My Writing. My World.
Breathing.
It’s not so hard, right?
Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth.
Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth.
Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth.
Simple.
Except when it’s not.
Except when the weight of the world has left your shoulders bruised and sore.
Except when you find yourself taking a deep breath, only to realize it’s because you’ve been holding your breath. For a very long time.
I believe in signs. I always have.
The first time I went to Red Rocks to see Lyle Lovett a million years ago, my ex-boyfriend couldn’t make it to the show after we had purchased a summer’s worth of concert tickets together – and he suggested I invite a friend of his instead.
As I remember it, I thought to myself, “Message received.” I had been feeling like he wasn’t as interested in me as he once was and his suggestion seemed like the sign I needed. That he was trying to let me down in the nicest way possible by suggesting that I take a friend of his that he had just introduced me to.
I married that friend of his less than six months later.
