I'm a Moxi, You're a Moxi ... Hey Let's Be Friends

I hate to be a buzz kill, but summer is over.

I know. I suck. And I also know that the sweet, optimistic, summer loving bunch of you is saying, "No, Deb. Summer is not over. It's not. It's only early August. We have weeks of summer left. We can finally go to the pool because the monsoonal rains seem to have stopped. So shut up."

Sorry friends. Summer. Is. Over.

For me, and anyone else who has kids under the age of 16 but over the age of 6 knows, summer ends the moment fall sports begin. Starting in late July, I was back at it, driving my beloved offspring to different locations every day. Six-day practice schedules. Five-day camps. Optional conditioning sessions (which aren't really optional, by the way).

And I am not alone.  I know this because I see a bunch of other moms at the same places I am.  Expansive parking lots, school gyms, park like settings that hold us captive for 1.5 to 2 hours at a time. We are a hardened, professional, adept group of gas guzzling, coffee swilling, carpooling taxis. We are moms who drive taxis. We are moxi's. Yes, we are MOXI'S.

This got me thinking.  Why not take our self-induced schedules of imprisonment and turn them into a business opportunity?  We could, say, acknowledge that we are driving around all the time anyway, and perhaps, charge people to come along with us. We could drop them where they need to be for a small fare.  We'd be better than a taxi; we have nicer vehicles, we don't overuse the gross smelling air freshener and we drive much more safely.  I love this idea!

Then, it hit me.

Frickin Über.

Damn it!

I went onto the Uber website, clicked on the options of "becoming a driver" and here is what Uber told me:

Image from Uber.com. 

I mean, look at her. She's cool. She's dressed like us. She has a smaller vehicle than most of us (no carpooling in that) but we can let that slide.  We can earn great money as an independent contractor. Get paid weekly. Be our own boss on our own schedule.

But wait, there's more!

Image from Uber.com

We can turn our cars into money machines!  We can cash in on the action!

Image from Uber.com

This is my favorite part of the job...drive when I want. I mean, we Moxi's don't get to drive when we want. That's the very definition of being a Moxi - driving around all the times we don't want. 8 am Saturday; 10 pm weeknights. If I really drove around when I wanted, it would probably be a smallish window from 10 am to 10:07 am.  Done.

So, maybe my idea of operationalizing all of us Moxi's won't work. It's already been done and anyway, kids don't have a lot of cash.  So, getting paid will have to stick to the more traditional forms of payment we're used to. Things like:

Can we stop for ice cream on the way home?
Why were you late?
I told you we had to take Jake home...
They added an extra practice time this week
We are going an hour later than the schedule says
Gas just went about $4 a gallon
You need new tires
I can't come to book club

And then there's the payment we all really want:

"Thanks mom. I know how much you give up for me and I love you. I know you spend all your time driving us around and I appreciate it."

It may not sound exactly like that, but every once in a while, the sentiment is there. And I know I speak for all Moxi's when I say that hearing that, or getting that hug, or having a child run toward the car after a practice, or having them say "are you going to stay and watch me?" is worth all the driving and the wear and tear and the end of summer.

I am a Moxi. You are a Moxi. And we love it.

Uber ain't got nothin on us.

Now get in your minivan and get going! You're late to practice!

Her Sexy, Sexy Summer...A Novel.

I'm working on a little something and am hoping you can take a look at it for me.  It's the start of a summertime novel...

"She didn't want to touch it; to take it in her nervous hands; to absorb it into her psyche, but she knew she had to.  She had no choice.  Her mother had talked with her about this very thing; about how timing is everything and that you have to do it when it's right.  But, she knew once she started, there would be no going back. No do overs. No new beginnings. This was it. Was this the day? The time? The way to start down this path? 

She opened her laptop, read through her AP Government homework assignment and knew it was the time.  "Summer homework, here I come," she said to herself, determined to get it done, get it done right and keep doing it, all summer long."


Like it? Me too.

Sorry to pull out the sexy, but I knew that if I started this post with "let me rant about summer homework" many of you might not read it.

Now that we know that the "thing" is, in fact, summer homework, let's dive in.

My kids have no less than 13 summer assignments between the three of them, all due at various points this summer.  While I'm all for maintaining their brain power and ensuring the financial return on the investment I've made in each of them, can we all agree that summer homework is for the birds?

