Good Friday

Good Friday. A day wrought with symbolism - and for a storyteller who embraces ritual as a way to integrate life's experiences, this weekend is always special for me. 
Last year at this time, I was living back in my old bedroom at Dad's house, nursing my shattered heart and dealing with the business of dissolving my marriage. As I walked by my old friend the river that Good Friday, I embraced Ritual.
I began by shedding pain-laden artifacts, giving them to the mighty Ottawa (which was about to overflow in the great deluge of 2017). Then I sat on its bank, and imagined a future for myself as this new being, separate from Greg. And the only place I could see living that life, was in my beloved little blue house on the river - the home we were preparing to sell.
The moment I made that choice, I began a love affair that might never have come, had I not had to fight so hard for my life throughout the long cold winter from which I was emerging.
And here, a year later, I stand stronger, surer, more lit up with purpose than I could ever have allowed myself to be when I was living my life for someone else. My love affair with this creature named Lea Werthman is only just beginning - I can't wait to see what this coming year will bring.

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