My journey took me from the beautiful city of San Francisco, back to the desert of Arizona.  There are many reasons why we do what we do.  I haven't lived here in Arizona in a very long time. There was much apprehension about moving to a place that I thought I let go of long ago.  But the pull of family was long reaching and I felt it was time.  The support from my friends was overwhelming, family was where I needed to be. It was time to move on from my urban family and reconnect with my real family.  So I did just that. Funny enough, it happened organically and that was a meant to be if I ever saw one.

So as I said, this blog no longer serves me.  I have moved on to some amazing things in my life.  I found my true passion and am excited to start school soon.  I left some wonderful memories behind in San Francisco, and the creation of this blog is one of them.  It was there for me when I needed it. I will always be grateful to all of my readers, near and far. I have made some great connections through meeting some of my followers.  Along the way I learned a few things about myself. I will always be grateful that I had the opportunity to share my thoughts, my perceptions of the world around me. Grateful that you came here and read it. But alas, it is time for me to go.  I am still writing, but just not here, and not these types of subjects.  I realize I left no place for you to find me, but I believe if our paths are meant to cross again, they will.

At the request of several readers,  I am leaving this up as an archival place for people to come. I may not have written for several months but I see the stats and I am still garnering new readers everyday.   An honor in and of itself.  Thank you for this opportunity, my writing wings have been spread,  it's time for me to fly.....high.

It isn't that I am a perfectionist about everything, but some things I want to be really good at.  I discovered painting pottery is not one of them.  But I thought about how this fun activity of painting pottery is related to life.  I took my time to select the colors I wanted to use, colors that represented how I was feeling at the time, as well as, what would go with my decor.  I picked several stencils, sponges, and brushes.  I carefully laid everything on the table where I was working.  It was a meticulous process for me, just as I treat life.  Trying to control how this was going to go. 

I stared at my bowl and tried to decide what to do first, sort of like trying to decide what path to take next on a journey.  I didn't want to choose the wrong color, path if you will.  And then I began painting my background color.  I couldn't tell how it would look, but I quickly realized the uneven brush strokes are like that of my life, uneven and uncertain.  So in trying to make it even, I did a second coat, again trying to make it uniform and perfect.  I proceeded to paint a darker color around the top edge of the bowl, my hand unsteady the whole time.  I saw this as yet another metaphor for how unsteady I am about things in my own life. 

I looked across the table at my friend painting away.  She was getting mildly, very mildly, annoyed that she had made some mistakes of her own.  I assured her it was the imperfections that made it beautiful.  What a fraud, I was trying to make mine perfect, yet I really believed in the words that had just come out of my mouth seconds before.  And that is when I found the perfect stencil, it said "gratitude".  I had gone over several stencils before and saw many words that spoke to me, but none like this.  I knew this was the word to go in the bottom of my bowl. 

The sweet girl that worked at the shop had me stencil it onto paper and copy it into the bowl, it looked okay.  I then had to paint over it, not so good, and definitely not perfect.   I proceeded to paint another coat on the top edge of my bowl, and then BOOM, I went way out of my self imposed lines.  Talk about a flaw, I couldn't believe it.  I had tried so hard to make it even, perfect in fact.  Now my bowl of gratitude was completely imperfect. So to add insult to injury, I decided to paint the word at the bottom of the bowl darker, not a perfect lettered word anymore.

But I learned a lot that Saturday morning.  Life isn't perfect, we have flaws.  It is the flaws that make us unique.   Just like the color wheel with so much variety, so is life.  My bowl is far from being prize worthy, but to me it is priceless.  I had a wonderful time trying to explore my creative side.  Just like anything in life, we have to try until we get it right.   There are signs along the way to guide us.  I believe that Saturday my sign was right there in the bottom of my imperfectly painted bowl.  It was gratitude.  And I was grateful.  Grateful for a life that is full of surprises. Grateful for the flaws that make me who I am, and grateful for the rudimentary lines in my bowl.  Just like my life they are a learning tool to keep trying and keep learning.  It turned out to be a great time, full of perfections and imperfections.  Great company and lots of laughs, and most of all it was a day filled to the rim with gratitude.

