When you lose yourself?
This has been one of those years. Not just a day, or a week. It’s been a brutal year. Loss of people, loss of places, loss of security, loss of knowing. I’ve been way way way down. I’ve cried more than I’ve ever cried. And I’ve learned again the beauty of coming up. I’ve laughed more than I’ve ever laughed.
I feel alive. More than ever.
Last night a friend of mine called me after having a hard week himself. He doesn’t really know it, but his own bright spirit in the midst of a breaking down is enough to remind me that I have climbed up the hill. That I have more muscle, and that while I’m not to the top of the mountain yet, that this climb is beautiful.
Heartache is a mountain.
And your heart is a muscle. I say that a lot, after hearing it performed live in a song with a friend who has also been through great loss, and I learned that it’s true.
Heartbreak isn’t real. Our hearts our muscles, growing stronger as we climb. They don’t ever just…break.
Today marks 15 years since the day I was told I had stage 4 bone cancer. I remember the day like it was this morning. My heart races when I think of it, and I remember how afraid I was. I thought my heart couldn’t possibly beat again.
But here I am, 15 years later, even after a rough year, standing, looking up at the mountain, and smiling as I take one more step.
Just let the light come in. I promise you deeply, friend…this is not the end.
…because love wins.