I wrote, a while ago, actually, on my last trip to Vancouver, about the stark difference between two different doors in my life. Twice that I stood, consciously and deliberately and opened a door.
The first door allowed a flood of love into my life.
The second, a world of hurt.
Both helped me to grow.
Let’s talk about the first door, shall we?
At 19, I sat, across the country, on my tiny bed in my dorm room. My mom, had just hugged me, left, closing the door behind her. We had spent the day setting up this tiny room together. I was ready for her to go but not quite sure what it would look like when she did.
After a few moments, I took a deep breath, stood, and opened the door. I opened it just enough that should someone walk by, they might be able to peek in, allowing me to smile. This was my plan, to just simply smile. Sure enough, as other students walked by, they smiled, nodded, and finally someone poked a head in and told me about a pop-up coffeehouse on the green that night. I was asked if I wanted to join. I pushed down the jet-lagged, homesick feeling, and said “yes.”
That night, sitting on a blanket on the green, drinking coffee and watching the acoustic talents of so many of my peers, I felt at home.
I found my people, my girls, my tribe.
These girls, I hang onto today.
These girls, the ones who have been with me through it all.
These girls, the ones with whom distance means nothing.
These girls, the ones who made an unofficial pack to be there for all the big stuff with me.
So, here I sit, in an airport, en-route to the city that feels like home for me. I’m here for it. I’m here for more “big stuff.”
Gimme it all - all the milestone birthday surprise. Baby snuggles. Coffee. Patios. Shopping. Laughing till my belly hurts. Gimme all the pure friendship, all the authenticity. My soul craves “all the big stuff.”
I’m here for it - “all the big stuff.”