The best hasn’t been my writing. Fiction, poetry, blog posts, facebook reposts…
The best has not been the discovery of my new found love of poetry or spoken word. Or my clumsy attempts on stage.
The best has not been my determined progress with my home business or the other business ideas that keep popping up like so many plot bunnies. (See above and writing.)
The best has not been my love life being resuscitated, dying and being resurrected once again.
The best has not been laughs with friends in limos, travelling to cities beyond my home, embracing culinary culture shock within my own country…
The best has not been that really useful binder clip I found the one day. The best has not been my choice to eat healthier and use my slow cooker more. The best has not been the hot yoga sessions where I’ve found new flexibility and new places where I’m storing my pain, anxiety, and other repressions. The best has not been that stove top popcorn with coconut oil and bacon salt at midnight with the really good crisp cold ginger beer, the twisty bacon, the green onion food hack, or the upcoming recipe for lefse that somehow reminds me of my Nana’s scones.
I’d have to say that the best has been all of that.
For I have lived.
I have made mistakes that have not brought me down and I have learned from them. I’ve risked and gained and lost. I have made decisions from a place of love and not fear. I’ve tasted my own foot, learned to eat crow, found better ways to deal with my own internal conflicts. And learned to live out loud.
And that I’m still here,
P.S. And I won’t stop going. Just watch me.