A little bit slam poetry and a little bit prose, today’s essay is called Runaway Trains. Anyone else feel like the year is already getting away from them? Sit tight because it might just be how we needed to get where we’re going.
Then I interview Natasha Leigh, another old blog friend. Natasha’s husband was killed in a tragic motorcycle accident when she was 29. In our interview, we dive deep into the emotions that follow unexpectedly finding out you’ve just been widowed. She discusses everything from identifying his body and donating his brain to science to dealing with in-laws and life insurance. We talk a bit about imperfect relationships and healing on your own terms. You’ll find Natasha’s candor refreshing and her matter-of-fact sense of humor truly authentic.
Connect with Natasha:
A few other announcements:
Celebrate International Women’s Day (March 8) by joining the Wild Cozy Truth Women’s Circle & Book Club! Equal parts book discussion and support group, this incredible space is filling up with some of the best women I know. This month we’re reading Witches, Sluts, Feminists: Conjuring the Sex Positive by Kristen Sollee. Learn more at wildcozytruth.com/bookclub
If you’re in the Twin Cities area, join me on March 22 for an Beginner’s Guide to Podcasting class at ModernWell. Get all the details and sign up at modernwell.co
Listen to this episode using the player below, or find it on Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Spotify, iHeartRadio, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts!
There are weeks that feel like runaway trains.
You operate from a place of lack, of not enoughness, of autopilot.
You close your eyes and wish for just one more hour.
The universe steals that hour instead. You’re supposed to feel grateful for the sunshine you’re getting in return but gratitude is hard when it’s another week of snow and ice.
You make lists upon lists, scheduling every waking hour, squeezing in time to answer the backlog of emails and text messages. The lists are meant to give you a sense of control when everything else feels a little beyond your reach. The daunting lists give you a sense of drowning instead . Productivity feels futile.
Above the surface of the water, everything looks serene and effortless, but underneath, you’re kicking violently against an angry current. It’s an act of deceit you’re really good at but you’re getting really tired.
There are weeks that feel like runaway trains that are laying the tracks in front of them as they go, charging steadfast into dark tunnels, hoping for some sunshine.
Sometimes those weeks turn into months.
Sometimes those weeks turn into joy.
Sometimes those runaway trains carry cargos of new insight, of self-discovery disguised as battle scars.
Sometimes the water you’re treading is in an ocean of support you were unaware existed.
Maybe sunshine is just beyond that tunnel. And maybe the runaway train was the only way to get there.