It is measured in inches, feet, miles. It is measured in breaths, moments, spaces left unfilled.

I feel a distance between us these days and it sucks the air out of my lungs.

At Bella yesterday, I watched two sisters reunite after a period apart. One of them had a 7 year old child. The awkward banter between the aunt and the child was enough to turn my stomach.

I don’t want to be a bookend in your life. I am so grateful you phoned me today, though some jealous streak in me shone very brightly after we disconnected. You picked our other sister to live near, not me. While my conscious mind knows the details that went into your decision, and that my jealousy is (mostly) unfounded, my heart is brutally sore.

This is exacerbated by all of you now being in one city, as well as the recent happening of me finding myself purposefully and yet still somehow regretfully alone in seemingly all ways imaginable after setting my boundary about Mom living with me. I’ve heard from neither Mom nor Shai since. While I’m not entirely surprised by this, it’s taking a toll on me I didn’t foresee.

Under the calm exterior that reasons with logic and science, that wants your happiness and to respect your choice of moving to Colorado and support it unconditionally, there runs a river of emotion that at times threatens to crash out of my heart like a tsunami wave. Maybe if I give it space here to breathe, if I shine some light on it and share with you the way it ravages me at times…perhaps allowing it freedom here will allow it to dissipate.

When that jealousy welled up in me today after our much too brief interaction, my first inclination was to freak out. To have walked into the restaurant you were dining in with our other sister and put on an ear-splitting tantrum worthy of the best/worst 2 year old performance one might ever see in public…

I’m standing there and my face suddenly begins screwing up into a fiery red ball of angst, fists clenching so tightly at my sides that I might draw blood from my palms, until I throw myself hard at the floor, my limbs erupting in a tumultuous dance of rage. Tears flowing down my face, patrons are looking on, stunned, fearful. Afraid to intervene, frozen in their seats, hoping my parent will jump in and stop this inappropriate interruption to their $12 salad and overpriced yet watery rum and coke. I cry and I yell unintelligible things… fragments of tormented words can be heard above the din of my thrashing…”why”…”I miss you”…”don’t leave me”…”I can’t be with them”…”I should be a witness to your life”….”please”


It’s such a tiny word for how much pressure and expectation it imbues. To petition. To ask for. A polite request.

I’m not asking you to move because I do respect your wishes and I also know a moot point when I see one.

I simply ask you, don’t forget me. Don’t let me miss your life. I feel like every day I’m missing more. This is the most important time of your life up til now and I’m afraid it will change us and we won’t recognize each other the same way. I’m frightened. I’ve watched my friendships change when children came along. I won’t know what you’ve been through or have roughly any idea at all. And I’m fucking terrified to lose you, my spirit animal, my soul mate. I’m not falling apart every single day; I’m present and grateful a lot, but there is a rumbling of supreme dissatisfaction and fear in me that I don’t know what to do with. So I brought it here.

I’m here. I’m sad. I feel disconnected. A lot of it is my own doing, probably. If I hadn’t laid the boundary about Mom being on the boat, maybe things would feel different. I’m trying to take care of myself, and I’m not good at it sometimes. I need you. I always want you to take care of yourself first. I know you’re overwhelmed and I don’t know if that’s why it feels like I don’t hear from you very much. I don’t want to add to your stress. Just know… I love you, I miss you, and I feel like we’re in different universes. Don’t let me float away like George Clooney, ok?



Rain, green smoothie, paper hearts. I miss you.


Today is gray marked with breaks of sun. It isn’t warm, it isn’t cold. I turned off the space heater on the boat today before I left. I haven’t really been turning it off at all since November. I’ve learned through trial and error that turning it off during the day is a bad idea, as the amount of time it takes to warm the place up at night is too long and I’m cold well into the night, even with the electric blanket. Today I decided to anyway. It’s exciting to have some unknown in my day since so much has been somewhat predictable lately.

I love the predictability. I keep mostly to myself, except for work and occasional outings with Lisa and Mary. I like the quiet. I’m forming new pieces. I’m in utero. I’m becoming. It’s exhausting and beautiful. I am glad I can talk to you about it, that I’ve always been able to talk to you about it. Thank you for loving my various stages and regressions, my growths and my horrid tendencies. I love yours. I value you, I love you, I’m grateful for you. I have missed you this week, with you being on vacation in Colorado and all, but am excited to hear about your travels. I’m also so excited to see you in March! I am counting the days.  https://twitter.com/sarah_lachance_/status/833475444200529921



This explains the paper hearts reference…and also, I just like the concept of paper hearts, in general. Vulnerable, tear-able, light, porous, and like the ones hung on windows in February, often discarded after an event has passed. ❤



These days, I feel I’m hurtling through space on a comet, bound for some unfathomably beautiful place. The journey is largely defined by peaceful, soundless travel. Occasionally its punctuated by dodging asteroids, harrowing moments of hanging on for fear life while turning loop-de-loos.

I set my course. I pointed my feet. The peace that fills me daily grows stronger, solidifying inside me, as opposed to the gossamer wings I once used to fly just barely above the fires of anxiety, always fueling my progress with external feedback, searching for meaning in the constructs handed to me from everyone I’d ever met, and even more from those I’d never meet. Now with increasing regularity, the inner barometer within my chest lifts me high above level-one thinking and reminds me that wherever I am, that’s where I am, not in any past or future place, despite my ego clawing desperately to put roots in anything but the now.

I am alight with energy. From the Earth. From the vibrant foods I ingest. From the chaos and vibrating murmur of civilization. From all that transpired to provide me with this luck of the draw, this hand of cards. I ooze possibility. I sail on tailwinds toward the horizon, ripe with an endless sunset of pinks, lavenders, and blazing oranges. The sea salt sprays my face, mixing with the salt in my happy tears. I lick my lips and listen.

The bullshit is falling away, the blinders, the chosen sleepwalking. The excuses which padded the bowling lane of my failures before. Now there are no bumpers, there are no lanes, no pins, no balls. I twist and turn effortlessly through the sky, undefined in form, driven by boundless energy and light.

I’m scared of myself. I feel the power welling up to the levees in me. I see it breaching soon, and there will be no stopping it. The previous years’ comfort of refusing to move no longer an option, I fill my lungs with air




I shared this with you a few days ago. I’ve expanded on the original concept a bit.

Even in the vegan food world, there is so much processed garbage available. It is sad how far we’ve come away from nature in the name of advancement. I saw a few otters frolicking in the river as I left the marina for my walk today. Due to a low phone battery, I decided to do my daily walk without headphones.

As I walked the mile-long, tree-lined suburbian-looking street from the marina to the grocery store, I listened to the birds and I thanked the trees. I felt the air in my lungs and the blood pumping to my legs and feet, propelling me forward. I realized that I didn’t have any idea what kind of animals live around me, what their names are, how long their ancestors have been here…

I felt guilty for being blind, for so often accepting the status quo, that animals are cute when they’re convenient, something to be memed about and petted….and when they’re not, they’re something to be killed, tortured, neglected, poisoned, relocated, or left to starve from habitat encroachment… and by my ignorance and tacit compliance in an antiquated and cruel system, I was sending them there.

My breath caught in my throat and pain caught in my ribcage, above that muscular organ which we all share in common.

Then and there, I promised the otters and the birds that I would open my eyes and never close them again.