Last night, I drank wine with a monk. Which, oddly enough, is nowhere near as random as it sounds.

(Also, I’m typing this all on my phone? Because my computer has yet to be properly set up since the move? I’ll explain later.)

Two weeks and two days. That’s how long we’ve been back in San Diego, and we’ve only just now arrived at the place we’re going to call home.

Eventually, we will call it home. At the moment, it’s just the place we happen to live. I’m trying hard to see this as my own episode of Fixer Upper, which ultimately it is, but right now it feels pretty uncomfortable.

Don’t even get me started about the rats.

You know, I lived in New York City, and never once did I see a rat. I mean, I heard them plenty, but I never actually saw one. Same with cockroaches. Never saw one.

In San Diego, however, I’ve seen plenty of both. And not just in this place, but out and about. Little Italy, for instance – which is a rather posh part of town – is totally and completely infested with roaches. Skunks too, but that’s irrelevant to this particular story.

My point is, this is a season of making. Making a home, making a career, making love.

Next week, I’ll celebrate another journey round the sun. When I think back to this time last year, my very deepest wish was to live the life I’m living at this very moment.

(Except for the rats.)

Any task can be mindful, when you put your mind to it.

For instance, doing the dishes. Because there I was, washing the dishes – and there were a lot of dishes – when all of the sudden, I became aware of the fact that I was having myself a real good moment being in the moment.

The past five months have been anything but easy. (The past eighteen months and thirteen days have been anything but easy.) But recently, I’ve noticed a certain kind of settling. Oh, how badly I want to settle.

All this moving around, all of this uncertainty, and not just from the past five months, or the past eighteen months, but really, from the past as long as I can remember. I’m ready to be still, to plant, to root, to grow.

Relocating across the country, inheriting a Waldorf class midway through their grades journey, these were bold moves. And what I’ve learned about bold moves is that, most of the time, the Universe responds positively. For me, right now, that means discovering the many ways in which I feel at home here in a city that is starting to feel less and less unfamiliar each and every day.

I am making the most of it, and it is making the most of me.

Also, this post is brought to you by three consecutive school district snow days on account of about two inches of snow.

I’ve been through hell, and it shows.

This last year has absolutely gutted me six ways to Sunday, the devastation having more than taken its toll on my being.

AND NEVERTHELESS, SHE PERSISTED.

I made salt dough spiced with turmeric for the kids to craft with on Friday morning, since we’d already been out playing in the snow for over and hour and it was barely half past nine in the morning. Our first ever snow day, and Western North Carolina gave us her best performance. Beautiful, soft, crunchy flakes of snow fell continuously for close to 40 hours, and it was breathtaking.

It was also incredibly lonely.

Little by little, I have come to reconcile the depth of this sorrow of mine. It’s no small thing to lose a pregnancy, that event alone would have been plenty to grieve. But for me, midterm miscarriage was merely the beginning of an avalanche of heartbreak so profound, I’m just barely beginning to cautiously confront the magnitude of the void that underscores every single one of my days. Some are better than others, but not one has passed without me realizing how shockingly altered my reality actually is, how drastically different each part of my world has become since discovering a baby had died in my belly.

Gradual, and then sudden. But also sudden, and then gradual. Some shifts were massive and instantaneous, others minor and rather slow, and still more were all of the above.

On the first day of 2017, we were still living in our quirky hillside home near the harbor. Six months had passed since learning of our loss, but the real unsettling had only just begun. It was clear that we were facing a tremendous transition, and while I was aware enough of the looming change to write about it, I could never have anticipated how utterly foreign the future would actually be.

The operative word being future.

This is not where my story ends. This is simply where a new chapter begins.

While I may still be a little reluctant to herald the arrival of yet another plot twist, I can admit that I’m definitely curious to see how this narrative unfolds.

I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how committed I will be to the process of documentation. However, when I look back at the beginning of what would ultimately become “The San Diego Years”, and all that has transpired since that sun-drenched summer, I can’t help but wish I had taken the time to preserve more of those moments, if only so that I would have a more accurate archive through which to dig when I’m feeling especially nostalgic.

Like, for instance, on snow days.

This heart of mine, it just keeps breaking.

I have held on as long as I could possibly stand, much longer than I should have. It isn’t like I expected things to shift dramatically through the process of this relocation, but I did want there to be some levity, some shared excitement in the start of this next chapter. Instead, only more distance, more indifference, and not even the tiniest bit of warmth or connection.

Today is would have been our seventh anniversary. Instead, it’s just August 20. The eve of a new moon and a solar eclipse, a once in a lifetime experience. And how incredible it is that we just so happened to make our way to a place where the eclipse will be total. And not only that, this transformational celestial presentation is occurring in Leo, my sun and rising sign, one degree shy of where it rests in my birth chart. The significance of the timing of all of this is not at all lost on me. Which is why I have chosen to set clear intentions as I move into this next phase of my life.

I will not settle for anything less than what I know is possible. A love so true, so uplifting, so encompassing, that I won’t ever have to question whether or not it is real. I know, deep in my heart, this time is for me to heal, to grow, to become. I can no longer give my energy to that which does not serve me, which shatters my spirit, which inhibits my own wellbeing.

I carry all that is good with me into the future, I dispense all that is negative.

I commit myself to myself.

Well, yesterday went just about as well as a third day of a cleanse of this kind can go, even in spite of the 7.7 mile walk in a blistering heatwave, all to accomplish an errand that needed to happen on time, even though our car is otherwise unavailable at present. I suffered my first sunburn of the season, though I wore a hat (and a bandana around my neck to protect my décolloté because I’m that many years old). I went to bed early.

And then it was day four! The day when the fog of the first few days has lifted, and the fatigue that was present pre-cleanse is starting to fade dramatically. This is not my first experience with this kind of cleanse, and this is definitely not my worst experience. So far, so good.

We have started to actively prepare for our imminent departure. We might have even found a house, fingers crossed! We also started a Go Fund Me campaign in support of our relocation fuel fund, because every little bit helps. This is a costly endeavor, but one that I’m genuinely excited about.

I have waited years, over a decade, to finally take a grades class of my own at a Waldorf school. I could not be more excited about the class I have inherited for this upcoming school year. I will be teaching a combined Grade 4/5, and not only am I thrilled about working with this age group and the corresponding curriculum, but my very own daughter will be a student in my class. I know for some people that is not a good dynamic, but for Jade and I, it is going to work marvelously. And while she’s heartbroken to bid farewell to her beloved teacher at her current Waldorf school, she is very excited to be my student. I’m already grateful for her supportive presence as I prepare my block rotation and lesson plans. We’re going to have a great year together.

As sad as I am about leaving San Diego – and I am extremely sad about leaving San Diego – I’m truly looking forward to what lies ahead. This cleanse, this move, it all seems as though the timing is exactly as it is meant to be. That doesn’t make either any easier, but it sure makes the effort seem worth it, knowing the intention is pure and the heart is open to whatever might come next.