This is my cave of ice.
It is safe like a fortress.
Here, in the ice, I dipped my scalding flaming heart.
Here, in the ice my emotional inflammation soothed
and my love numbed.
Here, in the ice, I put out some of the fire in my soul.
My color used to be burnt orange like the heat of a cinder.
What color am I now? Am I finally yellow like I wished?
A bright joyful color, but a weak flame, dimly lighting the room?
I am not the bright, hot-headed girl I was.
I am not the eternal flame that couldn't go out.
Some of that flame finally burned all there was to burn.
I am calmer. I believe I am happier. I know I am older.
Maybe I am not me anymore, now that I don't react with an instant fiery passion
But instead present my ice-encrusted self to speak on my behalf.
The girl I was is in an ice block and the ice block is in this woman's chest.
Whoever she is.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Heavens, the Weather
I'm just another victim of seasonal depression
spirits sailing on the spring breeze brushing through my bedroom windows,
lying in my underwear on the floor, feeling the air on my skin for the first time in months.
Renewed optimism revives me as I perk up the same way my plants have:
drooping leaves spreading to the sun, soaking in the healing rays.
Is it just the weather that has lifted my spirits?
Or is it that the ebb and flow of life is in my favor?
Living in a sunny attic on a quiet street,
spending my days playing with little ones,
dancing, rehearsing, writing, reading, creating.
The stars have aligned in my favor for the moment.
How can I hold onto the heavens and the weather?
Lock this euphoria in a jar and refuse to let it out?
Trap my contentment?
Or must I move to sunny California, or dusty Arizona, and never let my branches wilt in the winter's cold.
Or must I hold onto my successes somehow and keep pushing my life safely forward?
Memories of misery terrify me.
Let's lasso the sun and stop the time from turning.
I am unusually happy.
I am nerve-wrackingly pleased.`
spirits sailing on the spring breeze brushing through my bedroom windows,
lying in my underwear on the floor, feeling the air on my skin for the first time in months.
Renewed optimism revives me as I perk up the same way my plants have:
drooping leaves spreading to the sun, soaking in the healing rays.
Is it just the weather that has lifted my spirits?Or is it that the ebb and flow of life is in my favor?
Living in a sunny attic on a quiet street,
spending my days playing with little ones,
dancing, rehearsing, writing, reading, creating.
The stars have aligned in my favor for the moment.
How can I hold onto the heavens and the weather?
Lock this euphoria in a jar and refuse to let it out?
Trap my contentment?
Or must I move to sunny California, or dusty Arizona, and never let my branches wilt in the winter's cold.
Or must I hold onto my successes somehow and keep pushing my life safely forward?
Memories of misery terrify me.
Let's lasso the sun and stop the time from turning.
I am unusually happy.
I am nerve-wrackingly pleased.`
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Summer in March
Today I began my day with a cup of coffee on the porch beside Cat and Plants.
1 ballet class and 2 jobs later I ended it in the same place with a glass of wine beside Cat and Plants.
Life is what I want it to be.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
An unusually political rant
Today I want to pay homage to the women in the media who inspire me everyday. Warning: if reading this you think it's a bitchy rant against men, you may be a closeted misogynist.
Growing up, I went through a lot of phases. There was the phase where I wanted to be short and petite like the other girls. There was the phase where I probably had an un-diagnosed eating disorder. That was during the phase where I hated my body, and sometimes myself. There was the phase where I hated everything in my wardrobe and couldn't figure out how to dress like the other girls. There was the phase where I thought putting out empowered me as a woman.
Those aren't the sort of phases I want my daughters to go through. I want them to struggle with: should I be a politician or CEO? Or maybe I'd be happier as a kindergarten teacher. On that note, I'm going to be a great mom so maybe I won't want to be a teacher if I have kids to take care of at home...
And that's why I'm glad for so many powerful amazing women who inspire the hell out of me everyday. I'm a little ashamed my path to understanding my femininity in a male-"dominated" (in quotes to remove the power from the word as this is not an essay to disempower my sex) world took so long, but only because I've always known who I was. It just took me a long time to learn how to reconcile who I am with what society expects me to be. And as smart as I am, it's a little sad.