But it is the circumstances surrounding some tests of someone else I know that made me think I needed to write about this.  Women and doctors, women and certain tests, it is a lot to absorb when you are on the receiving end of THE machine.  The machine in question, the mammogram machine. 

I remember once while living in California I was going for my mammogram and a friend had asked what it was like.  I said it wasn't a big deal unless they call you back in to get more film.  Don't you know that is exactly what happened that day, and that is exactly what happened to my friend today too.  It is such a daunting feeling.  You feel at the mercy of the big x-ray machine.  A machine that  feels like the jaws of life clamping down on your tender breast, smashing it as tightly as possible, until you think there is nothing left to smash and then holding your breath as the picture is taken.  The whole thing takes no time at all, but when one of your extremities is sitting on a machine acting like it has a life of its own, well, you and I both know, it feels like an eternity.

But as I said, that isn't the worst part.  It is the waiting, the hoping, expecting the technician to come in and tell you everything is fine and to get dressed.  But that didn't happen today, not for my friend.  She waited, hoping any minute the tech would come in and say, "get dressed, you can go".  Instead they came in and said, we need to get a few more photos.  Now chances are good nothing is wrong, but as women, we fear the worst. 

You can't turn on the TV these days without seeing something related to breast cancer, and I would guess everyone of us knows someone touched by the disease one way or another.  I think it is safe to say that those two words, breast cancer, are now a normal part of our everyday language.  I know this and so does my friend.  So I understand her fear. 

But what is there really to be afraid of?  Let me say, it is easier for me to say this, not being on the receiving end of the test this time around.  But the reality is, there is nothing to fear.  Fear is simply that which we don't know or understand.  Her fear is based on the unknown, not knowing what to expect.  When it comes to women's issues I sometimes think we expect the worst and hope for the best.  I would imagine that is the normal reaction for most of us.  I too would be no less afraid, and I know because I have been there.  Many of us have.

I think the missing piece for my friend and for all women is bravery.  It isn't easy.  Going in and baring it all, having the little sticker stuck on you as if you are an inanimate object.  Then having them pull and tug on you to get you in just the right position before lowering the boom, so to speak.   And then to repeat the process on the other side, all the while thinking of anything except for what you are doing in that moment.  And then waiting, and waiting, and maybe even more waiting before being told you can go.  But for us women, it doesn't end there.  It is the agonizing two weeks waiting for the results. 

Yes bravery definitely comes to mind when I think about the whole mammogram process.  From the moment we disrobe until we get our results.  We endure a lot, we go through a wide range of emotions.  But we do come out the other side a little better for it.  My friends courage is inspiring, the courage of all women is inspiring.  Like some women I put off getting my mammogram.  It is simply something I don't want to face, ever.  I do know it is necessary, one of those things in life that we simply must do.  Perhaps my friend's act of fortitude will give me the courage I need to go and have mine done.  And just like the millions of women that sit and wait, I too will wait, and hope I hear the words....."get dressed, you can go".

I thought I had let go of the "movie" in my head, the vision I had created long ago.  I have only begun this new adventure, a month in and I am ready to be a regular at yoga, be nearly finished on my book, and have paying advertisers on my blog.  Instead, I am taking four different freeways to get to a job, that while I am eternally grateful to have, does not have me wearing lululemon everyday.  So I had to do a re-write. I had to edit the vision to suit the now.

The actuality is that I have only been here for one month and in the job for three weeks.  I have barely learned my way around to be able find the yoga studio much less have time to go four days a week.  I haven't been able to start a book, simply because I can barely get this blog written in a timely manner.  No, the fact of the matter is, I am holding myself to an unrealistic expectation.  The home I am moving into isn't even ready.  I am still residing with my parents and living, basically, out of a suitcase. I am somewhere in between,  I am basically living in the middle.

I also have to look at this last month in retrospect.  Things have been made so easy for me.  Perhaps this is the transition period I needed to decompress from a city life.  What if this period is about re-introducing myself to a different lifestyle, one that I haven't enjoyed in a very long time.  Maybe this is my purgatory, I am right where I am supposed to be.  Life moves a lot slower here and some days I am still going at warp speed.  So maybe this is exactly what is necessary to challenge my city sensibilities.  A necessary evolution.  I have heard said many times, you have to crawl before you can walk.

