After the photo, Seth casually turned to me and said something expectant like, “How are you?” He looked directly into my eyes with a look of genuine sincerity to hear my response, and I froze.

I felt like a lost child standing in front of a wise guru. Tears instantly streamed down my face, and I melted into a soggy heap of overwhelm.

Jessica grew into a fiery, curly-haired force overflowing with a lovely combination of sass and grace. She took to the arts and taught herself to draw, paint, and make comic books. I cherished her drawings and cards, and to this day, I still have one of her elementary school projects tacked up on our fridge.

I missed a lot of my sister’s formative years.

My compulsion is to control. If it is to be done, I am to do it. I know how, come on everyone, follow along now.

Gold-star seeking is ever-present. It doesn’t matter the topic. My ego yearns to accomplish and win. My tendency is to plan and incessantly do, often, until exhaustion.

In a year poised with cliches of vision and prosperity, it simultaneously felt like time flew by and also painstakingly dripped like an annoying, leaky faucet.

I and the best psychics and fortune-tellers certainly didn’t see 2020 playing out this way. Days ran together in a monotonous manner. I often awoke in the not quite light out morning thinking, is it Tuesday or Friday?

Knowing what I know now, would I have done it differently? Not just yes, a resounding, Hell, yes!

In my first marriage, I had a season of intense emotional pull that quickly faded into a routine of comfort. I had a few years of technically being together while also maintaining a vast distance filled with discontent.

I didn’t trust myself or my partner. This was a red flag that I deliberately ignored.

The last thing I was looking for while living in cramped corporate housing with rented furniture was another pet. I got home one evening, and my husband said, “I found a cat. I think it’s living in the bushes.”

A few days later, I walked downstairs and spotted a tortoiseshell fur ball sunning on the sidewalk. As soon as the stairwell door closed, it popped up and ran toward me.

What if I were curious today?

What if I laid down my rigid expectations of progress and productivity? What if I chose to enjoy the journey instead of meticulously chasing the so-called goal?

My attitude and my day, my partner, and my body would all be open and uplifted. Curiosity seems to be the portal for joy.

The day I met the love of my life, I was not at my best. I was in the midst of trauma — hazily walking around, teary-eyed, bumping into reality now and again.

My then-husband of nine years had moved out while I was on a work trip. I was reeling from the email he sent a few days later, stating his desire for a divorce.

My Aunt Dalene, DeDe, as I called her, was a gem of a lady. My heart smiles, thinking of her.

She cultivated joy and laughter and allowed me to feel seen and heard. DeDe loved me when I felt invisible and taught me more than she’ll ever know.

This was the woman that allowed my tender adolescent soul to be recognized when I mostly felt ignored.