Independence Day

Back in 1993, Martina McBride released a song called "Independence Day". Now, while I'm not a huge fan of country music, and really paid very little to this song when it was a hit, this past year of my life has given that song new meaning, and those of you who know me best will understand why.

One year ago today, after nearly three years of playing a cruel game that nearly broke me in two, I got my independence day. I'll be honest, as I was filling box after box with almost thirteen years of memories, every one as vivid as the day they happened, carefully wrapping them up in a year's-worth of plastic Walmart sacks that I had accumulated in the garage, especially for that inevitable day, I felt far from independent. There was no joy or triumph that day. No pride. No enthusiasm. Only exhaustion, bewilderment, and a U-Haul truck full of fear and unknown, as I sat alone on the wooden steps of my then empty, echoing home, with a faceful of tears, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I stood up. I walked out the door. Closed it. Locked it. Drove away, and never looked back.

Across town, seemingly in another universe, was my new home-- our new home. The kids and me and the dogs-- all dumped into this 100 year-old house, along with a life's worth of cardboard boxes, all waiting to be dealt with. Half of the house was without electricity. The stove wouldn't light. It was bitter cold. The bathroom was dark. The shower curtain came down on me while I was showering (in the dark). Nothing about my "new life" was remotely encouraging.

There was no time to assemble beds that day, so we took the boys' two twin mattresses, and Quincy's crib mattress, and pushed them together on the floor in the boys' room, and piled in with every blanket we could find (and two of the dogs). The kids (and dogs) were quickly asleep, as I wandered around the house, cold, drained, and overwhelmed. After giving up on the idea of even trying to begin unpacking that night, I shuffled back into the boys' room, where I saw something I will never forget. There was my family-- what was left of it-- sleeping in a pile, on makeshift beds, in a home that was a far cry from what we'd been used to, peacefully, despite the cold and chaos. I knew then that we were going to be just fine.

Standing there, absorbing that moment, I never could have predicted what the next 365 days would have in store for me. They have been, by far, the most... significant?... influential?... memorable?... of my life.

People lost. I had to face the day I had been dreading since I was a child, when I got the phone call that I never wanted to get, but knew was coming. I hung up, took the kids to their dad's house, came home, and began absently packing a bag to drive to St. Louis to bury my Grandma. I remember, standing there in the doorway of my closet, looking in at the color-coded racks of garments, thinking how dumb it felt to be standing there, in that moment, choosing clothes for the funeral of someone I wasn't sure I could live without. I love clothes, but in that moment, nothing felt suitable. Nothing would ever be right for that event. Choosing something to wear meant that I had to acknowledge that it was happening, and at the sake of sounding like a child, I thought, "You can't make me." The days that followed were a blur of tears, miles, vodka, and tattoo ink-- except for the smell of the flowers and the weight of her casket, hanging like the weight of the world in my left hand. Those are as clear as day.

People gained. Despite loss, this past year has graced my life with many new faces and relationships. People who have pushed me to work harder and be better. People who have pleasantly surprised me. People who have inspired me and made me enormously proud. People who have put me in my place. People who have made me laugh, and ones who have made me cry (and ones who have let me cry). People with whom I've shared talent, war stories, sushi, inside jokes, Oreo pizza, battle scars, conversations that lasted until the sun came up, the occasional coffee or drink, and great music. All wonderfully-enriching experiences that only these particular people could bring to the table that is my life. People who have reminded me that life lies in hope and change-- not in expectation.

People remained. I can't forget the ones who have been around for the long-haul, despite my many neuroses. It's stunning how, as we get older, our true circles begin to show themselves through the people who stick around, no matter what. No matter how scattered I've become over the last year, my "people" have patiently tolerated the growth of my new wings-- supporting me, cheering me on, and calling me out. I would be floudering, still, without them.

Professionally, I hit the jackpot. I wound up in a position that I truly love. Granted, that position has left me with a wicked scar on my forehead, bite marks, and bruises, but I can honestly say that I have belly-laughed every single day I've worked there, and not many people can say that about their jobs. Photography took on a life of its own and finally evolved into something that has forced me to take another look at where this once-hobby is taking me. There is a huge sense of responsiblility that comes with seeing and reflecting the beauty of the world, and I thank God every day that my life experiences have helped me grow into a person who can do that, and do it well.

Making money isn't what makes for a living. Before January 15, I had not truly been "on my own", since, well, I was 19. Crazy. Not that I wasn't prepared, but there came an odd and startling dichotomy of freedom and responsibility when I left my suburban marital home and settled into my much more urban surroundings. Truth be told, it's what I had always wanted-- An ancient house. A view of downtown. My rules. My design. However, exhaustion and sometimes overwhelming pressure to set up shop came hand-in-hand with the freedom and satisfaction of being on my own. Luckily, the thrill that comes with real independence has won out over being absolutely spent at the end of every day, and when I come barreling down the highway entrance ramp every morning on my way to work, and see the sun rising over downtown, I am happily reminded of how that gorgeous view was hard-won-- how I won.

This last year has been lived. On top of being surrounded by wonderful relationships and success:

-I was mere feet from Josh Groban.
-I was able to travel to all over.
-I got to watch loved ones get married.
-I was kissed by a drag queen.
-I had the privelege of witnessing an adoption.
-I stood in the inner circle at a U2 concert, with the Irish boys directly overhead, in 110-degree weather.
-I was fortunate enough to be able to help a family rebuild their lives after a fire.
-I got the news that I was going to be an aunt again.
-I adopted a turtle, a guinea pig, a puppy, and now a cat.

All within the span of a year. Hot diggity-dog.

Yeah, at this time, one year ago, I didn't know where to begin, what to think, or how to move forward. A year later, I don't know how to stop.

Now I ain't saying it's right or it's wrong, but maybe it's the only way.
Talk about your revolution, it's independence day.