Thus, I am in transition.  Everyday isn't easy.  There are days when I crave the noise of the city and the feeling of being at peace amongst the chaos.  Those cravings are becoming less and less as I move towards a less chaotic life.  So how can I expect to see the vision of my life come to fruition when that chapter has yet to begin.  I can't project how this new chapter will unfold, it hasn't been cast yet.  I am no longer playing a movie in my head.  I no longer am "seeing" how my life will be. Right now it is more about finding the peace amongst this chaos,  accepting living out of a suitcase or two. Stopping trying so hard and looking for the magic.  It is about finding a balance while living somewhere in the middle. 

Then I think about a recent conversation with another person.  He said the word is used too much.  He even went as far as to say that I say it too much.   Everytime I hang up the phone with my family, no matter how many times I may have already spoken to them.  He proceeded to tell me that he would almost prefer to hear when I am not feeling the love for him, more so than when I do feel it. An interesting notion that did not sit well with me.

I recall Leo Buscaglia once writing that when we feel love, we need to share it, tell people when we feel it.  I agree. I think part of that reason for me, we don't know when it will be the last time we tell that person.  It is kind of like that with a past lover, you don't know when the last time you are together is actually the last time. So is it so wrong?

I have wondered a lot about the word "love" and how it is used.  We are a society that loves everything.  We love our new outfit, we love the new lipstick we just purchased, we love a song, a movie, the list goes on.  So what if my friend is right. We are saying it too much.  Maybe we are devaluating the weight of the word. Thirty years ago was the word more coveted than it is now?  Do we take liberties with the English language, or are we merely more apathetic to love?

I say "I love you" often, probably more than I should.  I know that when I answered my friend's phone the other day, her friend that she cares deeply for told me she loved me as she was hanging up the phone.  I said it back.  After all, what do you say to that?  I didn't want to hurt her feelings.  Maybe it has just become something that you say, no deep meaning, no harm, no foul. Just a word.

There are people in my life that I love very much, there are others in my life that I care deeply about.  Maybe when I tell those that I care for that I love them, it is my way of validating my friendship to them.  I say it as a way to let them know they mean a lot to me.  Many times I have hugged girlfriends and told them I loved them.  I meant it, I do love my friends.  Maybe it just sounds better to say "I love you", than to hug a friend and say, "You mean so much to me", even when they really do "mean so much to you".

No matter the reason, it seems to me that those three little words do in fact have a great deal of meaning.  Perhaps we shouldn't be so quick to say it if we don't mean it.  But we all know how we feel when we here it, it lights us up.  And depending on the context, it can mean everything.  I like to think no matter how it is meant, it touches the recipeint.  So here is to you, dear reader, you mean so much to me.  Just doesn't sound the same, does it?

One of the things that doesn't happen often is the face to face meeting.  So when it happens, it is a big deal.  Online relationships are different.  Online you can bare your soul, be as authentic as you want to be and there is a safety in staying behind the computer screen.  The vulnerability of putting yourself out there takes on a whole different meaning.  The dynamic of the friendship is completely different.  So how do you handle the situation when it is time to meet in person?

I had that very situation happen to me today.  I was meeting one of my virtual friends for the first time today.  Now I have met a virtual friend before and she and I are very close.  But how could I be sure this would go as well?  What if she didn't like me?  What if I didn't like her?  What if we were better off internet friends?  So many questions, and yet so unfounded.

After exchanging numbers and a few texts, my new albeit old friend and I decided on brunch.  This was already a win for me.  I love getting together for brunch with friends.  I guess she did too.  I recognized her right away, and while a face to face is always uncomfortable for anyone, it wasn't that bad. It is funny how getting to know someone online is easier, but true connection, sharing space is even better. 

I think I pummeled her with so many questions, she probably felt like she was on a job interview.  But really I think it was about filling in the blanks.  I think we ended up learning just what we were supposed to about each other.  After all, a friendship is built over time.  Making friends isn't always easy, having the internet to be the catalyst is a great way to break the ice.  I have come to believe that the internet can make friends of those who would otherwise be strangers. 

