the journey

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver
(Dream Work)

When I was around four years old my mother packed up her life and her three small children and moved to France for a year. Most women in her place would find this idea impossible, whishful, crazy even. But my mother felt that it would be crazier to stay. She needed a change, so rather than bitch and moan, she made things happen.

This is one of the many reasons I love my mother. She is a risk taker. Today she turns 59, and she's still braver than ever. Currently the house is on the market and she's planning on moving to France for good. I couldn't be happier, or more impressed with both of my parents.



On the side my mother is designing websites, planning a writing workshop, helping her sister deal with the legalities of her divorce and helping me with school essays. Needless to say, she's keeping busy. But this is the thing about her, she's always keeping busy. Her mind is always moving, causing her to sleep little, and take on countless projects. But even after a sleepless night, she does everything perfectly, paying attention to the smallest details.



Someone recently asked me what my mother was like. "She's beautiful," I said "Crazy, bohemian, she loves a good burger, she's petite, fun, better dressed than me..." The more I described her the more I remembered how much I love her. All the little things about her, from the way she loves sensual finger foods, or bubble baths, or a glass of wine at five o'clock and a good book. I love the way she wakes up early to write, or sits in cafes with a notebook, and goes to get coffee and a muffin but never finishes her muffin because she's too distracted in thought.



She's also intelligent. Although she strays from news and politics like me, my mother has read more books than anyone I know. She has a beautiful vocabulary and a strong opinion. I have seen her make men twice her size feel uncomfortable with her wit.



And she's not afraid of anything. She'll talk about sex at the dinner table, travel through foreign countries alone, make friends with strangers and dance on restaurant tables.




When I'm with my mother I don't feel like I'm with my mother. I'm with my best friend. I can be myself. We have fun, we laugh, drink, dance, write together, talk about anything and everything and bask in each others silence.



To say she inspires me would be an understatement. She is the most beautiful, sensual, honest woman I know and I can't imagine my life without her presence. I honestly think the world would stop turning.



So cheers, to the sexiest, craziest, most beautiful 59-year-old I know. Life is a journey, and she inspires me to live it properly.