It’s been a month of revision of plans I have carefully laid for myself to accommodate the needs for others. Sometimes it feels good–like a moral itch to scratch. Most of the times it sucks and I feel as if I am spiralling out of control toward a black hole of a wasted life.

Those are the days I feel like putty, forced to flow and conform to everyone else’s desires or needs without consideration if the conformation is harmful to me or not.

But then there are days when I remember to pull myself out of my own head and go to the place at the edge of a continent and techtonic plate that puts everything into perspective. I used to go here decades(!) ago when I had shattered my foot, thought it might need to be amputated, was poorling dealing with chronic pain and resulting insomnia, and wanted to end my life. Here at the hazy edge of the Pacific put my world into perspective.

The ocean moves, ebbs and flows. There are whole other worlds both across this sea and under its surface. So much magic to still discover–even in my own life.

So now, on this too-bright blown out day, having just learned my son has a fractured hip and will need months of physical therapy, I return to the edge. Remembering that it isn’t the end but a boundary to something different than my solid shore.