I am not entirely sure what to write this week, which probably says something about where I am right now. My knee needs surgery, and then my opposite ankle needs surgery. I have been trying to get appointments scheduled, figure out timing, think about recovery, work, where I will stay, who will watch my dogs, and all the other practical things that come with having two surgeries. Apparently I am going to spend a good portion of the holiday season getting various parts of myself repaired.

I am tired, and I don't mean the kind of tired that gets fixed with a good night's sleep, although I could probably use more of those too. I think I am tired of being in between things. I am tired of waiting for my body to cooperate, wondering where I am going to live, wondering what my next job will be, writing grants and waiting to see what happens, and trying to keep everything moving when sometimes I would really like something to simply fall into place.

I think it is time for something new, although I have written versions of that sentence before, which makes me a little suspicious of myself when I write it again. Learning to trust yourself after trauma can get complicated when you know that running away was once part of how you survived. Am I running? Am I restless? Am I looking for the next place because I still haven't figured out how to stay? Those are fair questions. I have asked them many times during my healing journey, and I am sure I will ask them again. But something feels different this time, even if I cannot quite explain what the difference is yet.

I am back in Montana.

I have been exploring a little, catching up on sleep, working remotely part-time, spending time on my projects, and, of course, seeing my therapist. I always look forward to coming here. The mountains, the cooler air, the openness of the landscape. There is something about being able to look so far into the distance that quiets something in me. Although apparently not everything.

I have been thinking about my work differently lately. My current job is fine. Actually, there are parts of it I really enjoy. I am overhauling a literacy program for a rural California county, and that is exactly the kind of work I have always enjoyed. Give me a program, let me research it, pull it apart, figure out what is working and what isn't, and rebuild it. I come alive doing that. Maybe that is why I keep ending up in jobs where something needs to be rebuilt.

I am almost afraid to ask what else can happen. Actually, I am not going to ask because the last few months have been strange enough without inviting anything else to join the list.

When it rains, it pours. That seems to be the theme around here lately. My knee is still bothering me. The Baker's cyst is still there, although I finally have an appointment and hopefully will begin getting some answers.

I am moving again. Another Airbnb. Another temporary home. I am getting pretty good at this.

There is a quiet change happening within me. It is not dramatic enough for most people to notice. There are no fireworks. No grand announcements. In fact, from the outside, my life probably looks much the same. I still go to work. I still spend time writing, practicing my harp, researching, building programs, and dreaming about the future. But something feels different.

Lately, I have been feeling something I have not experienced in quite a while: momentum.

Healing has a funny way of arriving through circumstances we never would have chosen.

I have been asking myself the same question again. Where should I live?

It is so bloody hot. There really is no more eloquent way for me to say it.

Lately, I have been noticing something new. I wake up excited.

Lately, I have been feeling lighter. Perhaps literally, as the weight slowly comes off. But what I really mean is something deeper.

Where has this year gone already? Halfway through.

I look at the calendar on my wall, the giant Post-it notes filled with goals, projects, books, music, routines, and dreams. There are boxes checked and boxes still waiting. New ideas have appeared. Others have quietly faded away. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I think I may have made an important discovery.

This Sunday is Father's Day in the United States. It is also my younger daughter's 35th birthday.

This week brought a few small victories.

I had forgotten how tired breaking a bone can make a person.

Recovery is going well. I am looking forward to seeing the specialist on the 8th. There is something comforting about having the next appointment on the calendar; another marker, another checkpoint, another reminder that healing is moving forward whether I can feel it or not.