and finally, I am.

I greet the sun because I woke to the rain. The first of November inaugurated the beginning of Autumn with its heavy, sporadic rain and diffused sunlight. Thanks be to God.

A few weeks ago, Rudy and I made it to the East coast. Here is a haphazard collection of memories:

We endured uncomfortable flights and arrived tired and irritated, regaining our kindness upon seeing friends. The sheer density of greens was overwhelming. We were greeted by an impossibly funny, hard working and generous family. Everyone at work for a wedding two days away: laying brick, hanging lights, building a dance floor, setting tables. We worked hard, ate hard, laughed hard. I, in true fashion, eventually cried hard, loosing my footing and slipping into a bout of insecurity, self-loathing, and fear. It is a seismic problem, a symptom of the past. That I still experience these ruptures in my happy present can be unnerving and shameful - but ruptures are to be expected, nothing to be done about them. Can't go over them. Can't go around them. Can't go under them. Gotta go through them.

I met girls I would have otherwise never met. They could have been great companions in another life. We went to the same college, but I once believed I was an undesirable, damned to loneliness. I blame this belief for denied opportunities of friendship and growth. I am changing. We drank sangria, white russians and laughed. I felt, briefly, that I was on Sex and the City. (gasp!) I had never experienced this light hearted, girl time slinking from bar to bar, avoiding slimy, older men. My car went home early. Just as well, I was tired. Such fun, though I lost $35 worth of underwear. Baltimore took my gift. Paris took my sweater. Death Valley took my phone. I am constantly losing things in places I visit. I suppose good times cost more than air fare.

The entire wedding day was sublime. The confession of love is great, the vow to keep the other 'til the end is better. It is a promise we've no business making but make all the same. It is a promise we cannot keep perfectly, but will to keep anyways. Two sets of parents, wedded over 20 years each, gave their children to each other to make the same wild, impossible, difficult promise they had. Their own lives proof of how wild, impossible, and difficult it is - also, of how fantastically transforming it is. The promise makes us better. We ate, drank, laughed, danced. There was glitter. There were sparklers. There was my colorful dress. I was happy to be passing through Baltimore with Rudy, witnessing the lives of committed family and friends - and being welcomed in.

We left the next morning to Upstate New York. We stayed with Rudy's aunt and uncle. They are artists, careful thinkers, collectors. When it is quiet, they fill in the lull with muted laughter and mumbling. They introduced us to more good food. We walked. We crossed the Eerie Canal. We thumbed through thrift stores, book stores, antique shops. We felt at home. We kept accidentally sleeping in, jet lag and all. We watched Walking Dead. We learned about each other. I have family on the East coast now. Baffling.

I find I am constantly being asked to open up my life, and finally, I am. My soul is expanding in my early-twenties. It is making room for others - miracle of miracles!
Cheers to making room.
Cheers to letting people in.
It has been so lonely in years past and remains lonely, at times. But there is a marked difference. Thanks be to God.