Skip to content

My Inner Crock Pot Diva

February 18, 2013

Last month I mastered the art of crock pot cooking. Just like the fine English china my mother carefully selected for me over 25 years ago, my crock pot sat in a kitchen cabinet for over 4 years collecting dust. The truth is I never considered myself to be the crock pot type. When I think of crock pots I am reminded of home and hearth; warmth and balance. As for the type of woman I imagine might own a crock pot, she is a budget conscious and well organized soccer mom who drives an SUV and proudly displays her child’s art projects on her stainless steel refrigerator. One thing I am certain about: That woman is not me. I am a woman with unruly hair who is known to trash coupons rather than clip them. I collect international wines and I favor gourmet French press coffee. When it comes to home cooking, I am more likely to throw a steak on the grill than break out a crock pot.
Through the years I engaged in the occasional crock pot fantasy. I imagined a cold and rainy Sunday afternoon with a fire in the fireplace and the comforting aroma of slow cooked beef chili and fresh baked corn bread drifting from the kitchen. I would be the crock pot savvy woman in the fantasy; my hair pulled into a perfect chignon and my well manicured fingers grasping a ladle. Wait. Cut the tape. I do not wear chignons and I cannot recall the last time I used a ladle. Like so many things in life that slip through the cracks or vanish without a trace, the crock pot stayed hidden like a million forgotten dreams. As did my fine English china and my strand of fresh water pearls and the sexy black dresses that I forget to wear.
It is funny how life can pass us by; weeks turning into months and months fading into years. More often than not, we are so busy with life’s daily grind that we forget to notice the things we always planned to do but kept pushing to the back burner. That is, until something reminds us to slow down and pay attention. Several months ago I planned a small holiday dinner for family and friends. I was standing on a stepstool and rummaging through my kitchen cabinets in search of some holiday decorations when I found what is left of my fine English china. Through the years and multiple life changes and relocations, sadly, much of the china was shattered beyond repair. What remains is just enough to accommodate a party of six and as fate would have it, I was expecting exactly 6 people for my holiday dinner.
Similar to the crock pot fantasy, I suppose I attached fantasies to my china set also. I imagined myself seated in a formal dining room with a solid oak table and sleek high back chairs, candles gently glowing, surrounded by loved ones and the beautiful china dinnerware. As time went by I continued to reassure myself I would use the china set later; next year; when I own my own home; when things slow down; when life feels more stable. However like so many things that truly matter in life, there is never going to be an absolutely perfect moment. The only moment that ever really matters is right now, and if we wait too long we might miss the chance.
My fingers traced the delicately tapered edges of the smooth porcelain as my mind drifted back over 25 years to the European vacation I shared with my mother shortly after my high school graduation. I remembered myself as a cranky 17 year old, growing bored and restless as mom painstakingly selected the plates, cups and saucers that would someday grace her only child’s family dinner table. What am I waiting for; I asked myself in that defining moment of recognition. Several night later we gathered together in my casual kitchen to share our annual holiday meal. We sat on a wooden dining bench instead of the sleek high back chairs of my fantasy. The delicate china coffee decanter held ice water instead of coffee and the table centerpiece was whimsical and festive rather than formal and reserved. The moment was not entirely perfect but even so, the flames on the candles gently danced and glowed and my fine English china, finally free at last, shined brighter than the summer sun.
Approximately 6 weeks after my holiday dinner I placed a raw 4 pound beef tenderloin in the center of my shiny white crock pot. I poured a quarter cup of water into the pot and surrounded the roast with a generous array of baby carrots, shallots and potatoes. Next, I sprinkled the roast with a powdered blend of Italian dressing mix, ranch dressing mix and beef gravy. I placed the lid on the pot and set it on low before saying a prayer and going to work. My hair was in its typical messy pony tail with stray pieces falling around my face; more hippie chic than classic chignon. My nails were badly in need of a manicure and my dated white refrigerator was covered with promotional magnets and photos of my pets instead of children’s art projects. My crock pot moment was fabulously imperfect but it was real and it was genuine and that is good enough for me.
Sometimes in life we just need to stop waiting and take the leap. The most delicious moments in life are the fabulously flawed, imperfect and human moments that define our existence. When we finally manage to stop waiting and start living, we encounter parts of ourselves that we might have otherwise missed. As for me, although I will probably never be a soccer mom or knot the perfect chignon, I finally met my inner crock pot diva and I cooked her a meal that was fit for a king.


