I’m on the heels of a trip back to France. While I was there, I fought through my need for performance and perfection to find real joy.

This is what I wrote before I left…

My daughter turned five today, in the still, quiet hours of the morning. I held her close last night as she fell asleep, feeling her wiggle and kick as she whispered to me all the questions that come to a child only when it is time for bed. I make sure now to take every opportunity to hold her while she is still eager for it, knowing that in a few years she’ll barely remember to ask. 

I’m writing this having just passed the zenith of a very full moon.  That’s not something I would have paid attention to just a few years ago. And a decade ago I don’t think I ever really thought about the moon having phases. I didn’t look at the moon. It didn’t factor into my daily life. I spent most of my twenties and thirties feeling like the protagonist in my own film. Full of power in my world, but lacking power in myself. Everything seemed to go ‘right’ because I willed it to, even if I felt unmoored within me. So much has rocked me to the core in the last half decade.