a sensory overload, an emotional response but emotionally also, in a very good place. A place of happiness, a place of love, a place of being.

There are so many things that I want to write about. I want to write about friendship and honesty. I want to write about sharing. I want to write about how incredibly blessed I feel to have found friends that I feel safe with. I want to write about how it feels like to be an open book, to have no secrets, to share and share and share. To say this is my story, and there are parts that are ugly, ugly, ugly. To say I made such monumentally huge mistakes, mistakes that led me to where I ended up. To say I take full responsibility, I take responsibility for my actions, and my stupid insecure decisions, and the girl that I was. I am sad for the girl that I was but I am okay with it. I am okay that all the bad and the yucky and the icky happened.

I am finally secure enough to say this happened, this is my story, and it has ugly, yucky, bits to it but I'm finally secure enough to know I will be okay even if I am judged because of it. That I will look down, and find myself still standing, still a survivor, no matter what hurtful words you might or might not say.

I want to write about finding my place, and being.

I want to write about the profound conversations that led me here.

I want to write about the discoveries. The lessons learned.

I want to write about Katrina, the anniversary, and the so very many thoughts associated with it. I want to write about how at peace I finally feel about the way things unfolded, I want to talk about how so very afraid and devastated I was initially that he had robbed this experience from me too, that he had tainted this too. I remember thinking, I love this city, I love this city so incredibly much but how do I disassociate this city from him? How do I not get angry and pissed off and hurt when I think of New Orleans. How will I ever walk through the city again and not remember....not remember this is where I fell in love with you, this is where we got married, this is where our story began. This is the place we honored, this is the place that taught me of compassion, this is the place that taught me lessons I will carry with for the rest of my life. This is the place, the beginning. This was the beginning to everything.

And I think, to commemorate, to honor, to give a voice...I think it would be good to go back to where it started. To go back to journal entries detailing. Of Ivan. Of Katrina. Of Gustav. Of the before and the in between and the after. I think it would be good to put it together, and I've started but sometimes, no matter how good of a place you're in, it's hard to read. To sift through.

And so I have a draft of words and stories halfway put together, waiting to be published, waiting to be told.

Maybe another day.

homemade hugs on paper.

"And since you are a breath in God's sphere, and a leaf in God's forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion. "

-Khalil Gibran