I don’t so much have a story. I have a whole saga. For my entire adult life, I have experienced the same romantic relationship over and over and over again. Starting with the man I married at 26 and divorced at 32. Followed by the one in California who nearly left me in the middle of Paso Robles, four hours from home without a ride.

In 2018, I had left my dog, Leland, in Chicago with my ex-husband so I could move out to California and start a new job. No words can encapsulate how devastating that was for me. We had only been divorced for seven months and were trying out the whole shared dog custody thing, a ridiculous modern-day issue that childless couples face post-breakup.

When you move somewhere new, it changes you. And I feel like a snowman that is slowly starting to melt into a more mellow version of me. Hustle culture, people call it these days. After living in cities for 18 years, I thought hustle was simply my nature. But then I moved here and it felt like slamming on the brakes.

Blink and you’ll miss it. Holds true for most of these small towns in Northern Michigan. At the only intersection in Maple City sits a post office the size of a postage stamp itself, a gas station that has a handwritten sign over the 89 at the pump — no premium gas — and an abandoned corner store that says “Exciting things coming in 2020!” even though we’re six months beyond. The population is 113 and I wonder if that includes me.

As I write this I can see the outline of where my dreamcatcher used to hang, just to the right of my window. I took it off my wall yesterday, wrapped it in paper, and placed it in a box. If I stare intently, I can see the actual lines that made up the inner web of the dreamcatcher. The ring that held the web together. The strings that dangled from the ring — beads and feathers and ribbons. Everywhere you look, it appears I stenciled my walls with smoke. I couldn’t fathom why my walls were so alarmingly dirty. All the wildfires, my sister said. And then I had immediate concern for my lungs.

Friday nights were the worst. I would stick my hand into my purse as I walked out of the glass doors at work and search for my travel pack of tissues. The ones that I hid in every coat, all my handbags, in the console of my car and the drawers of my work desk for the inevitable moments when my eyes would start leaking, often unexpectedly and always aggravatingly. As I watched everyone else leave work and make their way home to kids and spouses and pets and out to dinner with friends, I would climb into my car and hear nothing.

I once was a wife. 

There was a point in time when I’d wake up alone and astonished. When I drowned in the silence of my apartment, silence that I had craved, and then, when granted, suffocated me. For the first few weeks after moving out of my condo I shared with my husband, I sat in my empty loft on the one lone rattan chair that cocooned me until my new furniture arrived. I watched an entire TV series in that chair, the echo of the TV boomeranging off the walls, my puffy eyes reflected back at me when I powered the TV off. 

On the eve of New Year’s Eve a pizza peel arrived on the front porch of my sister, Jamie’s, cabin. She and I watched as my brother-in-law, Ted, ripped open the box, assessing the size and whether or not it was big enough for the pizzas we were going to toss onto his brand new Big Green Egg. The day prior, Jamie and I went to our favorite spot in Traverse City, Folgarelli’s, in search of all of the items we needed. Neapolitan pizza dough, imported sauce, bottles of wine, and an impromptu cash-register cookie purchase.

Looking at the highs and lows of a year can be so confronting. Oftentimes when I write these blog posts I end up in a fit of ugly tears as I relive some of the more tender moments of my life. But seeing how far I’ve come, looking back at the lessons and wisdom that blossom from my struggles – that’s what I live for.

Outside the window there is a perfect snow globe of fresh flakes falling from the sky, like Santa ordered it himself. Beneath the windows are photos of my nieces and nephews, wedding photos of important people in my dad and stepmom’s life, new babies who have since grown, family vacations, and school photos. I wonder what it was like for them to take my wedding photos down. Was it a conscious decision they made together? Was it one that bore little thought? Or did they reminisce about that day or my relationship?

When I moved to Chicago in 2003 I saw a trifold brochure for running a marathon in support of the AIDS Foundation. "Anyone can do it!" it said. Anyone, I wondered? I hadn't run more than a mile in gym class in high school, so the consideration of a marathon was cute of me to entertain. One week later, however, I was lacing up my Nikes and run/walking a 12-minute mile. Six months later I was crossing the finish line in Honolulu. Grand goals have always enticed me, so considering I went from 0-100 with running, it didn't really surprise me when I put my deposit down to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro with no prior mountain climbing or camping experience.

My practice this year as I navigate self-trust is to simply pause when faced with indecision. Instead of flipping through my internal rolodex to find someone else to tell me what to do or how to feel, I use my own reflection skills to determine the best course of action. Something as minor as a text to a potential first date or as grand as a new job, I have found a handful of questions very helpful in getting me to tap into my own internal trust. It's my new rolodex for decision making and it goes something like this:

I knew things had seemed off between them. But when we sat at their kitchen table, my then husband and I, the news that our good friends were divorcing was still met with disbelief. I felt a tightening in my throat, a rush of heat to my sinuses, constriction of my jaw, the rapid blinking of my eyes in an attempt to redirect my tears. But why? But how? But you're sitting right here together. Can't you work it out? 

At the end of 2018 when I was making the decision to either stay in Chicago or move out to California, I would sit in bed at night, the light of my phone illuminating my face, my fingers tracing Google maps, and I'd imagine myself in a new life. One that was waiting for me once I spoke the words "Yes, I'll take the job."

In one of Jerry Seinfeld’s stand ups, he jokes about the intensity of boredom as a kid and how adults exhibit superpower strength every day just by demonstrating the ability to stand up straight when experiencing boredom. Being bored would literally make his body slump until he eventually wound up flat on the ground in the middle of the wallpaper store with his mom.

As a child I recall my mother having a yellow post-it pad next to the telephone. It would be perfectly flush with the edge of her desk calendar, task items written in precise Catholic school cursive. Instead of crossing something off the list, she would tear off the top sheet and rewrite a new list so that even the list itself was presentable and neat. I always wondered when the list would end. When would the post-it pad cease to exist?

I view the beginning of a new age as my "new year" instead of January 1. Reflection has always been a big part of my life. I find so much joy in noticing growth. The past few years, I've been using the Desire Map to hone in on what I want to create as I walk into a fresh year. In this workbook, the intent is to cultivate how you want to feel in your life before you set your goals, as most goals are usually made because we think we will feel a certain way once we achieve them.

The horse is galloping. They're clearly in a rush to get somewhere. Another man on the side of the road says "Where are you going?!" and the man on the horse says "I don't know! Ask the horse!"There are hundreds of koans, or riddles, used in Zen Buddhism to challenge our everyday way of thinking and help spark some form of enlightenment and this one definitely got me thinking.

Malibu. The land of world class beaches. What I've heard described as the Hamptons of LA. Where mountains meet the seaside and celebrities go to escape the Hollywood hustle. At least that's what I always thought. As a midwesterner who still holds these types of destinations in the light of novelty, I am astounded by their proximity and the great fortune I have in being able to visit them, even in covid era.