That's why I want to note a few women who I am grateful can be role models for women struggling with this very topic. Let's start with Ellen. It's recently been a point of, well, hilarity, that nearly every time I receive a text after dinner that starts: "what are you doing?" my answer involves "Ellen...You Tube...."
Here is a woman who is pretty, funny, rich, powerful, famous, and married to a gorgeous specimen of a woman. She also happens to be openly gay, smart, kind, and inspiring. When she came out she lost her job and couldn't get work for quite some time. Even today JC Penny's decision to name her their spokeswoman resulted in a ferocious and ignorant backlash from women who feel that as a gay woman she has nothing in common with them and their values. And STILL her message, everyday on her show, is "be kind to each other." Kindness which she demonstrates and inspires in others. With as much as she's worth of course there's no reason she shouldn't be donating to charity, but she gives not just money but also time and goodwill. After everything she went through she has come to the conclusion that kindness is what she wants to stand for. She's a marvelous woman.
Adele? Top of the charts? Not your average blonde pop star running around in underwear. A fully clothed, voluptuous WOMAN in every sense of the word who has not followed an already paved road but trampled her way into the music scene with a sound that stands out from the din of the crowd. She's not filling our head with mind numbing beats and ridiculous tabloids. She's gotten to where she is because she's talented and smart and because she taps into our very souls with her words and her sounds. She's not selling us sex and club beats, nor I believe is she wrecking her life with drug and alcohol abuse. She's offering us an understanding into something we couldn't quite put words to before. My students request Adele all the time. I happily oblige.
When I saw Pina I was amazed by some of her female dancers, old enough to be my mother, sometimes topless, still moving with more grace and beauty then I can ever hope to possess. And they looked phenomenal onscreen. Their bodies were the bodies of women who hadn't pumped steroids or silicone into their skin. They were pure beauty.
Millions of women around the world everyday do what these women do. I mean, we could start with Michele Obama (mom-extraordinaire, first lady, gorgeous, annnnd MUSCLES.) Kathryn Bigelow- first woman to receive an academy award for best director. (I don't care if she won "because James Cameron pushed for her." She won. And she's a chick. Suck it.) Uhh...Gabrielle Giffords? The name alone shows the strength our gender possesses. We could also talk about teachers, artists, managers, doctors, directors, producers....my point is: there are women topping the internet who aren't Snookie. And they didn't get there by following trends. They got there by being themselves, knowing themselves, being strong, and NOT succumbing to to the role men (and often other women) have relegated them to.
Recently, women's rights seem to be a topic of conversation again. It infuriated me for quite a bit. I mean, it will infuriate me forever. I'm enraged and horrified by the front row seat abortion takes. Or less controversially yet still at the forefront- BIRTH CONTROL???? Or women in the military...(le sigh.) We don't need to talk about my political opinions. It doesn't matter. What matters? So many other important issues should be on our agendas. There are so many things going on in the world, in our country, in our cities, and even in our neighborhoods that need our attention. And this is what we're wasting our time on? A panel of men sitting around telling women what their rights are. Why? Why, when so many phenomenal women are rocking the world, and so many horrible problems deserve our attention, is this an issue?
In college I was deeply upset that as a female dancer in a female dominated field, men still held a disproportionate number of power positions. Just like today, many women are infuriated and saddened that men are still trying to overturn Roe V. Wade, and limit our access to necessary services provided at places like Planned Parenthood.
You know what ladies, I think we're overreacting. (I mean, of course we're not! The last thing we should do is let men undo centuries of feminist work! But hear me out.)
These issues are on the table because we're winning. A male friend recently informed me that because of some "crisis of masculinity" women shouldn't be in powerful positions in the church. Apparently powerful women are some sort of threat for men? (Original. Really.) I'm not going to deny the validity of said "crisis." I deny that your crisis is going to be solved by cutting us back down. We have some very powerful voices out there who are demonstrating for us what a woman can be. She can be an involved mom and a first-lady. She can be gay. She can be smart. She can direct men onscreen and earn respect doing it. She can dance like a pro 4 months pregnant in an (albeit plagiarized) chart-topping music video. She can run a solid presidential campaign and serve as Secretary of State even after her husband's very public infidelity. She can dance until the day she dies, whether on a small stage in Wuppertaul or at the Superbowl.
