I’m me again. Maybe more me than I ever was before.

I never thought I could be so connected to a place. But this is the one place my piece of the puzzle fits.

I actually ceased to be me when I left here (for a short visit to NC in the fall). I thought that move was permanent, and it terrified me. I kept telling my brother, “I want to be me again.”

People ask why I hated NC. At first, I gave long, convoluted answers, until I realized it was because NC is not Grand Marais.

I was traumatized. Still am, from the adventure. But there was a gift. It ripped me open, and since coming home I am oozing with creativity and joy.

As I told my friend today, “I am full of joy. The kind of joy that is always on the verge of tears. I feel very blessed (for lack of a better word). Humbled, grateful, content, fulfilled… HOME.”

I know I’ve been verbose over the past couple of months. I don’t apologize for that. However, I am feeling that it’s time to think about trading the pen for the paintbrush. For awhile.

Same thoughts and feelings. Different medium.