Photo by David Gabrić on Unsplash

Follow synchronicities like you are tracking a wild animal. Forget neon signs, billboards, and airplanes towing banners. Look instead for the gnawed branch, wayward leaf, and disturbed debris. Compressions and depressions, points of contact. Imprints of movement.


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Yesterday didn’t start well. I was fatigued from another night of poor sleep, due to an as-of-yet undiagnosed shoulder injury that saves its deepest bone pain for night.

The pain always wakes me around 2 or 3 a.m. and then, no matter how I position the injured arm on a rolled-up towel, no matter how many shifting micromovements I make, no matter where I rest my hand on my torso, in the end, I’m forced to go to the kitchen for more painkillers, more CBD balm, and more ice. And then I hope to drift back to sleep.

It feels…


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The first two years, when Mother’s Day came around, it used to feel as if the world at large was conspiring to be cruel. The messages were everywhere: TV, newspapers, magazines, greeting cards at the grocery store. All shouting their cheerful reminder — “Don’t forget Mom!” It was as if American culture was a toddler given a knife to play with and told, “Go stab anyone who just lost their mother.”

“I don’t need a reminder, thanks,” I would think or say.


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Midlife is sex

that moves like a conversation,

not a conquest.


A poem created from rearranged underlined passages in self-help books* and one autobiography. **

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

The present moment lasts the same for all,

and is all anyone possesses.


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What is waiting for me is . . .

Mom, at a campground, sitting beside a silver bullet-shaped camper. In my vision, she is smiling, straight hair tucked behind an ear, eating a roasted hot dog, sipping iced tea. No particular age, just her essence. Enjoying the life she should have had. Not a care in the world imprinted on her face. Ease. What should have been.

What is waiting for me is . . .

Honesty. He’s just standing there, leaning against the doorframe, one suspender over his shoulder, the other dangling. …


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I worked with a life coach for awhile in 2019. One of the best, and most permanent, changes I was able to make was getting control of my mornings.

On the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, I am a P. “P” doesn’t stand for planner. Far from it. It stands for Perceiver — someone who enjoys spontaneity and likes keeping their options open and their plans loose. The P superpower is flexibility and going with the flow.

Js, or Judgers, on the other hand, are organized people who like to make a plan and stick to a plan. They are those amazing…


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I’ve had a love/hate relationship with my adult swim class for the past eight weeks. I knew when I enrolled that I was a weak swimmer, but it’s been amazing to realize just how much I really suck.

In the first class, the teacher asked what my ultimate goal was. Was I training for a triathlon? I laughed and said, no, I just wanted to be able to swim to the end of the pool and back without stopping or choking. She was confident I’d be able to do so in two weeks. I believed her.

Apparently we did not…


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I was reviewing notes I’ve taken over the past few months of working with a life coach. It struck me some of the things I’ve jotted down could be put into haiku form. Granted, these aren’t really haikus; there’s mostly no mention of nature in them. But they do have three lines consisting of five syllables, then seven syllables, and ending in five syllables. I hope you find a verse that resonates with you.


Photo by Kai Dahms on Unsplash

It was my fourth adult swim class in a month. Apparently the fourth week is when the demons start talking to you. “You suck at swimming,” they said. “You’ll never get any better. It’s cold out, the roads might freeze. You better just go home after work.”

“I better just go home after work,” I said aloud to no one.

But first, I checked in with my co-worker and friend Michelle. Michelle is the one whose enthusiasm for the YMCA class got me to sign up. I told her I was crabby, and I didn’t want to go. She said…

Lynn Tryba

Writer|Editor. Believer in the power of stories.

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