It started like any other southern spring day, warm and humid, the air heavy with honeysuckle. One in which I smelled the flowers expelling fragrance as they bloomed. Eight years later, I still remember the beginning of my new life. That morning everything was familiar, yellow pollen dusted the curb and street, children’s voices blended in with the buzzing of bees, my eyes heavy from what felt like years of insomnia. I wore my customary armor of baggy shorts with holes and a men’s shirt that had stains from the roundup used on the weeds. I headed to the bus stop with my youngest child. She bounced rather than walked. Her beauty always covered up for my heart that was fractured in ways that seemed irreparable. In the distance I saw an unfamiliar face holding a familiar hand.

Life changed in the form of an invitation to have a cup of tea from a beautiful young man. The invitation was followed by talks, days, a weekend. Tea can change things in ways never thought possible. Completely innocent in the view of how the world judges what make something torrid. Somehow through the use of words and glances, he reminded me that underneath the rust of life, my soul was still well preserved. Long before I could tell women to feel beautiful, I had to learn how to feel beautiful myself. It was a true love affair of a soul. I saw myself through the eyes of someone who admired fine art and claimed I was a masterpiece. The restoration of my life began quite unexpectedly,but with a force that seemed to tear up the very earth I stood on. Eight years later the ground is still moving, and I like it.

Any given summer, the airways fill with songs about lust. Love is now considered passé. Or perhaps that is my age talking. Every generation thinks that they have the final word on love. We express this through music, books, and movies. We all think that we were the ones who captured the formula for self-expression. I have always looked somewhat askew at the proclamation of 1967 as the ‘Summer of Love.’ "How could that be" my ego screams, I was just a wee babe too insignificant to explain to the minions what love truly is. Then I remember people were expressing their feelings about love long before I took a tour on this planet; and will continue to do so long after I am gone. Yet I am sure at one time or another, most humans have wondered why something as natural as love, requires an often very public display of proclamation. I absolutely know that I don’t know the answer to that question. Love is often defined as singular, measured, traditional, and must be publicly acclaimed over and over again; least someone wonder if minds and hearts have strayed. So we dedicate holidays to love, write sonnets, poems, and songs about the mere feeling of love. If that isn’t enough,we carve our words of love in rings, bracelets, even into an innocent trees, just to make sure our love is imprinted for ever for the world to see.

However, in reality, love can be messy, fractured, splintered, and carved out in very uneven slices of emotional pie. Love comes with constant challenges, interruptions, temptations, and sometimes stiff penalties. Love is like life, the sweetness of it is often tempered by depth, time, space and limitations.
What do I know of love? Not much. My soul bank account can attest to that. I am overdrawn far more often than I am flushed with funds. Yet my wisdom, limited though it may be, is meant to be shared, so here it is;

Love is often unrequited, because life doesn't allow everything to happen.
Love is often momentary…..
That moment.
During that time. For that reason

Love is often painful. Because you can't always have what you want, nor should you.
Love is often blurry. You know what you feel. You know why you shouldn't, but that doesn't stop the tears from falling.
Love is often disappointing, because your heart and soul don't always share the same orbit.
Love refuses to stay in containers in a dark room never to be exposed outside of designated rooms. 
Love grows in unexpected places for unexpected reason.
Love will keep you alive, although it also might make you pray for death
Love comes with a side order of guilt, scandal, and if you really have it bad.... burnt offerings.

You will never understand love and rarely will you have love meet you where you are. We chase it, it chases us. We catch it and then sometimes carelessly toss it away. Then we mourn for it. Love will hurt you in more ways than you can describe the word pain. In the end I implore you to follow your soul over and over again. It will take you to the place where love resides. Your heart will follow…

"Chances are that you have changed someone's life. Chances are that you will never be aware of the magnitude of how many lives you have transformed. We go through life without realizing that, sometimes in simple moments, we give the biggest gifts. I have never met someone without value. In fact, I take something away from every single relationship. Whether it is a close friendship or passing acquaintance; each one leaves me a slightly altered person. Value yourself.  Be proud of your walk through life. Don't worry about what you haven't achieved, because there is so much more that you have achieved simply by being yourself."

I wrote the above, three years ago. At the time I was talking at great lengths with a friend who was struggling to see her value in life after a series of what she considered failed relationships and disappointing career outcomes. This friend had always inspired me to write. She did not gush over my writing, because frankly it is not gush worthy, yet.  But she did inspire, encourage, and challenge, me to make my passion, into something that could be a self-sustaining profession.

So there we sat. As she detailed what she had decided was a life that wasn't noteworthy, I stopped her.  I told her how she always made me think about how much I enjoyed being able to have one particular gift that came rather easy. Yet, she always reminded me that the easy part of writing was not what I need to focus on. Rather it was the hard, daily repetitive work, writing at all times, at all costs, that I must continue. In turn, I have encouraged my youngest daughter to write everywhere, every day; because she too has been blessed with the 'Dancing Words' gene.

Of course you know how this tale ends. My friend had been unaware that she had such an impact on my life; partially because I had not made the time to share this information with her. Like many, I get caught up in the belief that time is infinite; relying on the concept that thoughts of love and appreciation can... wait just one more day. There are people out there who thank you, who appreciate you, who feel changed by your walk in their world. They simply think they have time left to let you know this. Maybe they do. But don't wait to hear it from others. Instead, know your worth to others as a conviction deep down to your core. No matter where you are right now, where you have been, or where you think you are going; you are the essential part of this world. Keep on your journey with that in mind. If you know of someone you need to express your appreciation, tell them now. This is no certainty in time at all. In that, I am very certain.

Tell me a story every night of the week.

A writing exercise for writers and non-writers. Twice a week download a picture, write a story. This will help you find your creative voice and it serves as great practice for those experiencing writer's block. Here is my story.

"For months after the incident, Olivia was unable to write. She looked for someone or something to blame, other than herself. After a few days of blaming the temptation of Netflix, she settled on blaming the weather. She spent months opening and closing windows, adjusting fans, turning on both the air conditioning and heat. Often all in the same day. It was either too hot, too humid, too dry, too something. Somehow it was never quite right for writing. She blamed her eyesight, until she was fitted with new glasses with frames green as the forest. Within minutes of putting them on, she could see clearly but she still could not write. Finally, she decided to focus on something more productive; stalking him on Facebook and Twitter.