I guess I was 26 years old when my parents split up; or maybe I was 25. When I say it that way, it makes it sound like it happened so long ago, even though it was just at some point in the past twelve to twenty-four months. Either way, it happened slowly and then all at once, like most things in life.

The past year or two have been dizzying with changes in my family, and I haven't told you guys about it until now, which has made me feel a bit inauthentic. Not because I feel like I always owe the Internet an explanation of what's going on in my life, but because there are so many things I've wanted to say--to express--and I haven't felt comfortable doing so until now.

Rob and I went to the lake this weekend and so many different feelings struck me from strange angles: happiness, nostalgia, anger, sadness. The morning air was brisk and billowy fog rolled over the surface of the cold water as it always does this time of year, and I sipped my coffee and thought about how all of this used to feel; marveling in the fact that at times, it still feels the same. It's a bouquet of emotions--some with luscious petals, fragrant and full of hope; others dried up, the blossoms falling apart one at a time. 

I'm an adult. I don't need my parents to be together and to be really frank, I also don't want them to be together. But none of this was easy, the way I thought it might be a year or two ago when I thought well, we aren't kids any more so what's the difference? You grow up and you realize that your parents are just people like you, and you want them to be happy. First I felt lost. Then I was mad. Now I'm okay.

The weirdest thing was the very ironic pride I felt whenever someone would mention (usually in a Facebook post with old wedding photos) the strength of their parents' marriage. It's always the same: Happy anniversary to my wonderful parents, who are celebrating [insert number here] years of marriage! Thank you for showing me and [insert sibling or spouse's name here] what a successful marriage looks like. 

At first I took this really personally, like Rob and I were going to miss out on something because we didn't have their positive influence in our lives. But that's just ridiculous. My parents have still taught me more about marriage than they could ever know, and for that I am thankful. Because whether it's cute and heartwarming or really incredibly sad, you can learn a lot from the people in your life, whether they've decided to stay married or not.

That's where I am now--letting things be what they are, and trying to make the most out of it. And no longer hiding this thing that's been on my heart for quite some time.

When I planned this time away, I thought for sure that I would be writing and blogging and getting tons of work done, but the truth is that so far I've spent a lot of time watching my mother sleep.

You always suspect that one day you might have to take care of your parents, but the truth is that my Paleo-eating, heavy weight-lifting, always-cooking, high-speed laundry-folding, CrossFitter of a mom has always seemed pretty unstoppable. But a double mastectomy will slow down even the most heroic of women.

The truth is that even at their most difficult and painful, things are going well. Her surgery went smoothly and both surgeons were happy with everything. I hope I never forget the way it felt to get good news in that waiting room on Wednesday.

So I'll be here, maybe not blogging so much, but distributing pain meds, heating up food that our neighbors and friends were kind enough to make for us, and cruising through Parenthood in between naps (I can't think of a better show to binge-watch at a time like this). 

I can't even begin to thank you all for your thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes this week. This community is an amazing one and I'm so happy to be a part of it.

Last night I found myself feeling uninspired so I did what I always do and flipped my copy of Old Friend from Far Away open to a random page and read what was there. This quote was staring me in the face and I was writing it down before I even had a chance to realize that I have already quoted it once right here.

“Don’t be hard on yourself...Allow the luxury of time, dreaming out the window, a little noodle walk through a dime store, then like a female lion after her prey, go directly into the animal art of pen across paper...

I know more but I don’t push it because there are things I don’t know that I want to come to me. I’m calling up understanding beyond myself. If I get too determined, too linear, I’ll miss the tugs of intuition at the periphery of my perceptions, the things I don’t want to say, the things I have never said...”

— Natalie Goldberg, "Old Friend from Far Away"

Maybe it's time for me to find some new books.

Either way, I feel this way every year and can't seem to escape it--September is here and there are pumpkin beers on draft everywhere but it's still too hot. Students are back in school and I am another year away from it all with dishes in the sink and essays I wish I had written months ago.

So I wait.

--

Currently I'm reading a collection of letters between Julia Child and Avis DeVoto and I'm simultaneously charmed and discouraged by their passion for food and politics and friendship and life and everything in between. Sometimes I wonder, did Julia ever have days or even weeks where she just didn't write a thing? Where she went to bed early and felt uninspired and grateful for takeout or leftovers?

I like to think that she sometimes woke up with a stuffy nose and a headache and decided to take a nap in the afternoon instead of folding laundry or working on her next project, which is exactly what I did yesterday.

"I'm enjoying it immensely, as I've finally found a real and satisfying profession which will keep me busy well into the year 2,000. But I wish I had started in when I was 14 yrs. old,." she wrote about the cooking classes she started teaching with two other women in France.

I feel that about my own life sometimes. But other times it is clouded by self-doubt and worry.

I think we'd all be a little more successful (and happy) if we could only get out of our own way.