Dear Amy,
I found you this year. I used to say that you were lost, but in reality, you were always there. Under a bunch of muck, but you were there.
I found you in the dreams, which were really old dreams. This time around, though, you have wisdom and some kick-ass executive functioning skills. That means these dreams are going to be reality in just a short period time.
I found you in the mountains of Idaho. On a snowmobile where you remembered that your need for speed is intense. You flipped your snowmobile, broke your phone and laughed about it all weekend. Because that’s what kind of person you are. That loud hum on that snowmobile with white all around was cathartic. You found a few like-minded people who brought out the silliness, intense conversation, and throw down fun side, all in negative degree weather. It was solidified that the joy you find in life is driving the machine, not sitting on the back or on the sidelines.
I found you in Utah. Where you danced. A lot. I would say all night, but that fun lasted well into the morning hours. You remembered how good it feels to just move to music and dance with joy. It was freeing to just move.
I found you in Portland, where everything looked even more green and vibrant than in the past. You drank up every last experience at Multnomah Falls and the ocean. Running and playing with the kids on the beach, even in sideways rain, felt like life. Continuously not wearing makeup at the coast for the sole purpose of looking heavenwards so that you could remember the moment when you returned back to the desert.
I found you during girl’s nights with women who have walked with you, supported you, and cried with you. They know your soul and still love you. Those are the best sorts of people to laugh with all evening.
You were there in the hard choices that have happened. But they were your choices. And you owned them as a path to an even better future.
You were there at the ocean. Where you learned to surf and snorkel. The love of the water is intense, even if you did end up puking off the ferry.
You were there during hard conversations where you developed your opinions and declared to yourself that you will not be living an ordinary life. Not that there is a thing wrong with and ordinary sort of life, it’s just never fit well on your skin.
And you have always existed wherever there is loud music and a vehicle to dance in.
May your past serve as a reminder that the best way to be a mother, sister, daughter, and friend is to stay true everyday to the nature you were born with. Always listen to your first voice.
