Grief is a funny thing

Shiloh Water Conservation Area

I have an intellectual understanding of grief and how my body is processing. So I go through my day, accepting. Welcoming. Saying hello to all the feelings.

And then I do a thing that reminds me of another thing and suddenly my rational mind exits the situation.

I did my yoga teacher training today. I did that all weekend. I now feel very confident to teach sun salutations and breathing and meditation. I’m stunned by how meaningful and incredibly well done my class is.

The moment my mind is not occupied with activity the sadness finds me. It grips me tight and constricts. My rational mind knows I won’t always feel this acutely sad, that things can only improve. That I live a very full and happy life.

But the sad still snipes me.

I made a commitment this weekend to myself to just love. Love hard and full and complete and whole hearted. The relationship ended but the love didn’t. I can send love out whenever I feel like it. I can just feel it and share it through the ether.

So I was walking along the Shiloh water area and looking at the pussywillows and black birds with bright red wing dots. I was smelling the funky water smell knowing it was processing. The water is processing in open nature to clean itself. I guess I was doing the same.

A motorized skate boarder came by and threw me a hang loose. I was jamming to my tunes with my big headphones. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

There was sun. There were ducks. There was a pair of Canada geese that hissed at me. I took my headphones off and stayed back about 30 feet. I talked to the goose.

“It’s ok. I’ll wait until you’re ready. Do what you’ve got to do.”

He pissed on the sidewalk and waddled off to enter the water with his mate.

Later I did sun salutations to the crescent moon with my bare feet in the grass and the gnats swirling around my head.

All of this is beautiful. Every single moment. Even the grief is gorgeous.

I accept it all.



  1. Love this. You’re so open and brave. I hate when someone says I’m brave, but I’m not using it as a cliche. To be so vulnerable is only for the brave, not the chickens.

    • I yelled out loud in my house to Brene’ Brown recently. “I’M IN THE GODDAM ARENA. I LIVE THERE.” Then I realized it’s kinda like in Clash of the Titans, when Zeus picks up one of the gods/goddesses/mortals and puts them down in the arena. It’s this whole thing…in the audience watching and then back out into the arena again. Sigh.

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