In Search of my Story

January 22, 2013

I call my grandmother almost every Sunday evening. It is a loyal ritual I have maintained since childhood. During the early years when my grandfather was still alive I looked forward to our weekly telephone chats when I would share colorful stories about school and friends and my life’s many adventures. Now over 30 years later grandma’s vision has failed and her hearing is severely impaired. Life is often a struggle for her and our Sunday evening phone conversations have grown difficult and strained.
My grandmother is almost completely blind. She lives in an assisted living facility where she spends the majority of her time sitting in her recliner chair awaiting her next meal or visit from the nursing staff. She anticipates our Sunday evening calls as a break in her otherwise monotonous routine and I strive to amuse her with interesting stories and details about my life. It is challenging yelling into the phone and having to constantly repeat myself and refine my articulation but even worse is my lack of new stories to share. Unlike the dynamic and ever shifting kaleidoscope of my childhood, I am now between chapters and my pages are blank.
The sobering reality of my own middle age feels unsettled and vague as I find myself again at the proverbial crossroads. As a young woman I longed for certain things that shifted and transformed with the wisdom of age. Now in my forties I cannot define a new kind of longing that stirs in my soul. Therein lies my humble submission and the heavy solitude of the space between- A space that separates what once existed from an uncertain future that is yet to be. I am solitary and still in my life today but I cannot say I am totally fulfilled. However I can say I am Grateful . Humble. Liberated and Restless. I am ready to spread my wings and fly.
I recently came across the following Mark Twain quote on a friend’s website: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did so. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” I have absolutely no idea which way I am headed as I weave a new tapestry of passions and dreams. When I think about the future and my soul’s steady longing, a word that enters my mind is change. Radical, whimsical, life altering change. I know with full certainly that change now beckons as I throw off the bowlines and prepare to sail.
I was beginning to dread my weekly phone conversations with grandma because they illuminated my longing to follow my dreams. How are things with you Risa? Well grandma, things are pretty much the same. Nothing new to report. Well how is business? Are you still seeing a lot of patients? Yes grandma, I am as busy as ever. Patients and insurance billing and working long hours. And then it hit me. This is my new chapter. This is the story that I have to share. Managing my private practice, working my corporate job, running my errands, exercising and cooking and taking my dog to the beach. Breathing. Understanding. Reflecting. Healing.
There are times in life for writing new chapters and there are times for resting in the space between. There are times for leaving the harbor to explore new horizons and there are times for staying still and remembering to breathe. So here I am in the space between as I hit the pause button and tend to my sails. It is a transitional space where anything is possible and adventure awaits as new dreams are born.

