My dear Diane,
I believe you may be experiencing something that feels a little like peace.
I know it feels unfamiliar.
Maybe even slightly unsettling.
Trust is slowly building with this newly born version of you — the one now sitting in the lead chair. She’s been without for many years and grew accustomed to carrying things alone, with very little return.
That story isn’t entirely true.
But it’s mostly true.
Still, there have been others — spectacular humans while they lasted. You counted fourteen of them since Gus died.
And some are still here.
Ricky.
Elon and Susie.
Ethan — new.
Sheila — new.
Jess — new.
Shelley — new.
This week alone looked like this:
Movies and burgers with Sheila and Jan.
Women in Conversation with Sheila.
Sherry’s new pickleball group at the church.
Cold plunge tomorrow.
Possible picnic with Jess next week.
YMCA visit with Shelley the week after — Qigong and sauna together.
Shelley’s breathwork class soon after that. (You’ve already paid your $20.)
You cleaned your first house this week with your new business, Full Circle Clean.
You earned $135.
You swam.
All of this effort came from one quiet place:
Being seated in your worth to receive pleasure non-transactionally.
You did not perform.
You did not perfect.
You did not people-please.
You did not prove yourself for attention, love, or approval.
Bravo.
You are also letting go of Javen a little more each day.
Sending him the family crest was a good act.
That pain will soften with time and practice.
You finished reading I Who Have Never Known Men.
That book will stay with you for a long time.
It changed the way you walked in the snow.
The way you welcomed signs — life appearing quietly around the edges.
It woke up parts of your heart that had gone numb.
Life is spectacularly colored and textured again.
Full of depth.
Sensual as hell.
Your spring cleaning is going well.
Not the house.
The spirit.
The mind.
You’re gaining quiet.
You’re not quite as head-shy or worried as before.
It’s changing.
You’re changing.
Yes, I know I’ve switched tenses several times in this letter. Forgive me. It’s Saturday night and time for bed.
This isn’t meant to be a summary of accomplishments.
But you tend to take everything for granted. You often conclude that you’re not doing enough, or not being good enough — some familiar version of that old song.
So I’m here to reflect something back to you.
You do remarkable things with your hands tied behind your back.
No pressure.
No theatrics.
You just do.
It’s who you are.
And your heart is almost always — truly — in the right place.
You even handled your terror driving up that steep hill in the snow today after missing the turn to pickleball.
You noticed the fear.
You named it.
You drove anyway.
Then you gave yourself an “atta girl” on the way down the hill because you know something important:
You do hard things.
I love you.
And more than that — I respect you.
You, my dear, are playing authentic relating games as well as they do in the Netherlands.
Bravo again.
Love,
Omi-San 🔥💃🙏
