Getting there
Getting there

Reaching orgasm is probably one of the few things in life that's actually an honest to god legitimate destination.

But no. Nope. “Getting there” isn’t about orgasm in this case. Although there is a thread between it all. (And yeah, I like innuendos)

For now, suffice to introduce myself as a woman (a nurse, a mother, a dreamer, an over-thinker) at the slowly wrinkling age of 41 trying to get somewhere. Where? You know…there. Somewhere. Somewhere else. Begging herself for a new journey. Getting anywhere is a story. We've all got one. Some people have stories worth turning into films. Most of us don't. But I've got a particular love affair with the beauty of us plebians’ storylines. The soft curves and rough edges of Nobody's Story. The stuff you and I work through every day, every year. Trying our damn hardest to make sense of. Trying to get somewhere that might feel better.

Life is full of paths that don't seem to have an end point. That are forever shifting. Even having your baby arrive out of your vagina is like one giant sigh of relief that…before you know it…has been shattered into little tiny constricted breaths of panic, only later to transform into yawns of daily love and episodes of breathless anger after yelling at your children to stop yelling at each other. Point think you're getting there only to find there is no stopping. There is no mythical bus stop where you open an ice cold Coke and sign your name in the Book of The Arrived. Nope. You arrive and another bus is beckoning you to get the fuck on.

I'm not complaining. The journey is as important as the destination. It’s the whole bloody thing. And while the arrival at the destination of orgasmic delight is for sure one of the greatest gifts that our amazingly bizarre and beautiful bodies have been given to enjoy, I think it would be weird if much else in our life was a fixed achievement point (other than the completion of a perfect steak frites dinner - satiety reached).

But big picture aside…I need to change the tides. In a concrete way. This blog is my journey. About the seismic shifts that can happen with just one footprint. And the wandering journey that just IS.

Look into me like we sometimes look into our neighbors’ windows. They aren't doing anything more exciting than I am (sometimes I'm doing something far more exciting than they are, actually). But my windows are open. You may see yourself in me. You may feel your heart staring back at you when you listen to mine. Or you may just hear out a woman who makes you feel like you're not alone. That gives you a sense that you’ve got this too. Because it’s all a ride and that ride is ours. As graceless and confusing as it may be some days. As serendipitous and elevated as it may be on others. Maybe we’ll even figure a few things out together.