A New Year and Something Else

December 29, 2012

With the holiday season now upon us and the New Year fast approaching, I am reflecting on time and the meaning of life. There is so much we take for granted in life by focusing on trivial and irrelevant details. In the midst of the holiday hustle and bustle we must try to remember the fleeting nature of our time here and the importance of making every second count.
For me, the past year has been about pushing hard against my outer limits and challenging myself to grow and change. Several months ago a dear friend invited me to join a meditation group and share in the teachings of a local Rinpoche. One day in class an older woman shared her feelings about the aging process and her sense of urgency to fulfill all of her passions and dreams before her life is over. The Rinpoche’s reply was so meaningful and true. He explained that in reality and despite her advanced age, this woman is not necessarily any closer to death than an infant or a very young child. Death is a certain thing; it is only the timing that remains uncertain.
This truth is most certainly illuminated by the recent tragedy in Newtown, Ct. where so many young lives were abruptly ended . This tragedy reminds us that we simply can never know when our time here is up. Every fleeting moment is extraordinarily precious and we must find a way to strike a healthy balance between the things in life that we have to do and the things we long to do but often tend to push away to the back burner. Several months ago I wrote a post titled “What is your something else” where I explored this very issue about life balance and the fulfillment of dreams and stated the following: When I accepted the offer of a corporate job I knew my life was about to drastically change. I rose to the occasion by facing my fears as I prepared to embark on a brand new journey. I was scared yet exhilarated at the prospect of change and the unfamiliar expectations I would need to fulfill. Before long my days were completely jam packed and the world was moving faster than ever before. The world will always keep on turning. I have to make my time here count. Can there be something else more important than this? It is my something else that inspires me to keep reaching for more beyond just my work and the life that I know. It is a thought that wakes me deep in the night; a lingering question that rattles my soul. What is your something else? Is it a person, place or experience that you long to discover? Is it a fantastic dream or a creative endeavor?
I spent the past year juggling my job as the only local onsite Psychologist at Boeing with my private practice and then on the weekends catching up with exercise, paperwork, household chores and errands. In between these functional pursuits I would occasionally pause to remember my own nearly forgotten something else and the precious hopes and dreams that are slipping away. The demands and obligations of everyday life can threaten to overshadow one’s hopes and dreams to the point where they are lost and forgotten forever. That is, unless we are met with a pivotal/defining moment that impacts our lives and permanently alters our course.
I recently met a man who lost his entire company in 9/11. When the South tower collapsed and took down his entire company along with it, he pulled his children out of school and spent the next several years sailing the Caribbean. He was on the path of everyday life when a sudden tragedy catapulted him straight out of his everyday life and into the arms of his something else- A something else he might otherwise have neglected forever.
On the dawn of this brand New Year we can all learn something from the tragedies in life like Newtown Ct. and 9/11. What better time is there than the start of a brand new year, to honor the path of our something else? As the wisdom of the Rinpoche clearly suggests, Death is a certain thing; it is only the timing that remains uncertain. All we ever really have is the present moment and the eternal flame of our something else. In honor of the precious lives we lost in Newtown, let’s all take a moment to regain our balance and connect with the wisdom of our forgotten dreams.

In Loving Memory

December 18, 2012

Over the past 3 years I have grieved the fact that I am not a parent. Tonight I grieve for those who are. I never did become a mother and therefore I cannot begin to imagine the magnitude of a mother’s love. I do not know how it feels for a brand new life to expand and grow inside of me. I do not understand the fierce protection and devotion that defines the heart and soul of a mother. Holding on and letting go. Protecting and releasing. The dichotomies of motherhood that I never had to master. I do not know this enormous kind of love, or the agony that comes with burying a child. An agony no parent should ever know. I am not a mother so I cannot understand such things but I can certainly reach out in love and prayer. Tonight I pray for the parents in Newtown, Ct. who are forced to bury their precious babies. I grieve the loss of those 20 young lives who died with the music still playing inside of them. There was a special little girl named Olivia Engel and over the weekend I learned she was one of the victims. My father knew Oliva’s parents and grandparents and he shared the sad news with me last Friday night. I searched for Olivia’s photo online and there I found her facebook page: FriendsOfTheEngelFamilyFund. It is one small way to make a difference by honoring Olivia’s memory and keeping it alive. Tonight I grieve for beautiful Olivia and the other 25 lives that were stolen far too soon. I can only hope such a tragedy will lead to positive change and gun control laws that prevent further bloodshed. It is the least we can do to honor the children who slipped through our fingers way too soon.

Peace and Gratitude

November 21, 2012

I am collapsing into the holiday season with love in my heart and a prayer for peace in the middle east. I am grateful for freedom and life in general as I stare at my television and
observe the bloodshed. Tonight as I rest beside a warm glowing fire I am remided that every little second counts. I am longing to blog again and promise to return as soon as things slow down for me later this week. Happy Thanksgiving and a prayer for peace. More to follow soon so stay tuned…..

Wild and Free

October 8, 2012

I was out running with my dog earlier today when I noticed something that broke my heart. It was a beautiful butterfly trapped inside a spider’s web, frantically flapping her wings in a desperate attempt to break free. I felt agitated and helpless in witnessing her struggle and I feared she would most likely die in there.

Later today in yoga class the instructor guidedus  through some basic poses. She told us the solid earth will keep us grounded and the body’s stillness will keep us strong. Still and grounded. Solid and strong. I was NOT these things for most of my life. I was the butterfly fluttering about in the web, desperate for acceptance and connection and love. I never found these things in a romantic partner but I am learning to find them inside of myself.

In recent months I have tried to unravel the layers of shame and self-doubt that defined me for years. I did not believe I was worthy of fulfilling the dreams that burned deep inside of my soul. I moved through life feeling damaged and flawed and I doubted my ability to love and be loved. I stayed in relationships that confirmed my self-doubt until I  barely recognized my life or myself.  I was a butterfly inside of a web always flapping my wings and hoping to fly.