I posit that we shouldn't be afraid of these men. The fact is they are afraid of us. And that's why they're fighting so hard to hold onto this issue. They need to control something. The fact is we're not scared. We're angry. And we have a lot to offer the world. (And, just in case we need back-up, we have a lot of angry men on our side too.)
Today, I'm grateful that I've learned what it means to be a woman. Really learned that my gender has no determination on my worth in the world. And I don't just know it because someone told me, or kind of know it and then still dress specifically to find a husband. I know it because I feel it in every ounce of my body. I'm so proud of the strong women around me. And I'm proud that my daughters can grow up with such phenomenal role models.
Bring it boys. We're happy to play ball. There's still a long way for us to go but you may as well give up. Because frankly, we're going to win.
Growing up, I went through a lot of phases. There was the phase where I wanted to be short and petite like the other girls. There was the phase where I probably had an un-diagnosed eating disorder. That was during the phase where I hated my body, and sometimes myself. There was the phase where I hated everything in my wardrobe and couldn't figure out how to dress like the other girls. There was the phase where I thought putting out empowered me as a woman.
Those aren't the sort of phases I want my daughters to go through. I want them to struggle with: should I be a politician or CEO? Or maybe I'd be happier as a kindergarten teacher. On that note, I'm going to be a great mom so maybe I won't want to be a teacher if I have kids to take care of at home...
And that's why I'm glad for so many powerful amazing women who inspire the hell out of me everyday. I'm a little ashamed my path to understanding my femininity in a male-"dominated" (in quotes to remove the power from the word as this is not an essay to disempower my sex) world took so long, but only because I've always known who I was. It just took me a long time to learn how to reconcile who I am with what society expects me to be. And as smart as I am, it's a little sad.
That's why I want to note a few women who I am grateful can be role models for women struggling with this very topic. Let's start with Ellen. It's recently been a point of, well, hilarity, that nearly every time I receive a text after dinner that starts: "what are you doing?" my answer involves "Ellen...You Tube...."
Here is a woman who is pretty, funny, rich, powerful, famous, and married to a gorgeous specimen of a woman. She also happens to be openly gay, smart, kind, and inspiring. When she came out she lost her job and couldn't get work for quite some time. Even today JC Penny's decision to name her their spokeswoman resulted in a ferocious and ignorant backlash from women who feel that as a gay woman she has nothing in common with them and their values. And STILL her message, everyday on her show, is "be kind to each other." Kindness which she demonstrates and inspires in others. With as much as she's worth of course there's no reason she shouldn't be donating to charity, but she gives not just money but also time and goodwill. After everything she went through she has come to the conclusion that kindness is what she wants to stand for. She's a marvelous woman.
Adele? Top of the charts? Not your average blonde pop star running around in underwear. A fully clothed, voluptuous WOMAN in every sense of the word who has not followed an already paved road but trampled her way into the music scene with a sound that stands out from the din of the crowd. She's not filling our head with mind numbing beats and ridiculous tabloids. She's gotten to where she is because she's talented and smart and because she taps into our very souls with her words and her sounds. She's not selling us sex and club beats, nor I believe is she wrecking her life with drug and alcohol abuse. She's offering us an understanding into something we couldn't quite put words to before. My students request Adele all the time. I happily oblige.
When I saw Pina I was amazed by some of her female dancers, old enough to be my mother, sometimes topless, still moving with more grace and beauty then I can ever hope to possess. And they looked phenomenal onscreen. Their bodies were the bodies of women who hadn't pumped steroids or silicone into their skin. They were pure beauty.
Millions of women around the world everyday do what these women do. I mean, we could start with Michele Obama (mom-extraordinaire, first lady, gorgeous, annnnd MUSCLES.) Kathryn Bigelow- first woman to receive an academy award for best director. (I don't care if she won "because James Cameron pushed for her." She won. And she's a chick. Suck it.) Uhh...Gabrielle Giffords? The name alone shows the strength our gender possesses. We could also talk about teachers, artists, managers, doctors, directors, producers....my point is: there are women topping the internet who aren't Snookie. And they didn't get there by following trends. They got there by being themselves, knowing themselves, being strong, and NOT succumbing to to the role men (and often other women) have relegated them to.
