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The idea of simplicity haunts me. It takes over. 

A slow life. 

A calm morning. 

No rushing. 

No fighting. 

The fight to be more, do more. Prove yourself – they shout at you. 

But I step back. 

I watch the wind blow through the leaves. 

I listen to what is being said: be slow, be calm.  Just be. 

The dream of simplicity is taking over me – watching flowers bloom, seasons change, waves crash. 

It’s all beginning to feel very familiar. 

Deep breathes, quiet mornings, good food and a happy home.

I died at 27. 

Not in the physical way but the metaphorical  – rip your spirit out of your body and flip your mind around way. 

Like all greats, just like I dreamed as a little girl. 

At 27, I gave up apart of myself that was my reason for being. A drink a day to take the pain away. 

I thought my death would be drug fuelled, my pain would manifest in my body, my trauma would be hell bound. 

I didn’t die that way. 

My body shook towards the end, my mind unclear, my spirit in another realm. 

I stopped drinking at the age of 27. 

Apart of me died that day and not in the way that imagined. 

Pre bedtime rituals consisted of learning Ojibwe words and songs, many laughs and too many stories I can’t remember.

She healed my bad dreams by telling me to only think good thoughts before falling asleep.

I used to climb up on to the railing and jump onto the bed – it felt like skydiving.

I can hear the fan running, the gentle wind on my feet and the warmth of my grandmother beside me.

It was a bed she and her grandmother spent similar nights in.

This bed holds memories of a maternal love built in language and joy.

I wrote the first part of this a few months ago but it came back to me today. A day arguably built with a colonial construct but built with good intent nonetheless.

Sleeping next to my grandmother was a grave reminder of the fear that lived in her – fear of me being removed from my home, from the safety of our family. How tightly she held on to my mom and I, she was always worrying and she was always thinking of us.

And now I think of them – my grandmothers. My matriarchal strength. Women so strong, they fought battles I can’t even imagine, in order for me to where I am, to be who I am. I’m grateful for them and they fought every obstacle they had to overcome.

She healed our family as her and I would fall asleep together – making sure I was safe, teaching me the language and bringing laughter into my life. For that, I am eternally grateful.

As we discover the art of noticing (a tiktok trend and or book however you find yourself there). I find myself in this recognition of presence.

Be where your feet are, I say to myself, as my head spins and spins. A daily reminder, affirmation, knowing – that there is only this sparkle of presence to keep me grounded.

The art of noticing is the same – both are an art of being present.

The art of noticing watching is the sky transform colours of pink purple to a solid blue. The art of noticing that someone has their Halloween decorations up and some may say it’s too early. The art of noticing that someone cut their grass today.

The art of noticing treetops changing hues. The art of noticing masculine softness as two teenage boys building a bouquet in the grocery store parking lot.

The art of noticing the soft loudness that fills the street. Slow and steady. The season of in between.

The art of slowness and acceptance. That you aren’t who you used to be but you’re on your way to way to who your want to be.

The art of noticing spirit as it surrounds you with little glimmers, animals and dimes.

This life is so mysterious yet beautiful, if you stop for a moment and practice the art of noticing.

The beautiful feeling of – right place, right time.

I have come to realize the right place, right time moments in my life. It didn’t feel like it at the time, in the chaos of a seemingly poorly orchestrated moment; like the universe is against you in every way.

That moment was so perfectly right because of the moments that continued to flow afterwards. It is then when you’re looking in the rear view mirror that you realize, it couldn’t have happened without the tears.

I was at a dear friends wedding recently and she said a phrase that she heard from a lady next to her on a plane “you are who you are, I am who I am. It is what it is, all in divine timing”

There are no mistakes in the moments that make up our lives. I have lost parts of myself, people, memories have come and gone. After it all, I find myself always in a greater position than before.

And I know the universe will continue to serve me in such a way that I am always achieving and I am always living my highest vibrational life.

Life is for living – living for you. Every day is a good day to surround yourself with the one’s who fill your cup, and find peace at every turn (no matter the current feeling).

