I was walking through Fairfax yesterday afternoon, Sunny
pulling the leash ahead of me, on the way back from a short stint working the
counter at The Garage, idly checking what was playing at the movie theater,
when it struck me how very lucky I am.
I live in my favorite town in the world, a quirky Mayberry,
chock full of Nuevo-hippies, transsexuals, artists of every stripe, live music
always within a stone’s throw. I
can’t walk twenty feet without seeing someone I know and likely love. I step from my door into the woods,
onto the mountain, one vista opening onto another. A thirty-minute drive takes me to a world-class city, a
metropolis unique in its love of human rights, of art, of food; a jewel in the
fog.
My work is my passion.
I’d be doing it even if I weren’t being paid. I’m never happier than with my hands full of old cashmere
sweaters, cutting, shaping, sewing; crafting a treasure from trash. I'm an essential part of the coolest store in town, nestled in a community of makers. And, in yet another cool store just around the corner, I get to teach the women of this town how
to move their bodies, how to find fitness and strength at any age.
My fabric of friends is a tapestry. They make my life infinitely richer,
they keep me alive in all kinds of ways.
My children are my beating heart. From cuddling with Mihiretu on the couch, to listening to
Lana narrate the intricacies of her outfit, to laying with Mae in my bed, quizzing
her on Spanish vocabulary, both of us snorting with laughter (I like to roll my
r’s).
My house is tiny and gorgeous, every corner has a purpose
and a beauty. I can vacuum the
whole thing from one electrical outlet in five minutes flat. It holds us, it cradles us.
And then there’s love.
This whole new world. I no
longer have partnership, true. One
day I’ll find that again. But in
the meantime, there’s so much that’s new.
New people, new ways of being.
I’m in my body, really in my body, in a way I haven’t been for a very
long time. I feel awake. In the midst of my daily life of work
and friends and kids, I have episodes of romance. Episodes that I can get lost in like a dream. Completely delicious.
I am a lucky girl.
A very lucky, almost-divorced, less-than-financially-sound,
often-sobbing-on-the-couch, forty-four-year-old girl. Can I get a hallelujah?