Recently, women's rights seem to be a topic of conversation again. It infuriated me for quite a bit. I mean, it will infuriate me forever. I'm enraged and horrified by the front row seat abortion takes. Or less controversially yet still at the forefront- BIRTH CONTROL???? Or women in the military...(le sigh.) We don't need to talk about my political opinions. It doesn't matter. What matters? So many other important issues should be on our agendas. There are so many things going on in the world, in our country, in our cities, and even in our neighborhoods that need our attention. And this is what we're wasting our time on? A panel of men sitting around telling women what their rights are. Why? Why, when so many phenomenal women are rocking the world, and so many horrible problems deserve our attention, is this an issue?
In college I was deeply upset that as a female dancer in a female dominated field, men still held a disproportionate number of power positions. Just like today, many women are infuriated and saddened that men are still trying to overturn Roe V. Wade, and limit our access to necessary services provided at places like Planned Parenthood.
You know what ladies, I think we're overreacting. (I mean, of course we're not! The last thing we should do is let men undo centuries of feminist work! But hear me out.)
These issues are on the table because we're winning. A male friend recently informed me that because of some "crisis of masculinity" women shouldn't be in powerful positions in the church. Apparently powerful women are some sort of threat for men? (Original. Really.) I'm not going to deny the validity of said "crisis." I deny that your crisis is going to be solved by cutting us back down. We have some very powerful voices out there who are demonstrating for us what a woman can be. She can be an involved mom and a first-lady. She can be gay. She can be smart. She can direct men onscreen and earn respect doing it. She can dance like a pro 4 months pregnant in an (albeit plagiarized) chart-topping music video. She can run a solid presidential campaign and serve as Secretary of State even after her husband's very public infidelity. She can dance until the day she dies, whether on a small stage in Wuppertaul or at the Superbowl.
I posit that we shouldn't be afraid of these men. The fact is they are afraid of us. And that's why they're fighting so hard to hold onto this issue. They need to control something. The fact is we're not scared. We're angry. And we have a lot to offer the world. (And, just in case we need back-up, we have a lot of angry men on our side too.)
Today, I'm grateful that I've learned what it means to be a woman. Really learned that my gender has no determination on my worth in the world. And I don't just know it because someone told me, or kind of know it and then still dress specifically to find a husband. I know it because I feel it in every ounce of my body. I'm so proud of the strong women around me. And I'm proud that my daughters can grow up with such phenomenal role models.
Bring it boys. We're happy to play ball. There's still a long way for us to go but you may as well give up. Because frankly, we're going to win.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day to All the Naked Hearts
For people like us, who wear our hearts on our sleeves, life is a little harder.
If our protector is wounded?
We weren't born with any emotional armor
We are exposed.
We don't know how else to exist but like this,
With our naked hearts.
For us, we exist to love.
We follow our hearts into battle, not because we are brave or stupid, but because we are our hearts.
We experience life through our feelings, so when our feelings enter the war zone of love, we have no choice but to follow.
Trying to stay behind is futile for
What are we without our big hearts but a shell,
Hollow,
Empty.
And how can we protect ourselves?
We are vulnerable.
We look at someone and we tell ourselves to keep our distance.
But like a magnet drawing us close, we are beyond control.
We tell ourselves we'll stay strong.
But when our muscles shake and our knees buckle, what choice do we have?
Once we've entered the field of battle every word is the stroke of a sword, and every smile is an overhead blow.
And we were left armorless to die.
We try to slip through the crowd undetected,
Or we lay still pretending we're dead.
We may be hurt and bleeding, unable to lift our heads or our arms from exhaustion or pain,
But still eventually our bruises heal and our bleeding stops.
Sometimes we may scar, and our scarring is like an armor.
Thick and grotesque, it protects us for a while.
But scars fade and so too does our protection.
Are we like a videogame character, unable to die,
Destined to live death after death?
When at last someone takes our heart into their hands, and protects it for us, then are we safe?
Is this is the only way we are safe, when another has control of our heart?
But what then, if we are betrayed?
If our protector is wounded?
If our heart is taken away from us and we are left with none?
Then at last can we live free of our love that drives us forward, exposed and naked?
Without our hearts we are nothing.
Either we change or we seek until we at last have recovered our hearts
And are free to die again.
When you are like us, and your heart leads you, you are defenseless.
