I miss my girls…and that’s okay

waterfront-property-nc-preserveThe house has been on the market for six months now, and we are no closer to our dream of moving down south than we were back in the spring.

The logical part of me blames the market, the economy, the fickle finger of fate. The intuitive part of me (and really, isn’t that all there is at the end of the day?) knows I’ve been conflicted about the move.

It’s not fear of a move itself. I’ve done it a lot; twice clear across the country. I relish the challenge, and enjoy the way a move clears out the cobwebs and forces a reset. Purging and organizing? All over it. Packing boxes? Just hand me the tape.  Getting settled in the new place? Give me a day or two and we’re good.

So what’s really going on?

It’s my girls. This is the first big move I’m contemplating without them.

The tape running through my head says “but if I move I’ll miss them.” The reality is I already miss them! One is eight hours away in NY; the other not so far, but far enough that I don’t see her often.

When we do get together, those moments feel like they are cocooned in brilliant crystal. Catching up on hugs, gossip, all the wonderful details of their blossoming lives…these times are precious. Probably more so because they are rare.

Today I realized that moving won’t make me miss them anymore. I already miss them, every day. On top of missing them are incredible feelings of pride at who they are, excitement at what they are becoming, gratitude that we have a relationship that makes it okay to share these feelings with them.

I raised them to be independent, self-sufficient and strong women. And dang it, that’s exactly what they are. Problem is, in doing that I forgot to raise myself to be the same. It’s time to realize that missing my girls will always be a part of my life, whether I’m here in Michigan or living down south where the winter doesn’t make me cry and curse.

To all the moms out there who miss the daughters they’ve raised so well, here’s a toast. We done good.

 

 

 

Don’t Defend the Indefensible

As you tune into tonight’s debate or any of the political talk going on around us, keep George Orwell’s words in mind. This goes for any party, any issue, any “side” in our political process. Isn’t it time we stop letting our political “leaders” get away with this and begin speaking their plain truths?

“In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism, question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness.” ~ George Orwell

In a weird way, maybe that’s why Donald Trump is getting those bizarre approval numbers. There’s no sheer cloudy vagueness with that one. Nothing vague about his opinions. There’s nothing that resembles statesmanship either, but that’s for another day.

Be safe out there, America.

Who Am I at 2:48 in the Morning?

Awake in the middle of the night, I was hit some with some astonishing clarity. I am not Carol Pearson.

I wasn’t having an existential crisis or an out-of-body experience. Just a moment of bright, clean clarity.
IMG_0673Quite happily I chose to take the name Pearson in the spring of 2012. Prior to that in 1985, I had taken another last name. And before that, I used the name I was born with.

But I am none of those people, really, because those names are only a label, used for convenience and identification with my group and the larger world.

Who I am goes much deeper than a name, a label, what the world calls me: wife, daughter, mother, friend, writer, editor, client, employer…all used by agreement so people can more easily understand who we are. Often as not, those labels throw up barriers that prevent the depth we seek.

What I realized at 2:48 am today is the true “me” is nameless, indefinable, and quite beyond words. It’s the me I meet when I’m meditating or walking on the shore with the wild horses.

Such a lovely realization too, because suddenly all those things I’ve been called, or have labeled myself, are quite meaningless. Shy, outgoing, smart, selfish, fat, thin, sexy, weird, loving, compassionate, distant, organized, logical, a hot mess…all just labels and all only having an impact when I believe them and act accordingly.

The process of living is a process of constantly evolving. The real label I need is “Warning: Contents may have shifted during handling.”