The moon shone full and bright in the crisp, starry sky as my heavy luggage was loaded into the truck. At 3 am, the early departure was comforted by this nighttime light, and the warm coffee mug in my hands.

The last two weeks have been punctuated with epic gatherings of heroes, speaking their truths, and the ripple effect of connection they sparked. Touching down, and flying out again, each of us feeling renewed, connected, and inspired.

The pre-sale orders of my book Soul Shaping Tails have finally been signed and sent out in sealed manila envelopes addressed in handwriting, a delightful find in mailboxes across the US, Canada, Australia, Spain, Denmark, Poland, and the UK. It leaves me feeling successful, accomplished, and a little nervous.

Young love was celebrated with a hilltop wedding in autumn, the sparrows orchestrating their collective flights above the sunset ceremony, followed by a feast, song and dance, and sweet cigar smoke in crisp night air overlooking the coppery fall-turning trees. Love filled our cups to the brim.

But in between these highlights, lurked lowlights that grabbed hold firmly, and threatened to topple the joys. The tough stuff of life that could head-slam our smiles into a concrete floor if we let it.

The tough stuff didn’t win the day, but I’ve written 3 different posts for this week and can’t quite seem to round any of them off in ways that feel whole. I arrived back home on Tuesday, but still I feel like I’m landing.

Even though I was only in the States for a short trip, it feels like years have gone by: the momentum of these travels delivering epic highs and wind-sucking lows.

I’ve written in turn about the honest presence of Heroes, on stage and backstage.

I’ve dipped my hand into the furious current of family grief that continues to flow, spanning generations, sideways and diagonally and decades backward. I’m hesitant as to which puddle of unhealed wounds to sink into first if any. The words cascade across my pages but splash too messily to offer up just yet.

During my travels, there were conscious efforts to stay healthy, partake in exercise challenges, and join push-up and plank competitions that calendared their way into my days. There was also succumbing to M & M’s, wine, carbs, and cheese that offset the best of healthy intentions. Nightly.

With each trip I make to the States, I find I come face to face with the truth behind relationships. Some grow, flourish, and have been shaped beautifully over the years. Other truths seem to just keep aging, cankerous and hurtful.

Expanding the lens, and looking above and beyond my own line of sight, I realize that my travels were book-ended by the most powerful stages of the moon. I flew into Michigan in the shadow of the new moon and flew back towards Nicaragua in the shadowed light of an eclipsed full blood moon.

While I can’t interpret the meaning of this, I also am not a believer in coincidences. It’s not lost on me that the start of my trip flying under a new moon heralded new beginnings, a magic in a sense and that returning under an eclipsing blood moon signifies the letting go of things.

There is a strength in this I can feel and a meaning that one day I may grasp.

Amidst the life-boosting joys, I find myself wondering where these milestones will lead, and what life has in store for me next. Even with the dips, I feel my professional pursuits are taking off in fast-paced and momentous ways.

Amidst the life-draining sorrows, I also find myself wondering how to cope, and what purpose the pain serves.

Within these sorrows, what beliefs do we turn to when unexpected blows accompany our personal victories?

Do we believe in family, even as we are severed from some of them?

Do we believe in love? While so many have dug unfathomably deep to find this treasure, so many are tired of digging.

Do we believe in God, when so many interpretations of a greater power co-exist in competitive and destructive ways?

Do we still believe in heroes?

Maybe more of us could look inside and place our belief in the good we find there.

Even if it means we ball up into ourselves and wait out the ick, caterpillar-like, while our insides mush, awaiting the beauty of life to eventually unfold and show us that the darkness was worth it.

In the air, I watched the red shadow of the sun creep slowly off the moon hanging in the sky beyond my window seat. Then, I watched the moon relight for her final bright descent behind the earth.

Without hesitation, I think to myself: yes.

Amongst our scars, open wounds, fears for our own health and the health of loved ones, for the safety of our kids, and worries for our futures. In between the bitterness that bites us in two, and the loss of relationships that float away without healing… I still say yes.

Believe in everything good.

Believe in the heroes that speak up and out in spite of their wounds. In families that call and show up despite slashing meanness in the past.

The weddings that ring bells loudly, that give us pause to witness a future fuelled with love, breathing in the autumn, the sparrows circling above our heads.

Believe in the moon, the alignment of the planets, the eclipses, and energy moving swiftly around and through us that we feel but may not comprehend.

Believe in the things that bring hope, possibility, and encouragement. Let them bolster us and strengthen our spirits in times of sudden misfortune.

When I landed in Nicaragua, and sunk my toes into damp sand, watching the cloudy sun set and sink, I made my choice.

I’ll believe in everything good.