Going Back, Moving Forward 🦋

Maryland

Well, I went back to Maryland, the place where I spent so much of my life, and apparently all it took was a funeral, a few old friends, and the world’s best crab cakes to remind me just how much I’ve changed.

Not exactly the itinerary a travel agent would recommend.

But then again, I’ve never been particularly good at following the expected itinerary.

And I’m getting rather fond of that about myself.

Going Back

Maryland was home for many years. It’s where I raised my family, built friendships, created memories, and lived through chapters that shaped the woman I am today.

Returning brought all of that back.

But something was different this time.

I wasn’t searching for the person I used to be. I wasn’t longing to reclaim an old life. I was simply visiting a place that had once been home, bringing along the woman I’ve become.

And I liked her.

We spent time with old friends, reconnected with people who have known me through different seasons, and I found myself feeling remarkably comfortable in my own skin.

There was laughter, conversation, remembering, and the lovely realization that some friendships don’t require constant tending. You simply pick up where you left off.

Except now there are more wrinkles, more stories, and considerably stronger opinions.

At least in my case.

And then there were the crab cakes.

Not just any crab cakes. The best crab cakes in the world, at Crossroads Pub.

Now, consider the irony.

I’m a Cancer. My zodiac symbol is a crab. I’m in Maryland, famous for crabs, sitting at a restaurant called Crossroads, contemplating where I’ve been and where I’m going, while eating a life-changing broiled crab cake with a baked potato and homemade applesauce.

Yum!

Apparently, the universe has developed a sense of humor.

Or perhaps it was simply reminding me that even when you’re at a crossroads, it’s perfectly acceptable to stop and have lunch.

Especially when the crab cakes are this good!

 

Saying Goodbye for Now to Dorothy

The reason for our trip was a sad one.

My cousin Dorothy had passed away, and I wanted to be there to honor her life.

I had written a letter to Dorothy, and at her memorial service, I read the introduction and the letter aloud.

Read my letter to Dorothy.

It was a small gathering, filled with family, memories, and love.

I felt grateful that Gary and I had made the trip. Grateful to meet more of Dorothy’s family. Grateful for the opportunity to share my words.

And grateful for the peace I felt.

I’ve come to believe that grief and peace can exist together.

We can miss someone and still feel comforted by the belief that they are home with God, the universe, or whatever gives us peace.

We can be sad about an ending while being grateful for the life that came before it.

Perhaps that’s another part of becoming.

Learning that life doesn’t always ask us to choose between sorrow and joy.

Sometimes it asks us to hold both.

Finding Home

One of the most surprising discoveries of the trip was that I didn’t want to move back.

I loved seeing everyone. I loved revisiting familiar places. I loved remembering.

But I didn’t feel that old pull to return.

For years, I thought home was somewhere I might need to find again.

Now I realize something rather wonderful.

Home wasn’t a place I needed to return to. It was something I had finally found within myself.

That’s a pretty significant discovery for someone who has spent much of her life searching.

And apparently, it only took me 65 years.

I’m calling that progress.

 

An Experiment Called Still Becoming

While all of this was unfolding, another little adventure was taking shape back in North Carolina.

I’ve been developing a project called Still Becoming, a collection of writing, art, ideas, and conversations about the people we were, the people we are, and the people we’re still becoming.

And I decided to try an experiment.

I invited eight women to my home for a gathering called the Still Becoming Circle.

No grand production. No complicated agenda. Just a group of curious women willing to spend a couple of hours exploring ideas, sharing stories, and perhaps discovering something new about themselves.

I offered eight spots.

All eight filled within 48 hours!

Apparently, I’m not the only woman who suspects there might still be a few interesting chapters left to write.

I have absolutely no idea where this experiment will lead.

And that’s what makes it exciting.

I have a hunch this little gathering might be the beginning of something awesome.

Of course, it could also be eight women eating cookies and talking for two hours.

Frankly, I consider either outcome a success.

 

New Beginnings, Even Now

And perhaps the most meaningful discovery of this entire trip wasn’t about Maryland at all.

It was about the future.

Gary and I have been talking about the next chapter of Zebra Patterns, the business we’ve built together over so many years.

We’re calling it Zebra Patterns 2.0.

But somewhere in those conversations, something else happened.

I felt a new connection with Gary.

A renewed sense of hope.

The possibility that after all these years, we might still find new ways to understand one another, work together, and create something meaningful.

I have been waiting a long time to feel that kind of hope.

And I do.

I don’t know exactly what Zebra Patterns 2.0 will become. I don’t know where Still Becoming will lead. I don’t know what discoveries are waiting around the next corner.

But for the first time in a long while, I’m genuinely excited to find out.

Funny, isn’t it?

I traveled back to Maryland to honor the past.

I came home looking forward to the future.

And somewhere between old friends, Dorothy’s memorial, a remarkable crab cake, and conversations about new beginnings, I realized something.

I don’t have to go backward to appreciate where I’ve been.

I don’t have to know exactly where I’m going to be excited about getting there.

And I certainly don’t have to stop growing just because I’ve collected a few birthdays along the way.

I am not who I was.

I am not yet who I will be.

I am still becoming. 🦋

 

Still Becoming,

Debra (aka Mariposa)