To start off sounding like an old person, we never had summer homework growing up. And we are just fine!  We own businesses.  We are doctors, lawyers, parents, teachers and overall highly contributing members of society. I mean, look at me. I write real good (yes, that was intentional).

I truly believe that the pace of life has accelerated through technology and the resulting expectations (and probably other elements of the time/space continuum that I don't understand) to the point that we cannot appreciate or even stand "down time".  It makes us feel nervous, like we aren't taking care of things we should be focused on. As a society, we say we want this...more vacation time, more alone time, more "me" time. But when we get it, we fill it up with Facebook, Words with Friends, Instagram and myriad other online distractions that leave us feeling like we need to dig into the next thing, and right away.  We can't be still with ourselves.

I am guilty of this. I am always on my phone. I am always on email. I love social media, and binging on Netflix on a Saturday is my idea of a great time. So even though we identify this lack of quiet time as an issue, we just can't stop.

Enter summer homework.  Is the pace of the school year not enough?  I look at the hours my kids spend on homework, service hours, extra curricular activities and the time it takes to make me happy and it's a lot. I know it's more than I spent on all those things as a student.  And, the crazy thing is that I don't consider my kids overly scheduled. They have their passions and their projects, but I have never been a mom who has them involved in multiple things at one time.  At least I don't think I am that mom...

I deeply, truly love summer. I love that my kids sleep in. That I get to sleep in a little bit later. That we don't have to rush out the door in the morning. There is value in a slow breakfast. There is adventure in waking up and deciding what to do that day. There is a lot of money to be spent at Kings Island.

Old school summer fun from back in the day

I love the whole pace of summer living; slower, relaxed, spontaneous and chill.  But, homework gets in the way of all of that. It disrupts what I want summer to be about for my kids:  swimming, exploring, reading what they want to read, hanging out with friends and making memories.  With assignments due at various dates that are spread throughout the summer, they always have the next assignment looming in the back of their minds, wondering when they need to start working on it.

Now don't get me wrong. They will do their homework and they will do it well.  We are LiBrandi's and we do what's asked of us and with fervor.  But, I just. don't. want. to.

Hey look! An actual outdoor activity!

Can you blame me?  I'm sure there are studies that prove that summer homework improves performance throughout the school year.  And we are a performance driven society.  In America, we work more hours than any other civilized nation.  And we are proud of it.  But there is more to life than accomplishments (and this statement is coming from an extreme Type A, results oriented, super competitive person).  I often have to remind myself of this, but for me, the days I feel best about are those where I've caught up with a friend, bought Starbucks for the person behind me in the drive-thru line, made a dinner my kids really liked and that we ate together, started my day with meditation and ended it with saying thank you.  In short, my best days are days focused on people. Not things.

And while I know summer homework doesn't remove human connection from summer time, it does clutter our minds and distract us from it.  So while my oldest is working on creating a PPT about different political parties' views on four societal issues and my middle is churning through 100's of online math problems and my little 8 year old is doing two book reports, I will try to prod the laptops out of their hands for a little bit and ask them to look at the stars and catch fireflies.  To, despite its brightness, actually go out into the sun. To have slumber parties in the family room and make s'mores.  I will encourage them to finish my summer homework assignment:  stop being a student and just be you.

This is the best homework of the summer.  To put down the things and pick up the people.

The wonder of watching fireworks.
Make that a homework assignment this summer! 

Free to be You and Me

This past weekend, my little family of five went on a fabulous adventure to the Bunbury Music Festival in Cincinnati.  We all had our reasons for wanting to go; Bryan and I wanted to see the Black Keys and Avett Brothers; the girls wanted to see Twenty One Pilots and Gabe just didn't want to be left behind at home alone. We all got what we wanted and more.

This isn't Bunbury, but it is the Avett Brothers. And they were amazing.
Flickr - moses namkung 

As is true with most things, they take on new meaning as you get into the heart of them.  For me, the festival was our official claim on the start of summer, a mini vacation, a chance to hear some great live music.  What it morphed into was a deep lesson on fear, parenting and being in the right place at the right time.

Bunbury, for all its warm beer, stench of marijuana, lack of shade and in-my-face reminders of just how old I am, taught me a lot.

