The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up, and I have goosebumps as I await the start of the Washington Redskins’ season opener. The Monday night crowd sounds electric at FedEx field.
It was Chest Day at the gym, and one of the trainers came over to Coach while I was on the incline press machine with my 45’s and made a comment – something about how I was pressing more than some of the men he works with. I think Coach was secretly grinning. After all, it was his coaching and encouragement that brought me to this point.
Happy as I was during gym time, an afternoon funky-funk set in back at the office, and I helplessly slid down the slippery slope. My hormones have me tied up and powerless to fight them. My body is under their spell; they’re pushing and pulling me around like a rag doll. As hard as I’ve worked over the years to get to know my authentic Self, I have no idea who this creature is who is crying over ridiculous things and sporting a bloated belly that looks like it’s in the 6th month of a pregnancy. Ugh.
One conversation, though, and the monsters loosened their hold leaving me feeling a bit more normal. It’s a miracle that anyone could possibly know me at such a cellular level, much less still like me. I can’t wrap my brain around that one. Having such a person in one’s life is a priceless gift. Not a single expression goes unread. Not a single move unnoticed. Every emotion and every thought is no longer my mine alone, but shared with one who knows me better than I know myself. I allow it. I embrace it. Little by little, my walls are coming down.
I remain deliriously happy and grateful for this life and for my story. I have, very nearly, everything I’ve ever wanted. If anything more wonderful exists, I’ve yet to dream it.