The African Violets I bought not long after my grandmother passed away (she loved violets), are blooming.   There’s a lantern of a bloom curled forward on a dainty stem and another facing opposite just emerging.  They have a pink-violet hue and stand out vividly against the stark blue wall beyond.

Violets are not blue. 

I tried recently to keep a journal.  Obviously I use this blog to chronicle milestones in my life, but I thought I might pour more into a personal journal that only I might read.  In that, I felt ridiculous.  It’s not like me to write something I don’t want others to read.  Occasionally, I write down a thought only to destroy it, but mostly, I love to integrate these thoughts into the larger collective pool of the blogosphere and bare something of myself to an unseen world of eyes looking in.

I saw someone this week I hadn’t seen in a month and a friend I haven’t seen in nearly two years.  It brought forward some intense feelings.  I realized I’ve grown up in the last year.  I’ve opened my self up to loving people in a way I’ve never loved before.  It erases the fear I’ve harbored since childhood; fear of abandonment, fear of touch, fear of losing.  And in the next year, I imagine I’ll be engaging even more in the kind of relationships  and adventures that help me express the joy I feel in living.

This year, I will…

  • move to North Carolina
  • stand in awe before a Redwood tree
  • let my heartbeat echo off the Grand Canyon
  • swim in a mountain lake and walk beside the ocean

This year I will soar to new heights.

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