My favorite pose in yoga is vriksha- asana, or tree pose. The pose is acquired by standing straight on one leg, bending the opposite leg at the knee and bringing the sole of the opposite foot as high up as possible inside the thigh of the standing leg. Still balancing on the standing leg, both arms are raised overhead with the palms joined together. It is important to locate a focal point straight ahead and remember to breathe deeply though this pose. The result is to stand like a tree on the ground. The pose is all about balance and alignment. Solid and Still. Sturdy and Strong.

In the quiet dawn of my own middle age I am striving for a healthy balance in life. The balance I am seeking is both sturdy and strong like the proud ancient oak that graces my front yard. Quiet and still, sturdy and strong. These are the four points of my masculine yang. Tender and delicate, ethereal and free. These are the complimentary forces of feminine yin. Masculine and feminine, strong and weak; fragile like the butterfly and grounded like the tree.

In yoga we are encouraged to dedicate our practice to a person or idea that inspires us to grow. I forgot about my dedication today as my mind rushed to things both material and transient. Now in the quiet of my solitary night I devote my practice to the beautiful butterfly. I am inspired by her precious fragility and the unbridled innocence that led her astray. I carry the butterfly inside of my heart in honor of all things  wild and free.

Love is a verb

October 6, 2012

I hereby confess it has been 3 months since my last post. Where have I been, exactly? Basically working like a maniac. I am juggling 2 jobs at once with my private psychology practice plus clocking in 20 hours per week at Boeing (NO I am not moonlighting as an aeronautical engineer; I am the sole on-site psychologist for approximately 6,000 employees). So my life has been rather busy lately, to say the least. My hectic work schedule explains in part why I have faded from the  blogging world. However there is a little bit more to the story.

After my divorce was finalized earlier this year I found myself creatively blocked. I thought I had already finished grieving the end of my shamefully short lived non-marriage and the loss of the many dreams I naively attached to this union. However the legal divorce drove it all home again with a brand new wave of sadness and grief.  The bulk of my energy was expended at work and I could not seem to gather the inspiration to write. Many writers understand the benefits of emotional space, time and distance when preparing to share a personal story. With distance comes a broader perspective and enhancement of the creative flow. So I crawled back into my shell for a while and took a summer hiatus from blogging. And then I blinked and the summer was gone.

Several days ago I purchased a pumpkin and a Halloween costume for my dog (he is going as a sock monkey). Then I noticed all 3 signs that summer has passed and autumn is here: Daylight has grown shadowy and slightly muted; leaves are falling and blanketing my lawn; the days are shorter and the nights are longer. This morning my dog ran free on Sullivan’s Island and we reconnected with our autumn friends. Yes, autumn is here and summer is gone and it is time to embrace a brand new season.

My last post addressed my feelings about landing back in the dating world as a divorced woman of 43. I must admit this has been a difficult journey of ups and downs and sharp learning curves. With the approach of my 44th birthday I am scared and saddened by the empty space in my life that only a husband and children can fill. In spite of this loss I am counting my blessings and the fact that I am alive and well. I have a stable career and a beautiful home and wonderful pets who fulfill my soul. I have family and friends and thank heavens my health and with these things I am intact and whole. But even despite these many blessings, there are unfulfilled dreams that linger deep inside my soul. They are the dreams that inspire me to keep moving forward and trust in myself and my ability to love.

I recently came across a wise old saying: Love is not a noun but a verb. This might very well be the single most important thing I have learned in my 44 years on this earth. Love is not a noun but a verb. With the wisdom that comes from middle age I no longer hope for this thing called to love to somehow find me and knock on my door. Love is not an elusive thing that only a lucky few are fortunate to find. It is not some magical force or spell that descends upon us and makes us whole. Love is not something we get or acquire, it is something we do and a way to live. Love is a state of being and a form of enlightenment that must first begin deep inside the self. It is forgiving and tolerant and stable through time. The ability to love and forgive and nurture oneself is a prerequisite for loving another person. Once we discover the true act of loving, it is always available it never dies.

Planet 43 and Single: How did I Land Here?

