Anecdotes of a soul searcher
Once, at a holiday dinner table, I dipped a sugar cookie into some buttercream, and so many people gasped and yelled NO that the cookie never made it to my mouth.
I cried instead.
It’s diabetes awareness month and I don’t usually pay much attention to these things so I’ll keep it short. But right now, it seems silly not to write something.
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When I hear of cancelled plans these days I secretly like it. I’ve learned that time is my greatest currency and time given back to me with a cancelled plan is a gift. That ‘plan-no-more’ usually means an open invitation to recharge. Most of us think of “recharging” as doing nothing. Doing nothing is doing something though. It’s reenergizing our minds and bodies. Exercising is a recharge that takes effort. Completing a goal with a hobby is a recharge that takes effort. Making memories at the zoo with my family is a recharge that uses tons of energy. Recharging, for me, means anything that fills my heart-o-meter with happiness and glee.
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There are chickens living in my backyard who couldn’t care less that I have a bachelor’s degree and there are four dogs in my house and they do not give a flip about my book – even though Bonnie is on the back cover. My son doesn’t have a hoot about my LinkedIn. They don’t care that I spend months worrying about what happens next school year or wondering whether I’ll ever find another career. Each morning, these dogs and chickens greet me with the same question:
“Did you bring snacks?”
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It’s here!
When Breath Returns: A Memoir of Life After Loss is officially live.
This book was written in pieces … through chaos, healing, grief, and growth. It’s honest, a little messy, and deeply personal.
If you’ve ever had to rebuild your life or find your way back to yourself, this story is for you.
You can find it here: https://a.co/d/0iXVXiXt
Thank you for being on this journey with me.
Love,
Amanda
Ten years since 2016. And that realization tells me one thing, we need to talk about nine years ago for a hot minute.
Nine years ago, an acquaintance gave me an expiration date I did not appreciate. He told me with arrogance, I might add, that I would have one year to talk about my coma. After that, I’d need to drop it.
One year. AS IF!
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