trudging the road

Trudging her path alone
Her path of happy destiny
Carrying with her, wrapped neatly and delicately, held closely….all of her, who she was

As she walked with a tight grip on her things, he crossed her path
He was carrying his very own parcel, carefully and delicately wrapped
His own dreams, his own  passions…all of who he was.

Both careful to keep their things their own

Time wore on and time drew them close

They walked closer on the path, their hands and hearts weaving together

What they carried separately became too much to bear separately, it was time to lay it down and open it up

They began to take out each hope, each dream, each passion, memory, wish and love

Carefully showing, and explaining everything hidden away in their carefully organized and compartmentalized secret selves

As they brought to light what had been hiding for so long, they found their passions growing, the light around their dreams becoming more vivid, and their hopes and loves spilling over into every blink and every breath

What they had unpacked  was unchanged, it was simply illuminated

Evolving after being sheltered for so long

Evolution through companionship

Evolution through vulnerability

Evolution through love

Evolution because we aren’t meant to trudge this road alone






Pablo Neruda defines love


inevitably out of reach

inevitably out of reach

“Mom, I’m not looking for problems, I just know what I want”
“Becky, nothing’s perfect, you have to compromise”
“I get it, but compromising basics…seriously?”
“You can’t have it all Becky….”

Wait, what?
This is coming from the woman who raised me.
The woman who was meant to shape my ideals, and help me believe that I can have the entire world if I work for it.

I argue, my agitation builds.
I’m trying to convince this broken 60 year old woman, that I don’t want to be a broken 60 year old woman.
My cheeks flush at the thought that even my own mother doesn’t believe that I can have it all. All the while, with just as much fervour she debates to convince me that I ask for too much, that settling is inevitable.

Is it too much to ask to have someone come and hold my hand when I’m in pain?
Is it unrealistic of me to believe that my counterpart will be smart, funny, considerate and attractive?
Is it a childish dream to want to close my eyes, in a cocoon of safety, at the end of each night resting my cheek on his chest?

The thing is, I do a good enough job believing I’m not worth it all on my own.
Not only thinking I’m not worth it, but even if my worth was enough that I’ll never find it.
I build my own barriers.
They’re tall, wide and deep….
I don’t need any help being convinced that happily ever after is out of my reach.

I got called OLD. Again.


To the chick that called me old today.

When you were born I was raising a kid, and finishing high school. I graduated with a 3.75 GPA. Not a hiccup.

When you were five, I was the mother of two and teaching preschool, going to night school to get a better education. Stability, work ethic and responsibility drove me to persist.

When you were ten, I embarked on a journey of self discovery, doing a complete 180, not only in my career, but my spiritual life, my physical life and my relationships. I changes everything to grow into a strong independent woman.

When you were 15 I moved from an entry level employee to an executive manager within 16 months. I worked hard; head down, sarcastic smart ass comments to myself. I moved, correction, catapulted in my career because I was teachable, and willing to bust my ass to get ahead.

I’ve climbed mountains, jumped out of planes, birthed and raised two talented, funny and POLITE children, and I get my ass out of bed before 5 everyday to get shit done.

Apologies my dear, if I don’t suit your idea of a 35 year old woman. I am my IDEAL version of a 35 year old woman. Smart, funny, educated, well rounded, and energetic…with impeccable taste in music.

Thanks for the fuel.
My fire is stoked.

love is



She lay under a bedsheet

Glowing in a dim light

Her gaze fixed on him as he entered the room

“You must be starving my love”

He sat next to her on the bed

A pear in one hand, a knife in the other

After each carefully formed piece of fruit was cut, he lifted it to her mouth

Hand to mouth

Feeding his love

And the simplicity of that act

Was enough

kiss my fancypants

kiss my fancypants

I’m not fancy

I eat most of my meals from plastic containers with a spoon
I wear flip flops in all seasons
My bed is made just as often as I leave it unmade
Dishes pile in my sink from Tuesday to Saturday, not Monday, good intentions to start
I have a gum addiction, two pieces at a time
My music choice leans toward acoustic cover songs, covers of annoying mainstream music
Julian, the name for my beloved Jetta, has one light that just won’t stay lit, like he’s winking
I sweat hard when I workout, no makeup, no smile, no name brand workout attire
My hair is a disaster
I forget birthdays and names
My daytimer is a mess, my writing comparable to a teenage boy
I drink black coffee, and lots of it
I eat a burger at least once a week, with fries, and dessert, but usually twice
My stubborn nature keeps me from seeing light in darkness at times
I love too hard, trust to readily, and my forgiveness is earned, not easily, over time.

Some would read the qualities and characteristics above as liabilities.
Some would read them and see someone who needs to do a bit of work.
Some would look at me and say, “she’d be so lovely, if only…”

These are the things that if you don’t like, keep on walking.
Walk away as I seranade your journey, and don’t look back
You may categorize point by point, fault by “FAULT” as a needs improvement at her finest
However my darlings
It’s taken me three decades to fall in love with her
Sloppy, messy footwear, burgers, sweat and all, she’s mine
And she’s staying


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