I'm not sure if you are still alive. We haven't spoken in at least 5 years. But that's okay. That's what I needed. I've moved on. I had to. Because you abused me.

I can't speak for you. But as for me, with eyes wide open and a firm foothold, I embrace the start of a brand new year.

Change is never easy. Some choose to shuffle through life saddled with remnants and refuse from their past. It feels familiar, driving this UHaul packed from floor to ceiling with boxes and bags of unchallenged feelings, faults, and fears. Even if earlier times were never what they wanted or would have chosen, they settle. With a stubborn grip, they’ll hold onto and repeat all the yesterdays they've ever known.

“So nice to see you! Is everything going well? What are you up to?” That’s our typical greeting when I run into my friend Cindy now and then. This morning she told me she’s up to a new challenge; “Just a little jump.”

“Just a little jump.” Those words conjured up this blog post faster than a weathervane spinning in a hurricane.

I used to journal. Poetry, stories, remembrances, song lyrics, even eulogies. 

Sometimes journaling is therapeutic. Like a trusty old friend, it keeps our secrets and validates our fears. It demonstrates change and growth. It gives insight into where we used to be versus where we now are. It provides a reason to change or stay the same. It helps us clear the debris from our heads and the fallout from our hearts. But sometimes, it isn’t, or it doesn’t. Mine couldn’t