The peanut on my justice scales…

I woke up last night at 2:34am, and again at 4ish. This is all typical as of about a week ago. I’m 13 weeks pregnant and my hips are apparently starting to widen already (as if they could get any wider) as my body prepares for the inevitable (inevitable if you’re lucky, or blessed; whatever you want to call it). Surprisingly, this was actually one of the best nights of sleep I’ve had this week. 

Nichole, my recently betrothed wife (wow, that still makes my eyes water a little) was on shift last night (she’s a battalion chief/firefighter), so I had the entire bed to myself. Which meant I had a chance to make myself a make-shift body of pillows around me while I wait for my u-shaped body pillow to arrive next Wednesday. Apparently, the u-shaped body pillow is the answer to many a pregnant woman’s woes when back and/or hip pain begins; usually in the second trimester…lucky me. 

I woke up at 4am, actually quite pleased with myself as my little experiment, at least for now, seemed to work. I slept a solid 2-3 hours a piece between about 9:37pm and the time I woke up around 4, rather than waking up to toss and turn every 20 minutes due to hip pain, which has been my new normal for the last week. As I laid there, a thought came to me much like the ideas that come to you when you’re in the shower, or lost in thought on a drive, or on some very good edibles, and it came to me clear as day: “the peanut on my justice scales.” I sat there, or laid there I guess is more appropriate, with the words echoing over and over again in my mind, like a song that gets stuck in your head no matter how hard you try to think of something else. “The peanut on my justice scales.” 

“Omg” I thought to myself. “Is this it? Is this how I finally start writing my books? The many many books I’ve talked about writing as a memoirist for years; to share my stories and adventures of love, life, adventure, sexuality, freedom, restraint, abuse, release, and so much more?” 

No. That can’t be it. It can’t be that easy. I’ve been talking about this forever; about writing books-but this doesn’t feel like that. So, what? What the hell is it then? What are these words echoing in my mind over and over that are nagging and pulling at my shirt like a toddler that refuses to be ignored, hard as you may try… “that’s it!” I thought to myself. “Maybe this isn’t the book. Maybe this is something else. But what the hell is it?” Because I know this feeling. I’ve had it before; every time I’ve done something crazy, on whim, and always a slap in the face to the tight grip I feign to have on my life. This was that feeling. 

And then it hit me. I needed to write, yes. And the books would come- will come- eventually. But for now, I need to write. I need to purge. I need to share. And quite frankly, I need to hone my craft. 

So I sat in my bed for a few more minutes, and brain stormed, until a jolt of energy that I’ve not had in, oh, I can’t even remember how long, hit me in the ass like the shockwave of lightening that struck me when I was crossing the street in seventh grade on my walk home from school in the middle of a Florida thunder storm (I really don’t know why we call them thunder storms when they’re almost always accompanied by lightening). I was going to start blogging. Yes. Me. The girl who knows absolutely not-a-damn-thing about blogging. And like everything else I’ve done in my life, I’ll figure it out along the way. And eventually, I’ll be really good at it. Jack of all trades, my ass. How about Jack of all trades and master of many. Did you know that the original phrase is actually something along the lines of “A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.” Yeah. That’s right. You were lied to same as I was. Lead to believe that being a jack of all trades was somehow a bad thing. 

Somewhere along the way the best part of that phrase was intentionally omitted. Probably by someone who was pissed at someone else for being really good at all the stuff that original someone wasn’t. When I heard the complete phrase recently, in a book I was listening to, it felt like I could suddenly, after all these years, stop punishing myself or feeling guilty for never being the absolute best at any one thing. I felt like I’d been given permission to be proud of the fact that while I’ve never been the best at one particular thing, I’ve always been really good at a lot of things; and now I could own it. 

So welcome to my blog. I may not be loaded, come from a family built on legacy, or have everything figured out in terms of life, love and the pursuit of happiness. But one thing is for sure: I HAVE LIVED. At 37 years old, I’ve lived a life that many have never even dreamed of, or dared to live, and sadly, never will. Because I’ve risked everything. Several times actually. And I’m not just talking about risking in terms of career, education, or entrepreneurship (although I took risks in all of those categories as well). I’m talking about risked everything in love. Which to me, as much as I love so many things in this world and have so many passions, love, is the one that has shaped, formed and changed me the most. It has always been and will always be, the risk I am most willing to take. 

So…this blog is about my journey through life and in love. I will be raw, open, and brave. For that is the only way that I know to be, and it is the only reason I believe that my life has been thus far, in my eyes, well lived. I have so many stories to tell. All beautiful, many heart breaking, and each and every one I would live through again -although I probably wouldn’t have chosen that option at the time. If you join me on this journey, I’m almost certain you’ll learn a thing or two, and maybe, just maybe, if my goal in writing in this blog is accomplished, you’ll learn to love, forgive, and you may even do a little bit of healing. I’m no therapist (although I am a huge advocate of therapy and try to make it a point to go weekly; it’s just as important as exercise), but I’ve definitely learned a lot from the life I have lived. And if even one of you out there can relate to one of my experiences, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll have contributed something in this life that tips the scales of justice in favor of you choosing love, and a life worth living. In favor of hope. 

To the fire starters of a long-shelved dream…

To my future peanut: I do this for you. So that you will be brave and follow your dreams. So that you will never allow me or anyone to tell you what your dreams are. And so that through my writing, I can continue to heal and grow, to be the best mom I can be for you. Something I never even thought I wanted…until you. That by finally following my own dream of writing, I can be an example to you of what you are capable of accomplishing when you let go of the fear of failure. Because it has never been about the win. It has always been about the journey. 

To my wife: thank you for loving me bravely and helping me find my confidence again by forcing me to learn how to stand on my own. In solitude. In freedom. And for showing me, yet again, that love always has new levels, and new experiences, and that we are never done being humbled by it. I love you.