Just Lucky, I guess

Oprah captured the idea best when she coined the phrase: "An Attitude of Grattitude".

I don't mean to sound condescending or pompous or supercilious, but I feel at moments (like this one right here) that I lead a charmed life. Sure, I don't have loads of material possessions and I'm still really behind as far as the latest and greatest technological developments go, but I genuinely feel that there is so much good in my life. So much to be grateful for. So many multi-faceted bits of magic that capture the sunlight and reflect splashes of light and love around me every day.

I know that I am lucky. I am privileged. I am fortunate.

Not in the "born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-her-mouth" kind of way. No. I am advantaged in a way that has nothing to do with class, status, career, wealth or accumulation.

The core of my great fortune rests in my little family.

My wonderful, caring, generous husband is a man who strives to protect his integrity in the face of the brutal cut-throat corporate world he is immersed in. And my two miraculous daughters flank their father; one a ray of sunshine, one an echo of moonlight. Two fantastic children who are amazing in their own right - I cannot fully comprehend how all three of these precious beings ended up in my care. I am just that fortunate.

My husband and I have just celebrated our eleventh anniversary. We are in a good place. We are friends. We talk. We embrace one another. We wait up for one another. We make each other tea. We sit quietly together - not saying anything - just being together. We laugh together. We love together. He is my king. He gets me. And I believe in him. It works for us.

My firstborn is my sunbeam. A poised and purposeful dancer. Graceful and determined. She is warm and strong. She is a bright and tenacious soul. Head-strong. Persistent. A leader. We do not always see eye-to-eye, and at times I am blinded by her brilliance, her insistence, her force. But she shines for me and I live for her. While I am warmed by her radiance, I fumble as I try to encourage her to harness the great power she possesses. Everyday my sun shines on me and I on her. We hold. We let go. We dance a complicated waltz. And while she has so much to learn about her dazzling character, I marvel at how lucky I am to witness her solar awakening.

My moonbeam child followed her sister very rapidly from the outer edges of the universe. She is a soulful, enlightened being. A thinker. A seeker. The holder of the secrets of the cosmos. An iridescent entity. My delicate moonlight sylph has an understanding of the world and what is beyond the world that far outreaches her few delicate years. She sees things. She understands things. She makes sense of things. She questions and she contemplates. And all the while her gentle spirit reaches out to those around her - a cooling hand, a soft embrace. She is beautiful empathy. The bringer of peace.

So privileged am I to have the influence of these three people in my life. I am wealthy beyond measure.

I have experienced pain. I have experienced sorrow. I have waded through misfortune. I juggle stress. I worry about money. I become annoyed. I can yell. I wish for more, for better. I doubt. I cry. I fear what the future may hold. I am just an ordinary person living an ordinary life. But I choose to see the magic in the good cards I have been dealt. And that makes all the difference.

In the Beginning

Once upon a time there was a young mother of two little girls, wife to a madly handsome and deeply devoted man. She was a midwife, by training. And so it was that this very simple yet highly complicated female ran a marriage, a home, the school run and her own business, when all of a sudden, her life went BANG! and it all came crashing to a thundering halt.

It was at this time that the young woman began to record her feelings about her life on the blank pages of a massive cyber journal which she wrote in regularly, sending her blog posts out into deep space, seeking comfort and therapy through fallible words and awkward understandings. She passed through a great sorrow, a deep sadness that engulfed her and tried to destroy her fragile world. Somehow, this young nurse found a way through the darkness, all the while journalling her travels in a blog known as The Midwife Crisis.

As time passed, the hazy edges of her life began to sharpen, and her head cleared. She took a long detailed look at her life and realised that she was no longer a midwife nor was she in crisis. And so her aptly named blog became gradually very unapt, irrelevant. And she stopped writing.

But the no-longer-a-midwife-but-seeking-her-destiny girl's heart was full of stories. Her mind played back the memories of her life: the good things, the bad things and the things that had always made her wonder. And the girl had an aching need to record those thoughts, to add them to the vast collection of whisperings sprinting through the ether.

So she sat down and started a new blog. A one about where she was now. About her stories, her thoughts and her wishes.

This is it...