We Can't Shield Our Kids From Life
Now, I know that life isn't smoking pot, swearing and running around with glow sticks.  But, that is sometimes a sliver of life, and that's the sliver we were served this weekend.  At first, once it became apparent to me that A LOT of the concert attendees were high (or drunk) and that I was really not in control of what my kids were going to be exposed to, I panicked.  I panicked I had made the wrong decision; that we shouldn't be there; that my kids were going to go home, drop out of school and binge watch Fast Times at Ridgemont High. But, after a quick discussion about what they were smelling and what it was, it was out of their minds.  They had checked the box and moved onto things worthy of their attention. And then the obvious lesson hit me:  my job as a mom is not to keep my kids from everything.  That's impossible and as they grow, impractical.  My job is to equip them for dealing with what may come their way.  For me, that means loving them unconditionally, providing a safe place to question, honest answers about what's happening and frank discussion about right and wrong; healthy and unhealthy; smart and shortsighted. I exhaled my second hand pot smoke and felt better.

Some good clean bubble fun to wash away the pot and beer 

It's Good for Kids to See Glimpses of Us as Kids Ourselves
More mesmerizing than the glow sticks were the kids' reactions to their parents being young.  We hung in there, walked miles, didn't poo poo their favorite bands for a swear word here or there and when it came time for us to enjoy the bands we came for, we sang. And we danced.  And we weren't old.  We were people enjoying the moment, embracing the vibe and having a great time.  Our kids could almost imagine us as teenagers. And that makes us just a little bit relatable to them.  And that's a good thing.

My Kids Are Free to Be Themselves
Sophie is now 15 and really embracing her artistic side. I can fully relate to this because I have this side and I remember feeling it emerge at around the same age.  The difference is that I didn't feel like I lived in an environment that supported self expression.  It was viewed as counter culture and shocking.  So it became something I exposed to certain people but downplayed with others.  I was never fully my full self.  Because of that, I have always worked hard to support all my children's artistic endeavors (or any interest, for that matter).  Writing, singing, music, art and acting are part of our daily lives.  So as Sophie comes more and more into herself, I've been faced with statements like "I love pink hair" or "I'm starting a writing account on Instagram and I'm going to make it public so I can get as many followers as possible" or "I want to sell my art on Etsy" or "How old would I have to be to sing in a bar?" Her personal style is unique and I'm proud of her strong sense of who she is.  At 15, she is already sailing her own ship.

At one point on Sunday, there was a young woman standing close to us that I had already noticed because she felt like a future version of Sophie. Grayish, pink hair, lavender nails, combat boots and circle sunglasses.  Sophie was watching her, then turned to me and said with a sheepish smile, "Are you afraid I'll be like that someday?"  The word "afraid" stopped me in my tracks.  I don't want my children to ever think I'm afraid of anything they are meant to become.  I smiled back at her and said, "I don't think afraid is the right word, but I definitely see you in her." And what I wanted to continue to say, but didn't, was, "Sophie, I would never be afraid of you. I love your style. I love that you aren't afraid to show it. I love that you have a plan for your life that involves learning and growing and creating and travel. I love that you aren't alarmed by anything different than you. I am envious that I didn't have all of that in me at 15."

I loved the Bunbury Music Festival.  I loved that it was the place I finally fully realized that I don't need to be afraid of my kids' futures. I need to embrace who they are, who they are becoming and the relationships I will have with each of them.  And, I loved dancing to the Avett Brothers.

Us and 8,000 of our closest friends

The day my fear died :-) 

This is My Last Blog Post...

...About my Accident

Friday was the last day of school for my two younger kids and it was a typical, frantic morning. Actually, more so than usual because we had the flurry of teacher gifts, after school clothes/money/things needed since the kids were celebrating the end of their imprisonment with friends.  We had a few minor mishaps like eyeshadow falling and breaking all over the kitchen floor (don't even ask why makeup was in the kitchen), a bag with a hole in it; the list goes on.

I wasn't in a great mood; half yelling at the kids to get moving, irritated that I didn't have time to get to the Facebook "kids' last day of school" photo in front of the house, wishing I had more time to be by myself on my last true day of freedom.

Then, as I was driving hastily to school, I was reminded of something I've been thinking about religiously for weeks but that for some reason had escaped my mind that morning.  "This is the spot one year ago where I had my accident."

The accident that left me broken but better, slowed down (temporarily) but not stopped, dependent but not helpless.

"I am an ass."

This is what I thought at that moment.

