love stories and a pack of wolves


sometimes my mind is so full of chatter that i can't find my stories. i sit and stare at the computer and i wait, willing the words to come. and bribing myself with another cup of coffee or a hot shower if i just get it done.

my friends joke that everything that happens, all the words we speak to each other, become fair game to weave their way into my stories each week. these women keep time in my life. they change me and challenge me every single day because they see and hold my flaws and fears and imperfections and let me be incomplete. and incomplete some more.

i have been purging my space. starting with the old prom dress and moving onto wall clutter. taking everything down. looking at blank walls. deciding what i love, what will stay.

i pour another cup of coffee. the bribe didn't work. the screen blank. almost as though i am clearing my world of words just as i clear the walls. like i am trying to see something inside of the emptiness.

what if i stopped talking and listened? asked more questions. witnessed with the feeling of white walls, bare.

there are so many things i want to know to feel safe right now. i want to ask my partner questions and hear his stories. i want his stories to fill my walls. my heart. my future.

i want to know that i will be safe when i move out from these walls in a few months. that i will find home and places for all the treasures i decide to keep. and to leave space for new stories inside the life we are building together.

living inside of uncertainty is loud. noisy. high alert. i made escape plans that no longer hold truth because he is my family. the arms i want to run into, to hear him tell me we are safe. together.

all i want is the energy to do the dishes. sick for days. still staring at a blank screen, tugging at my hair in a loop of ocd day dreaming. she texts me that she wishes she were closer and could bring me soup. she texts me and tells me to go take a nap, the words can wait. she texts me that maybe i should write about not being able to find the words.

i open a bag of potato chips. it is 10:30am. i pull up the words he wrote last night while i wasn't feeling good and he told me he would write my newsletter. this man makes me laugh and loves me in a way neither of us have loved before. we talked last night about how scary it is to feel love in this way.

the words he typed onto my blank screen while sipping wine as i put on my make up in the bathroom, trying to hide my sickness to go out and meet his friends for a drink.

my body felt insecure, wanting to make a beautiful first impression (cause i can be a lot of fun on a good day) and feeling like i could pass out from exhaustion.

i send a picture of his gift of words to the girls. he was writing about them for me ::

"sometimes family is the people who love and support you" unconditional love the happy puppy to your bad day the rock the sun the truth And the love. Boom. And done. xo

he calls us the wolf pack. we became a blended unit of team meets friendship meets co-workers meets mastermind meets slumber parties and thai food meets lift ups meets what has become family. and he is part of that family now. and we have a huge old farm table to hold this family.

the wolf pack keeps my rhythm because we are working and loving all at once. there is no separation. they have no jealousy for the other wolves and foxes and beautiful creatures in my life. they adore them, and invite them, and love them up. they are different and hold space in a way i have never experienced women so seamlessly do. it isn't friendship. it is family of choice.

the rock. the sun. the truth. and the love.

last night after going out for drinks and feeling feverish and like i shouldn't have left the loft i stripped down and climbed under a blanket on the couch. he grabbed a beer and we sat talking.

i asked him questions and he told me stories. we exchanged deep love in the form of words and i fell more in love. and awe of this man i called into my experience.

and we told more stories.

as i sip the coffee going cold and feel huge gratitude for salt and vinegar potato chips when nothing else tastes good the blank screen starts to find words.

i remind myself that the dishes will get washed and they will continue to be dirtied and i am allowed to rest.

the disco lights dance on the white walls and i am dreaming of the barn. where we will have dance parties and sip wine while our life unfolds. we laugh so much and have more fun than i wonder if we are allowed to be having. and we fight. we have crazy passion. and we eat crazy amounts of potato chips.

and i think about the dinner i want to make tonight to comfort us from days of sickness, fevers, wild dreams and restless sleep.

tears fell down my cheeks over and over last night while we talked. old bits were moving out as fevers ask us to sit in the shadows and release. his words of love were calling me forth to the blank screen i now fill with the stories that are words shared from tiny moments inside of one day.

a day of bare walls. shivers from sick skin. screens without words. drinks in an irish pub. loving texts from all the beautiful creatures in my life. hot toddy conversations. getting lost in his naked skin. staring into eyes that hold my entire universe.

one day.

and the love. boom. done.