Hooked on a Feeling...

I've been in a rather chipper mood of late. My bet is that the vibrancy of this Autumn season is waking up parts in me. (Creativity for one. I've been drawing again and have found opportunities to snap photos at a moment's notice.)

However...

In the stillness of the last hours of work (and of Day for that matter), I was suddenly filled with a great sense of worry and fear: In two weeks' time my mom will be going under the knife.

The fear of the Unknown grips me like it did in my youth. Back when my cousins would tell me stories of the Boogey Man and Zombies that would eat my brain.

In all honesty, I don't know what to do or how to shake this feeling. What I do know is that I need off this hook... Pronto!

Moving. Being. Changing.

It’s fall – one of my favorite times of year.

Sitting here at my desk, looking out onto the lake and the geese drifting about, I had a flashback to this time last year when I drove along the Blue Route on my way to visit with EuroRebs.

I remember where my heart was then: Pained and exhausted; broken and helpless; searching for moments to breathe, to be at peace; hopeless and desperate for change; almost too far gone and at my wits end. Frazzled.

Driving along that long lonely stretch of road, I was struck dumb by the fiery leaves of Penn’s Woods. Reds and golds and maroons, greens and browns – colors so vivid that my heart couldn’t help but sigh and appreciate life, however hard it was.

Looking back now, I’m amazed and so deliciously humbled and thankful. That broken, tired, hungry girl I was for so long is slowly maturing, slowly growing into herself and finding the joy, peace and comfort that come when you jump into the fiery fields and gleefully molt the old parts so the new ones might sprout through the debris.

It’s odd though. I just spent a moment in the ladies room teary-eyed, strangely sorrowful that I’m no longer the Annie we all once knew. Like that old pair of ratty jeans or that nearly threadbare but oh-so-cozy sweatshirt you just can’t get rid of, I’m finding it hard to let go of her. To let go of her is to close the chapter on a story that was so familiar and predictable. (I wonder if I’d just become accustomed to pain. How very strange.)

People close to me have discovered - long before I had even realized - that I’ve changed and am not who I once was. They tell me in puzzled fashion how I seem more at peace – happier, lighter and calmer than I was before; that moving to this random city we all knew so little about was actually the best thing for me.

Surprise, surprise!