I am worried about this and that; gifts and bags; to do lists and places to go.  I am however, not thinking about what I should be thinking about.  I am alive.  One year ago, I could not walk. Today, I am running miles.

And so here it is.  I've thought for weeks about writing this post; a blog about the anniversary of my accident, but didn't really know what I was going to say. Thanks? I'm better? What I've learned?  Then, as it so often happens, life knocked on my mind's window and gave me my topic:

How to not let go of my accident.

It's an ironic statement. Why would I not want to let go of something so horrible? Why wouldn't the past be the best place for my accident to live?

Just like the break up with your first love, you almost don't want the pain to end. The pain makes the love real. The only reason you are hurting so much is because you loved so much.  That's how I feel about my accident.

I don't want to let it go. 

Once I got my kids to school, I came home and read through all the blogs I wrote last summer.  Blogs about who I wanted to become, what I would be and how my life would be different because of my  temporary confinement to the couch.  I meant every word of it.  And, then just like the break from your first love, the pain lessens, you move on, you convince yourself it wasn't that bad and you return to yourself.

But I don't want to return to myself.  I don't want to be Deb pre-May 30, 2014.  In that period of weeks as I was recovering, I found a grittier version of myself. I found someone who wasn't as afraid as she thought; someone who could smile through trial and who could forgive without even being apologized to. I loved more and slowed down. I found someone I liked better.

And then, more and more, as days turned to months and those months turned into one year, I've lost her.  Not entirely; not completely. But a little bit.  When I am impatient and yelling at people I love and pushing through moments like they don't matter and wishing things were other than they are, I've lost her.

I had many people reach out to me over the past week about the one year anniversary, and I even marked the date with a small gathering of close friends. I talked for a bit about what all of them did for me and it was a wonderful night. But, after I was alone, and in the honest darkness of night with myself, I thought the words I don't have the courage to say.

I am afraid.  I'm afraid I can't hold on to how I changed. I'm afraid I'm just the same old person I was before my crash. I'm scared that the spark that lit up a part of me is slowly going out. Even though I'm walking fine, I am more unsteady than ever.

What if the change was just a phase, which means it really wasn't change at all? What if I'm the same? And what if all the good people did for me was for nothing? What if I'm a fraud? What if the words of support and affirmation from those who love me make me want to cry because I secretly feel like I haven't done much?

This is how I feel one year from my accident; on sea legs trying to find footing on solid ground.

And the worst part is that I can't explain why. I can't explain why I'm restless with what I have yet to accomplish despite the fact that I've accomplished a lot. I don't know why I am not as proud of myself as those around me are. I don't know why.

And so I rush through days, push out the thoughts and smile when people tell me how great I'm doing. But that is no way to live. I know this.

I know that holding onto the past, in any situation, keeps us from the future.  I need to let it go.  I need to put it firmly behind me with the conviction that the best is yet to come. Because despite what I am unsure of right now, I do know that the best is always yet to come.  So, this marks my last blog about my accident. It's been a meaningful year for me to share my emotions with you and your attention has been a gift. But, starting now, I'm forging ahead in a new direction.

I hope you'll continue to spend some time with me.

You. Yes, You.

Fiona Apple (remember her?) wrote some song lyrics way back in the 90's that have always stuck with me:  "Nothing is nearly so heavy as empty..." Our emptiness is a weighty load to carry all by ourselves. And most of us are doing it all the time.  Fretting about our kids, job worries, wanting to be happy but feeling like we're failing, concerns about parents getting older, hoping our marriage is strong, thoughts for friends going through hard times.  Someone is always grieving. Someone is always hurting. Someone always feels like less than enough. Someone is always lost.

I was weighted down with my own emptiness until you showed up. Yes, you. After my accident, I was left laying on my couch, unable to move, wondering how I would get through the next hour.  Then, something amazing happened over the next two months. You helped me.

All the time, people ask me "what did you learn from the accident...what did it teach you?" The honest answer is that the accident taught me a hundred small things - to be thankful, to not take love for granted, to value everyday actions like being able to walk, to relish in moving your body and making it sweat. To put my phone away because people matter more. But, if I had to boil it down to ONE lesson, it would be this:  People are powerful.

All by ourselves, each of us, is profoundly powerful. So many of you took the time - which you probably thought didn't really matter - to help me.  When you take each individual act in the totality of everyone who reached out, I am left in awe of you. I am humbled by you. I am changed by you.