July 31, 2012

Sadness is profound disappointment. Once you’ve been made sad by someone; once you’ve been disappointed by someone, say, by the failure of someone who claims to love you and truly understand you—-that’s it, hope is quite suddenly dead and the world is an entirely new and puzzling place. It takes time and patience and trust to heal and find yourself and your hope again. Give yourself that precious time and it will all heal. Give yourself time and strength will become a part of you.

My mother shared the above (anonymous) quote with me today and I cannot find better words to describe how I feel about the end of my marriage. It is only recently that I started to grasp the loss of my history- the history I shared with my now ex husband. We certainly had our share of conflict and struggles through the years, there is no doubt about that. By the time we finally married nearly 7 years after we first met, I trusted him to stick around for a while and cherish and honor the commitment we made.

I have recently re-entered the dating world as a single woman at the advanced age of 43. It is an entrirely new world out there now and dating has become a true test of my emotional and spiritual endurance. I am not quite sure which has changed more; me or the outside world that ebbs and  flows around me. I long for deep and meaningful connections but the world of middle aged single folks has a mind and a rhythm all it’s own. I feel as if I have landed on a brand new planet where nobody speaks the same language as me. I feel as if I have emerged from a very long dream with no evidence to show exactly where I have been.

I find myself longing for certain things in life that most men my age have already experienced. They share rich and involved histories with their former life partners and children who are older or already grown. Many times I cannot help but ask myself; how did this happen and where did the precious time go?  I am 43 in age but not in spirit and this is a discrepancy many folks just  cannot understand. There is a deep and profound emptiness that I cannot describe and a sensation that keeps me awake many nights. I fear I have missed an enire life chapter and I am chasing a train that has departed the station.

Now more than ever before, I realize how much of myself and my history I gave to the man I married. I am able to see with such clarity now, the full magnitude of the loss I endured. There is a huge gap between my chronological age and the emotional space where my ex husband left me. After spending so many years in the struggle, we did not marry until late in the game. He was the one I trusted to be there in the end. He is the one I trusted with my most treasured dreams through so many seasons a lifetime ago. I trusted that we knew each other through and through; the good and the bad and everything in between.  I know I am a woman with plenty of flaws but I believed he loved me so much more than he did.

What hurt the most about the end of my marriage is the fact that it did not ever really begin. This is why my heart hurts so bad and there is a sadness in my soul that I cannot shake. I do not know where to go from here or how this chapter will resolve or end. All I know is that healing takes time and good things often manifest from loss and pain. For everything in life there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. This is my season of healing and transition and the promise of “something else” I have not yet discovered.

What is your Something Else?

July 30, 2012

I remember a day in early childhood when I woke from an afternoon nap feeling disoriented and confused. I sensed the gradual onset of dusk with the fading afternoon light and the moving shadows on my bedroom walls. Through the veil of my childhood innocence I somehow grasped the concept of the passage of time. I wanted to turn back the clock to earlier that day when the sweet golden sunlight streamed through my windows. The approaching night filled me with a sense of grief and longing and I drenched my pillow with my salty wet tears. When I look back now through the eyes of a woman I am amazed by the insight of a young child’s perspective.

When I accepted the offer of a corporate job I knew my life was about to drastically change. I rose to the occasion by facing my fears as I prepared to embark on a brand new journey. I was scared yet exhilarated at the prospect of change and the unfamiliar expectations I would  need to fulfill. Before long my days were completely jam packed and the world was moving faster than ever before. It has been 9 months now since I accepted the corporate job and I cannot help but wonder why time moves so fast. It feels like only yesterday when I entered the lobby of a Charleston hotel and met the man who would become my boss.

The world will always keep on turning. I have to make my time here count. Can there be something else more important than this? It is a thought that wakes me deep in the night; a lingering question that rattles my soul. It is my something else that I searched for as a very young child alone in my room with the shadows of dusk. It is my something else that drove me to the Charleston hotel where I challenged myself with a leap of fate. It is my something else that inspires me to keep reaching for more beyond just my work and the life that I know.

