“…the great relief of having you to talk to.” (“Darling Be Home Soon,” John Sebastian)

I couldn’t imagine what a week in Alaska would do — the ways in which it would hold my soul, shake me up, place me back on the ground in some new alchemy.

I was younger there.

At a week long writing retreat, lead by the formidable and courageous Cheryl Strayed, I was introduced to 40+ women who’ve decided it’s time to tell their stories.

We shared our pain and so much laughter, we walked in the rain, searched for salmon and moose, stood in awe of fog and light.

The scenery and the stories and the permission to write were the key ingredients, but what made the experience complete were the friendships. There is nothing more affirming than a circle of women who listen to one another, nod, and say, “Yes! Exactly!”

Back home in my suburban townhouse, I am feeling somewhat unmoored, but I am hopeful that I can hold onto some of the magic that I found in that wild and peaceful place, where I had the great relief of having so many brave women to talk to.

“Everywhere you go, you are your own home” –Sarah Barelilles

My youngest daughter is in Africa. She boarded a plane on Saturday night that was intended to fly her directly to Accra. She was even more excited for this trip than she’d been the first time she’d gone, two summers ago. This time, she knew in advance how kind the people would be, how mesmerizing the music is, how strange and wonderful the meals are. Being an experienced traveler, she’d packed her bag with precision – her one small bag for her entire three week stay. She had her textbooks for her 3-hour online class she’d log into on Thursday nights. She had her brand new scrubs for her shifts assisting on the labor and delivery ward. She had her special hair gel, to keep her naturally curly hair in check. That night, the plane sat on the tarmac for 5 hours before the flight was officially cancelled. Fortunately, she was automatically rebooked onto a new flight for the following morning. Her bag, she was promised, would also be transferred. It was not. 7,000 miles from home since Monday, with no creature comforts familiar to her. She’s been sad. So sad. But she has tried to stay on the brightside, acknowledging the kindness of strangers and recognizing that things could be much worse. She is grateful to be healthy. She is grateful for this experience. She is grateful for the difficult lesson brought on by losing something (albeit temporarily) has taught her.

The missing luggage has been found. Tomorrow it will be delivered to her. 

How much can change in a day!

And how much impact can the little things–clean socks, your own shampoo, have toward making you feel better? Feel safe? Feel at home,  even when you’re thousands of miles away. 

I am sitting in the Colorado kitchen of dear old college friend. Sipping coffee out of a girl scout mug she must’ve picked up when the kids were small. They’re no longer scouts or band kids or swim teamers. But the light spilling across the worn grain of the oak flooring in this kitchen reflect the many early mornings where my friend poured cereal into bowls and baked birthday cakes. This house, like my friend, is showing some age, but has awakened this morning smiling at the promise of a new day. Zhittya tryvae. Life goes on.