67 people brought dinner to my family so we could eat together and still have some semblance of normalcy
28 people and clients sent me flowers
I received 126 cards in the mail
I received texts, emails, calls and comments on social media too numerous to count
Countless friends brought me Starbucks
Family and friends served as my taxi service, running errands and taking my kids where they needed to be
People stopped by all the time just to say hi and visit
I had surprise visits
Family and friends spent the night so I would not be alone
Book club, bunko and other events were relocated to my house so I could participate
People prayed for me and my healing

And all of this - the mass of this, buoyed me and carried me from stuck on the couch to floating toward the future.  I knew I could do it because of what you did. I actually feel lucky because I had this accident. I feel lucky because it taught me that five minutes of your time really matters.  My time matters and I will invest it wisely.  I will invest it in you.

I've seen this lesson played out many times this summer, from friends dealing with losses of different kinds to another friend whose dog was stolen from her and then returned due to all the publicity the event garnered.  This publicity started because one person shared the story on social media. Then two. Then, literally more than 50,000. 50,000 individual actions changed the course of this dog's life. Our personal actions matter. What we choose to do matters. People are powerful.

These months taught me that experiences that should and could be isolating can actually be fulfilling, expanding, connecting events when people take the time to offer of themselves.  I will never ignore a meal request again. I will never not send a card because I think it will just be one of many, I will never not take the time to call someone.  Nothing is as heavy as empty.  I will always seek to lighten that load because of you.  Thank you.

I am so full. And so light.

Writing my Eulogy and Other Life-Affirming Exercises

I don't want to sound dramatic, but I was involved in an accident that could have killed me.  I am saying this out loud because it has never felt real to me. I didn't want to believe this at first; I kept minimizing what I experienced because I only wanted to be better, and fast. Even at the scene I kept saying, "I'm fine.  I'm fine," even though my injuries told me otherwise. And based on the comments from the police, doctors and most people around me, I am apparently lucky to be alive.

Coming to terms with this realization has impacted me in a lot of ways.  I'm more aware of things around me.  I would like to think I'm more patient.  I focus the bulk of my energy on my family. I know beyond a doubt that in the end, only love matters. And I thank God for my life every night.

I also started to very seriously think about what would have happened if I had died.  This sounds morbid, but it's actually a very life-affirming exercise.  If you died today, what would you be remembered for?  Where is your time spent? Because there lies your heart.

Like most people, I do things well and I do things not well.  And, for me, there was a big gap between what I want to do with my life and what I actually do with my life.  In my head, I write, I cook, I do yoga, I read, I travel, I am creating a wonderful family and I never take anyone for granted.  But, in reality, I spend most of my time working, taking conference calls, running errands and asking my kids to "give me 5 more minutes." Does this sound familiar?

This realization set me on a path to define who I am committed to being; to bringing forth the best within me and working hard to give it to the world.  To not let who I am get sidetracked by what I'm doing.  This isn't a bucket list.  It's not what I want to do before I die.  It's who I want to be before I die.  More of a soul list, if I had to name it. So, if I were writing my own eulogy, I would want it to go something like this:

"Deborah wanted her children to grow beyond her and to live their lives knowing that she loved them unconditionally and that her first priority was always for them to find out who they are, unapologetically embrace themselves and generously give their best to the world. 

She was well read.

She appreciated art and creativity.

She wanted to run.  She wanted her legs to carry her on adventures big and small. She never took for granted the ability to walk or move on her own accord.

She moved people with what she wrote.

She wanted everyone she'd ever hurt or treated badly or embarrassed with a sarcastic, biting remark to know that she was sorry.

She texted less and had coffee with people more.

She was not afraid to hug people, and often.

She added to the world and did not just take from it.

Her marriage was an example.

Her family was her greatest accomplishment.

She always worked to grow and never recede.

She didn't sweat the small stuff.

She didn't make things about her. 

She built a bigger and better relationship with God throughout her life.

She was 50 percent optimist and 50 percent realist.

She was a friend people could count on to be a soft place to land.

She cooked great food that made memories.

She forgave others, and forgave herself.

And she was all these things, as often as she could be, for as many people as she could be."

When I do die, which I sincerely hope is far from now, I want people to say that I died with a full heart and that I loved it all; that when I had that car accident and couldn't walk for months, that it changed me for the better; that I gave it all I had. 