I love myself by choosing not to know.

I live in this moment and in this moment alone. Not knowing what may happen next. I make a big act of love by not trying figure it all out or finding the answers.

I choose to be present in the moment with the action that I am taking, knowing that all future movements will happen as they may.

All moments and days will be different, and I love myself by letting them flow.

I take in the feeling of the air, the sounds that surround me, the movements in my body, and the steady ground beneath my feet.

I love myself by knowing tomorrows cannot be planned and yesterdays cannot be relived. I am here today in this moment, exactly as I am.

One of the hardest parts of adult life is realizing you are the adult.

You are the adult with choices and emotions.

You can choose to be the adult that you want to be. You don’t have to be like the adults you saw growing up. The ones with big, unsafe emotions.

You can cry, you can be frustrated and overwhelmed… And it doesn’t need to be an explosion. It can be in the safety and quiet of your own soul, not a place that needs to be taken out on others.

You have the opportunity, the choice to say… that’s not for me. I choose to help myself, I choose to be different.

I write this post from the other side of grief.

I have grieved many times throughout my life from experiencing the death of loved ones to phases of myself. The grief of places lived, moments loved, relationships that have come and gone.

This grief at times can be crippling but grief is apart of life and in the same breath, so is love.

The following was written in a moment of pain from the loss of my grandmother:

There is a deafening silence after death. Rooms feel quieter and strange. Laughter drifts into the wind as I feel your presence around me. Your voice echos in my mind “I’m okay – don’t cry” but my heart breaks and in these moments I can’t get ahead of it. I can’t stop the pain.

All the sadness in the world feels like it’s filling my body. I shoot myself back to the day you started your journey, I replay the phone call, I replay the feeling of loss – numbness and panic strike my body.

I replay it all, the feeling of time moving too fast and all too slow. The moments that I wanted to call you and ask “how do I plan a funeral? And who do I call?”

My first snowfall without a warning message to let me know snow was on the way and to be careful. Reminders of you coming at me quickly and me wanting you to know that you were right – you told me so.

You told me these would be the moments that I would miss. The annoying messages and reminders about things that felt irrelevant and obvious.

All of the messages and phone calls are gone as I sit with memories of you.

And in these moments of pain the heartbreak feels different than anything I’ve felt before. It is slow, dull and consistent. I feel it solely in my chest as if my heart could absolutely break.

—————-

As I stated. I am writing this post from the other side of grief. From a place of love and joy. I remember all the people, places and moment that I have grieved and I remember them with fondness as I look to an unknown future filled with so much love.

I hope we can all look back on our lives, crying for the things that break our hearts still but we remind ourselves when our tears dry that we do not have to live there – in a house of grief. We can live in the moments that bring us peace, bring us joy and remind ourselves that life is worth it. Every single day. Gracefully dancing through each and every gust of wind that sweeps us off of our feet and into calmness, and most importantly getting back up after a strong wind knocks us off balance.

This is life and the loved ones we miss dearly are all around us, protecting us still.

My grandmother is on her journey to those good hunting grounds; a place she dreamed of fondly. I know her mother is by her side, and my grandmother is experiencing a healing and love like never before.

My pain is temporary and her love will hold me forever.

We drive to my place after a dinner filled with booze and silence

I share my pain, you share yours

You run away in anger, I sit in tears and silence.

Was it my fault? Did I say something wrong?

My tears stream down my face and create a pool in my chest.

This sadness feels like home. The fear, the pain, the self-blame all feel like a blanket of comfort.

I cry and cry like I haven’t in years because I stand alone with you in my home.

Scared you will walk away and never come back. I’m not sure why shutter in fear of this inevitable fact.

I know today is a bad day. I’m nervous and anxious. Doubtful and fearful. Questioning everything including myself.

But I search for a moment of gratitude.

It shows itself as a new day, with change and acceptance.

I’m grateful that life won’t always be this way. I’m aware that a better tomorrow is coming even if I can’t feel it yet.