Ritual.

Nearly one month into a new year, I am right where I always am in the beginning. Dusting off my blog, I am once again forcing myself to sit with myself — my thoughts, my words, my writing, my heart, my head. I had the opportunity to join Glennon Doyle on a Zoom chat in early January. She kicked off the chat with a beautiful description of life.

“We’re like snow globes: We spend all our time, energy, words, and money creating a flurry, trying not to know, making sure the snow doesn’t settle so we never have to face the fiery truth inside us — solid and unmoving… We keep ourselves shaken up because there are dragons in our center.”

Glennon Doyle, Untamed

She calls them dragons. I call them heart whispers. I have shaken up my life in such a furry that I have hid my fiery truth. Then 2020 happened. 2020 forced the snow to settle. The world stood still.

I miss myself.

I miss feeling wildly alive inside my own heart. I miss feeling awake. As I look forwards, I wonder what my words should capture. Should I sit here and write about how about the life got wildly off track? Should I share all the times I’ve felt joy and forced myself to look away? My life is good. I love my husband, my kids, and my career. Yet, something is missing.

I know exactly how I got here. I can tell you all the places I turned left instead of right. I can tell you about the speed bumps and the express lanes.

I miss myself.

I miss wandering.

I miss wondering.

I miss opening a book and becoming emotionally connected to every word on the page.

I miss mile after mile on the trail discussing what life means.

I also know exactly how to get back to the places I miss. It starts here. It starts with letting my words travel from my heart to my head, and it continues from my head to my hands. It starts with letting go of my words. I need to get them out of my body. I started this blog with one purpose. I was finding my breath. For years I lived an existence of holding my breath. As I documented each inhale and exhale, I brought myself back to life. Today I’m holding on to my inhales. I’ve taken a deep breath, and I’m afraid to exhale. I’m afraid to let my heart whispers travel from my heart to my head to my hands to my existence.

So here I am, listening to my heart whispers, knowing that the only way to experience the joy I crave is to create the ritual for myself that allows me to exhale.