After a delicious meal and some window shopping it was time to say goodbye.  I enjoyed my morning with my new/old friend.  It was the perfect first meeting.  No expectations, just two women sharing a meal and some good conversation.  Isn't it funny that two people that have completely different lives, who had not met in person before, can share a meal and find a friendship?  This making friends thing is new for me.  I am starting so many things anew in my life.  It sure will be nice to have a new girlfriend that understands me. So I guess the song is true, make new friends, but keep thee old........thanks Jilian, my new old friend.

One of those challenges is, I am living with my parents temporarily.  I am discovering rather quickly that it isn't really a challenge for them so much as it is for me.  They go with the flow.  Are these the same parents I had growing up?  I can't be sure.  They definitely have their own routine.  What I have noticed is that I am playing the role of younger daughter versus adult daughter.  I think I am putting more pressure on myself to make sure everyone is comfortable.  I recently left the house to come and write.  I told them where I would be and that I wouldn't be home for dinner.  They chuckled, as if to say, it is fine.  The underlying tone being, do what you want, you don't have to tell us what you are doing all the time.  Wait, when did that shift take place?  Wasn't it always, while you under my roof you will do what I say?  Who are these people, and when did they become so cool?  Or were they always cool and I just thought I was cooler?

But it wasn't but twenty some years ago that I did have to tell them my comings and goings.  So that is it, I am transporting myself back plus twenty years to a time when I was a financially challenged and had to move home.  This isn't really the case now.  I am living with them until my home is ready for me to move into.  I have no rules, unless you count the no men staying over, a joke with my Dad but nonetheless, that would never happen.  I have no curfew, I buy my own groceries, I have a car.  The reality is, I, and the contents of my previous apartment are taking up residence in my parents home.  As a result I believe I owe them the respect they deserve, not only as parents, but parents changing their lifestyle to accommodate me.

Life is about changes.  I may no longer have to share the comings and goings of my daily life with my parents. I may not have to be in at a certain hour.  But I do feel the need to show them the same courtesies they have shown me.  I suppose it is what a parent does, in most cases.  If you need them, they are there.  They accommodate the amount of apartment furniture and boxes that have filled their open floor living room/dining room.  They have accepted that the guest bathroom is now a constant mess.  Yes, I have to say my parents have welcomed me home with open arms.  I wonder if it is a matter of time before they do tell me to clean my messy room.  After all, a parent can probably only take so much......

I have been thinking about this for a long time now.  I have two blogs, this one and a vegan blog.  I have discovered that my readers are completely different.  It feels as if I am asking a hunter to subscribe to veganism.  So I created a second blog and am searching for my place in that genre.  This is not easy, and at times leaves me feeling fractured.  Managing two blogs, two Facebook fan pages, and two Twitter accounts.  It all seems a little overwhelming.  The reality is, it really doesn't have to be.  Isn't this all part of the passion, the dream?

I love technology.  I have found a way to keep up with all my social media on one site.  Gotta love that. Of course it is the interface I have to get used to.  All in good time.   Rome wasn't built in a day.  So I am laying the foundation brick by brick, layer by layer.  I am still looking for ways to simplify the process.  I am just not sure the process is able to be simplified.  I probably wouldn't know what that looks like anyway. 

I do know this. I have found what lights me up.  I have found an enthusiasm for things that make me want to share it with the world. It feeds my soul.  Social media, self promotion, and everything that goes with it can be a full time job.  A full time job that doesn't pay well.  Or at least not in the traditional way.  I am paid, and handsomely.  Every time I have a new follower or a new fan, I feel like I am being richly rewarded.  And while I do it for the "rewards", my main reason for doing it is because it makes me happy.  I love to write, and I really love to write about things I know. 

So that is what I am doing, I am writing about being a single woman, approaching middle age.  Am I really approaching middle age???  And I am writing about being a compassionate vegan.  The two may never intersect in the virtual world.  In my world they are one in the same.  In my readers world?  Not so much.  Guess I will just keep on doing it....one blog at a time, on two sites of course.