What is your something else? Is it a person, place or experience that you long to discover? Is it a fantastic dream or a creative endeavor? Is it moving shadows in a room at a dusk where you finally learn to comfort yourself? As for me, I have not yet discovered what my something else might be. All I know if for sure is what my right now has to offer and the precious dreams that I still hope to capture. They are the magic of summer  with its long days and balmy nights and cool cotton sheets on sunburned skin.  They are family cookouts and children shouting and the happy jingle of the ice cream truck. They are the roar of the ocean and rhythm of the waves and the warmth of the sand beneath my feet. They are bright yellow sunflowers and pink painted toenails and sundresses cascading down  glowing bronzed skin. They are bike rides and swimming pools and afternoon thunderstorms that turn the sky darker than the blackest night. They are chubby faced babies with rosy pink cheeks a broad shouldered man pushing a lawnmower at dusk. They are yin and yang and vulnerable and strong and halcyon moments that bring peace to my soul.

 The world will always keep on turning. I have to make my time here count. When I find myself sinking in self doubt and fear I acknowledge this truth and I keep moving on. A frightened little girl alone in her room will become a woman with a corporate job. The passage of time is a certain thing and a reality none of us can hope to escape. We must learn from yesterday and live for today and trust in the mystery of a thousand tomorrows. We must face our shadows and slay our dragons and believe everything will somehow work out in the end.

A Closing Chapter

June 25, 2012

I am sitting outside on my front porch with my dog beside me as I write this post. Daylight is fading and I am in terrible need of a shower. My body is covered in layers of sand, salt, sweat and mosquito repellant. I would much prefer to be in the shower right now, scrubbing off the grime and settling in for the evening. I still have several hours of paperwork ahead of me and it is nearing 8PM. Despite all of this, I am sure as the day is long that I am exactly where I need to be. How can I not sit here and write this post? How can I not acknowledge this major chapter in my life that is finally coming to a close?

Tomorrow I will be legally divorced. It has been a long and difficult journey. Tonight as I sit on my front porch where I have been so many times before, I am reflecting on the final stages of my brief and lonely marriage. In the winter of 2010 I browsed the local antique stores in search of a rocking chair for my husband. He always told me he wanted a rocking chair for his office, and it felt so right to give him this gift. I finally found the perfect chair- a wooden rocker from the shaker era with wide arm rests and a tall, sleek head rest perfect for inscribing a personalized message. I found a local craftsman/woodworker and transported the chair to his shop. I handed him a piece of paper with a special quote for inscription: The tides may change but the ocean remain; LFP. Only my husband could have understood the meaning.

There is nothing remarkable about a wife seeking out a special gift for her husband. However in this particular case, it was more than just a gift. It was another final attempt to save my failing marriage. A desperate effort to make him feel and believe in my love for him. Because he always told me they were just words. He always told me he did not feel my love. I wanted so badly for him to feel it. I longed to find a way to make him believe. But every which way I turned, I just kept screwing up. To the point where I doubted my capacity to love.

It was a gray Sunday afternoon in December when I realized it was time to let go. My husband asked me to leave our home and return to my rental apartment down the street. He said I had been spending a lot of time at the house and he needed to clear the space for my stepson’s return from college. Something shifted inside of me and I finally understood with painful clarity that my husband did not want me and he never would. He was not interested in saving the relationship. That desire was mine alone. I called the woodworker and asked him if he had already engraved the back of the chair. He said no, he had not. I called the antique shop and asked if I could return the chair. They said yes, I most certainly could. The old man’s eyes were loving and kind as he processed my credit and retrieved the rocking chair from the back seat of my car. The monetary refund did nothing to ease the ache inside my soul. His loving eyese filled my own eyes with tears.

I made my share of mistakes in my marriage. There are things I wish I had never said, and so many things I wish I had. I had a hard time in my relationship with my stepson. I often felt scared and unsure of myself.  In spite of the challenges I still loved my husband. I believed in our new life together and the friendship I thought we shared. The difference between us was our desire to fight for us. And that was the difference that sealed our fate.

After my husband left me in the winter of 2011 I swore I would never again get involved with a man who had children from a previous marriage. I also swore I would never again settle for being the second act. I wanted to be the main event this time, not the woman who shows up after someone else’s kids are grown. However a year of grieving and healing has taught me so much.

In the end, there are no perfect situations and no ideal scenarios. Life rarely turns out like the pages of a glossy storybook in a little girl’s fairytale. There is no prince on a white horse waiting to rescue me and carry me home. Instead there are humans who are wounded and flawed. And there are new beginnings in life and love. Tomorrow I will be divorced but I will still be me- imperfect and flawed and fantastically me. I am hurt and saddened by the outcome of my marriage. But I am wiser for having been there and I am open to love.