Definers Define

In the wake of some bright stars that burned out far too early, I've been mindful of the seasonality of life and more particularly, of mine.

Within days of one another, two extraordinary Brits...one, an iconic fill-in the blank of everything...singer/songwriter, actor, producer, painter, game-changer David Bowie and the other, an unforgettable, transformational actor, half-blood wizard Professor Snape, Alan Rickman passed away unexpectedly at the age of 69 from cancer.

While lamenting their deaths and celebrating their art, I'm aware that this thing we do on earth is temporal.  None of us knows when our time will be done.

And so, in typical Kelly style, I was standing over the kitchen sink, warm water flowing over my hands, scrubbing dishes, thinking of all of the things I will not be by virtue of my expiration date.  For example, I'll never be an Olympic athlete or an astronaut or a super model or a tight rope walker or a Kennedy Center honoree or an Oscar award winning actor or a...well, you get the picture.

And then, I stumbled upon this quote by Toni Morrison in honor of her 84th birthday...

And my heart began to feel alive again.  "Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined."

Toni Morrison didn't publish her first book until she was in her 40's.  Later in her life, post significant fame and fortune, a house fire burned nearly everything she owned to the ground and looking back she claimed, the most important thing in that house was my son and by the grace of God, he was spared.  She picked up the pieces and rebuilt herself again.

I feel like this must be what the journey is all about.  Defining and redefining the path.  Picking and choosing those opportunities that seem curious, interesting, unknowable, hopeful and trying them on for size no matter one's age or perceived limitations.

It feels good on a January day when the sun is shining to know that giants like David Bowie, Alan Rickman and Toni Morrison serve as encouragement saying...go for it, try it, who knows you might hate it...but then again, you might fall in love, if only for a brief time...it may introduce you to something new, something unforgettable...something waiting on the other side. 

Define it for you...don't wait for the world to tell you what you are, at any age.

The Path

From the time my children were babies, I've been taking them on long walks.

First, in the baby carrier.

Then, in the single stroller.

Eventually, in the double jogging stroller.

And now, all three on bikes.

They complain a shit ton when I tell them where we're going.  It's about a mile and a half from start to finish and for some reason that's just SOOOO long and TOOOO tiring.  Suck it up I telepathically tell them...and then, I try to make it fun.

The beauty of our location is that we're surrounded by older, established parks with huge trees, a beautiful golf course, lots of trails and places to hide...if you want to.

And so, each time, I let them in on a new part of the path...a hidden passage where you can go and dream.  Everyone needs a place to call their own and often, it's not found in the place where you dwell or call your home.

It's far away, under a tree, on a bridge, by a mountain or a stream...it calms you, it makes you present, it helps you get back to you.

On part of my favorite sojourn is a bridge where two houses reside.  One is a log cabin with a huge hammock embedded in what looks like Shel Silverstein's the "Giving Tree" and the other abode's entire front facade is windows and as the light hits, the entire kitchen is flooded with kaleidoscope reflections.

Every time I go for a long run, I incorporate "the path" into it.  I turn my music off and listen to my heart and my feet as they shuffle by and I dream.  Because really, I don't do it enough.  I don't let myself.  It's not practical to think about my hopes or desires.  There's just much to do.  But when I let myself pretend that I live in the log cabin with the fire in the winter and the tulips in the springtime and that I'm drinking a glass of wine as the sun is going down in the sunporched kitchen...a little bit of me is rejuvenated, feels alive again...and well, feels like me.

If you don't have a spot, find one....announce to the world that it's yours.  Dream, laugh, cry, reflect, hope...but mostly go there regularly to get away from the noise and to remember who you are when the world's not demanding that you be otherwise.

Here's a picture of me on my bridge with my kiddos and a song by Sara Bareilles called, "Once Upon a Time," that reminds me of what it means to be free remembering those childhood spots you could call your own.