Be kind to we naked hearts, for once we are cut, we never really stop bleeding.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Bed of My Youth
Last night as I was laying in the dream-awake state, fantasizing about some mundane detail of tomorrow, I woke myself up. Not all the way up, I just startled myself back into a lazy consciousness and for the first time in years I didn't know where I was.
There was a spot of light, or was it my imagination, on the wall beside me. For a moment that spot was the window in my old bedroom on Powell Street. A pink canopy (the canopy Mom and I argued over endlessly, her saying it was too childish, me liking the cocoon it encompassed me within) rests protectively over me as I sleep. The windchime hangs in front of the air vents, jingling in the central air, and the Degas hangs menacingly at the foot of my bed, the figures of ballerinas strange in the night light. I sleep alone with Puff and two pillows in the single bed. My door is never shut because Mom is afraid of carbon monoxide poisoning, and she'll peek in on me and open the door a little wider before she goes to bed late at night. I'm still a child nestled like an egg between Mommy and Daddy, still unable to conceive of a life outside of this bedroom. There is a lifetime of firsts ahead of me, if they can sneak in beneath the lace roof over my head and penetrate my child's sleep. My heart and body are unbroken, untouched as my mother's watchful eyes rest on me, peering through the darkness until she is satisfied I am safe in my sleep.
I woke up knowing I wasn't in my parent's house. I haven't slept in that bed in 8 years- it and my canopy are long gone along with the pink innocence I slept enveloped in. But for a moment last night, in between dreaming and waking, I thought I was in the bed of my childhood in the home of my parents. When I finally broke through the confused haze I remembered the blue attic roof and the wide empty bed I share with the cat, my fears, my tears, and occasionally a man, under a sea foam green duvet. The Degas sat beside me, but its figures have lost their menacing touch in the last ten years. Then I drifted off again, a woman once more, caught up in mundane sometimes innocent fantasies about tomorrow.
There was a spot of light, or was it my imagination, on the wall beside me. For a moment that spot was the window in my old bedroom on Powell Street. A pink canopy (the canopy Mom and I argued over endlessly, her saying it was too childish, me liking the cocoon it encompassed me within) rests protectively over me as I sleep. The windchime hangs in front of the air vents, jingling in the central air, and the Degas hangs menacingly at the foot of my bed, the figures of ballerinas strange in the night light. I sleep alone with Puff and two pillows in the single bed. My door is never shut because Mom is afraid of carbon monoxide poisoning, and she'll peek in on me and open the door a little wider before she goes to bed late at night. I'm still a child nestled like an egg between Mommy and Daddy, still unable to conceive of a life outside of this bedroom. There is a lifetime of firsts ahead of me, if they can sneak in beneath the lace roof over my head and penetrate my child's sleep. My heart and body are unbroken, untouched as my mother's watchful eyes rest on me, peering through the darkness until she is satisfied I am safe in my sleep.
I woke up knowing I wasn't in my parent's house. I haven't slept in that bed in 8 years- it and my canopy are long gone along with the pink innocence I slept enveloped in. But for a moment last night, in between dreaming and waking, I thought I was in the bed of my childhood in the home of my parents. When I finally broke through the confused haze I remembered the blue attic roof and the wide empty bed I share with the cat, my fears, my tears, and occasionally a man, under a sea foam green duvet. The Degas sat beside me, but its figures have lost their menacing touch in the last ten years. Then I drifted off again, a woman once more, caught up in mundane sometimes innocent fantasies about tomorrow.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Birthday Musings
Well. Here it is. I'm about to turn 26 and in spite of being happy I am in fact nowhere near where I wanted to be at this age. And I just can't help being a little upset about it.
Yes, yes, I KNOW. That's life. I actually do understand that. In spite of all my forward planning, and all my contingency plans, it didn't work out how I wanted it to. Ok fine. It's all fine. So I'm not going to have the performing career I wanted. So instead of being engaged with plans for a family I'm single. So I got a cat not a dog. So I'm still dirt broke. So I'm working 5 jobs that are apparently leading to nowhere. So I haven't left the country since 2009. It's all good, it's just different. But the reason I get so depressed after 3 beers is because plans have been the bread and butter of my existence until now. And now I have no plans, just the moment I'm in. For a woman who writes daily to-do lists, this is not a comfortable situation to find oneself in.