What will people say about you?  Take some time to figure it out.  I promise there is nothing that will make you feel more alive than considering the alternative.

Be Bigger Than Your Fear

As you may have noticed, I'm spending a lot of time on social media.  I have a lot of time.  I troll the internet and catch up on what all of you are doing since I'm seeing less of people in person these days.

When I'm not online, I spend time in my head thinking about the accident, where I am in the recovery process and what I will do with myself when I'm healed.  I have big plans for this phase of life.  But, for now, in the limbo between crash and wholeness, there is this space; this ether that is largely dominated by fear.

One of the many selfies I am taking these days; I think I need a new hobby.
Orange is the New Black marathon??? 

One of the benefits of being a busy person is that it pushes your fear to the side.  Busyness refuses to let fear be felt. You don't have the luxury of time to be self-indulgent in your thoughts.  You're focused on what you have to do, what others need and your daily plan for accomplishing it all.  Before the accident, my life was an automated cycle of "what does Bryan need?" "what do the kids need and where do I have to take them?" "what do I have to get done for my clients today?" and "when am I going to work out (and run all my other errands)?"

Now, without these regular distractions, I'm left with my thoughts, which I've found are surprisingly less optimistic than I often perceive myself to be.

I'm afraid of a lot these days:

That my legs won't work
This is an irrational fear, I know.  I even walked after the accident - with five breaks and a dislocated foot - to the side of the road to get out of my smoking car.  But, despite walking and having not one shred of medical evidence to imply otherwise, I am afraid that when I am asked to take that first step - still weeks away - that I won't be able to do it.  It's very weird not putting any weight on your feet for months at a time.  I haven't walked in four weeks. And, there is this negative, naysaying part of my head that says I won't walk again.  Fear.

That my friends will move on without me
I know this is totally irrational. My friends have been an amazing support system, bringing me meals, running errands for me, taking my kids for afternoons on end and checking in every day to see if I want Starbucks.  But, at the end of the day, immobility is isolating.  The view from the floor is only shared with my one dog and two cats.  And they can't go to Starbucks.  I'm alone.

Throwback to friends many years ago. They've all done more for me than I can say

That my husband will tire of this ridiculous situation
I am, of course, not giving him any of the credit he deserves by feeling this way, but I do feel this way.  There are things I now require that I will not ask my mother or my friends. These are the thankless tasks saved for my husband. And they're not glamorous or fun.  So while I watch other families' vacations on Facebook, I am very aware that we are not that couple. At least not this year.

That my kids will explode after one more request to fill my water glass
My kids have really stepped up in the past month.  They do their laundry, they unload and load the dishwasher, and fulfill myriad requests all day for Advil, water, coffee, the remote, my laptop, etc.  Hand in hand with all of this is our cancelled summer vacation, our cancelled long weekend to Chicago to celebrate Sophie's eighth grade graduation, and our cancelled trip out east to see One Direction.  Yes, all these plans are gone and I've had to ask my kids to handle it with grace and with understanding.  It's a lot to ask kids. But I asked. So I sort of suck.

My girls and me enjoying Jeni's ice cream last summer. 

Gabe enjoying the beach he isn't going to.

I know the rebuttal to all my fears - I will walk; my friends are there; my family loves me and wants me to heal; I know all this is true. But that's the funny thing about fear - it ignores what's true and feeds on what's not.

I am not sharing this with you because I think what I am experiencing is unique.  I am sharing it because I find what I'm going through to be extraordinarily common.  My accident is merely shining a light on what I, and others, go through all the time as human beings.  We must be bigger than our fears.  We must make our decisions based on hope and our dreams.  Fear cannot be fed.

So, I will not shrink in this situation.  I will move as much as I am physically able to.  I will get out of my house.  I will do as much for myself as I can. I will be thankful that my upper body was not injured because I use it everyday to get around. I will appreciate sitting outside on the deck with my kids because that's the extent of our travels this summer. I will love every Starbucks, every call, every kind gesture that I receive. And when I ask my kids for anything, I will say thank you. Because I am so very thankful.

I read a quote recently that says, "We all have two lives. The second one starts when we realize that we only have one."  I am thankful to have started my second life.  And, I will not be afraid of it. I will embrace it and go confidently in the direction of my dreams.  I owe this to everyone around me, and to myself - as we all do.

Amen.