Finding home

Pics of George and I during his full-service snuggle sessions complete with hug, tender paw to face AND nose, with capstone experience to include rolling over on my lap, gazing into my eyes, and listening to me talk about my shit.  (from 9/2018)


I turned 50 years old on October 1, 2018.

I’ve lived a lot of lives in a single one, and can hear reverberations of self bouncing around in my cells and my soul, chorused with that of society—stereotypes and patterns of thought— which has before kept me moving in ways which didn’t make me joyful but which I did not question for reasons of both habit and distraction.

And I have encountered those who believe a pet sitter (my occupation) is of a certain station and intelligence, bearing simplicity unable to standardize within societal algorithms, and I’ve made my peace with the fact that even my girls’ dad (my former spouse who cheated, left town, etc.) tells my kids that I don’t have a “real” job.

But there is a certain point in life when you see a bigger picture of all, a point at which through connection and calm you derive sensations of well-being to where you must change. And that is where I’ve been. And am better for it.

For in the end, change is the breath of who we are and anchoring into the simplicity of heart is the most complex thing anyone will ever do, and once you realize that, looking good to society becomes silly.

Because, beyond habit and distraction, holding space for the tenderness of the world is all any of us can ever truly want for all else is just the journey.  And settling in on the couch—in a deep snuggle sesh, as a pet sitter, without a “real” job—I’m honored to have found the humility and reverence to see with eyes of a different world.   For the world we crave is one of love and safety, and when all things change, all is never lost when we ourselves walk through life as the loving home we desire.


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