July 18, 2021 Breathwork

Poem

You pack up your car

And away you go

With some of your belongings

And parts of your identity in tow

You drive beneath the sunshine

On a road that twists and turns

You let your hair blow out the window

Along with your concerns

You drive up to a small child

That is the 10 year old version of you

She is full of dreams and hopes

That she isn’t sure will come true

She imagines a life of adventure

And bright shiny things

She has little idea though

The love the future will bring

You take a photo from your car

Of your family and friends

Of the life you’ve created 

And place it in her hands

You see her eyes light up

And her heart starts to swell

You leave her with the love

That she will come to know well

You drive along further

And see yourself 10 years down the road

Your car starts to slow

And you get out to say hello

She gives you a big hug

And you smell her familiar scent

You look into her eyes

And see where she’s been

She has faced some loneliness

And has endured some pain

There are pieces of her that are different

And some that are the same

She is full of patience 

And brimming with grace

She has experienced so much joy

You can see it in her face

There are deeper laugh lines

And a softer glow

She is surrounded by some strangers

And some people you know

Old friends from the past

And kids who call her mom

A partner who loves her

And a beautiful sense of calm

She gives you a snapshot 

To fill the empty frame

As a reminder change is good

And that it pays to be brave

You climb back in your car

For the beautiful drive home

Knowing you are loved

No matter which way you go.

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