This is as far as I can see: Pray car lasts until Fall 2013. Attend an MFA program somewhere in the continental US. Following degree, pray for a job and a husband. Once a job is acquired, if no husband is to be found, seek other possibilities for obtaining a child.
That's a lot of praying for a Christmas Catholic.
When taking trips I am never content to let the GPS guide me. I can't handle only knowing a turn or two in advance. I want to know the whole trip, from point A to point B, and then I'll deal with the middle details after I've seen the whole route. The problem when turning that trip into a metaphor for life is that life happens in the middle details. It's not that I can't live for the present it's that I want to know the ending before I read the book. I eat dessert first. I always ask people to spoil the ending of movies for me. To date, this has always worked out for me.
But no one has seen this movie yet and no one's serving dessert and there is no map, just road signs. And it's all right. It truly is. And it will all be all right. But for now I'm deeply unsettled and finding it difficult to let go and just let life's current carry me where it will.
It's hard for a control freak to let go. (And before you go judging me for trying to control, understand this: because I'm a control freak I'm great at my job. I just suck at relaxing.)
We were driving from Chicago to Virginia with a Brit in the back seat, no GPS, and crappy Google directions. We ended up driving through bumblefuk Maryland. Rolling hills, tiny corner grocer's.....our English friend was giddy with glee as he got a peek at "real America." And our horribly diverted path ultimately took us to our destination, but we had more fun along the way. And this is how life is. These diversions, road blocks, detours, etc that are put before us are gifts.
This doesn't solve the problem that I have no clue where my ending destination is any more and I'm a little scared.
But I look forward to the wisdom I will acquire when I pass this juncture and learn to accept that worrying about the unknown is a waste of energy. And I look forward to being a more patient, less stressed Christine on January 18 2013.
Happy birthday to me. Let's drink to gray hairs, crow's feet, and the journey.
Yes, yes, I KNOW. That's life. I actually do understand that. In spite of all my forward planning, and all my contingency plans, it didn't work out how I wanted it to. Ok fine. It's all fine. So I'm not going to have the performing career I wanted. So instead of being engaged with plans for a family I'm single. So I got a cat not a dog. So I'm still dirt broke. So I'm working 5 jobs that are apparently leading to nowhere. So I haven't left the country since 2009. It's all good, it's just different. But the reason I get so depressed after 3 beers is because plans have been the bread and butter of my existence until now. And now I have no plans, just the moment I'm in. For a woman who writes daily to-do lists, this is not a comfortable situation to find oneself in.
This is as far as I can see: Pray car lasts until Fall 2013. Attend an MFA program somewhere in the continental US. Following degree, pray for a job and a husband. Once a job is acquired, if no husband is to be found, seek other possibilities for obtaining a child.
That's a lot of praying for a Christmas Catholic.
When taking trips I am never content to let the GPS guide me. I can't handle only knowing a turn or two in advance. I want to know the whole trip, from point A to point B, and then I'll deal with the middle details after I've seen the whole route. The problem when turning that trip into a metaphor for life is that life happens in the middle details. It's not that I can't live for the present it's that I want to know the ending before I read the book. I eat dessert first. I always ask people to spoil the ending of movies for me. To date, this has always worked out for me.
But no one has seen this movie yet and no one's serving dessert and there is no map, just road signs. And it's all right. It truly is. And it will all be all right. But for now I'm deeply unsettled and finding it difficult to let go and just let life's current carry me where it will.
It's hard for a control freak to let go. (And before you go judging me for trying to control, understand this: because I'm a control freak I'm great at my job. I just suck at relaxing.)
We were driving from Chicago to Virginia with a Brit in the back seat, no GPS, and crappy Google directions. We ended up driving through bumblefuk Maryland. Rolling hills, tiny corner grocer's.....our English friend was giddy with glee as he got a peek at "real America." And our horribly diverted path ultimately took us to our destination, but we had more fun along the way. And this is how life is. These diversions, road blocks, detours, etc that are put before us are gifts.
This doesn't solve the problem that I have no clue where my ending destination is any more and I'm a little scared.
But I look forward to the wisdom I will acquire when I pass this juncture and learn to accept that worrying about the unknown is a waste of energy. And I look forward to being a more patient, less stressed Christine on January 18 2013.
Happy birthday to me. Let's drink to gray hairs, crow's feet, and the journey.
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