Happy Tuesday evening, everyone!
How are you doing on this cool, breezy, beautiful Tuesday night? The weather here has taken a turn for the cooler, and I’m not complaining one bit. I love days and nights like this. The trees are swaying, the air is crisp, and the clouds are stretched across the sky, almost teasing us. Rain or no rain — that’s still to be determined.
I wanted to stop by your devices this evening to say hi, and to share a little scare I had today. But first, let’s talk about the gentleness of choosing to listen to the Universe… or choosing not to.
Some days the Universe whispers. Other days it clears its throat and looks you straight in the eye. Today felt like the latter – my final kick in the boot. Either write the legacy or not. This is an idea I’ve had for quite some time, but nearing the completion of Aunt Billie’s memoir, talking to the folks at the assisted living yesterday, I believe now, I’ve truly found my calling to write legacies.
I’ll keep my other writing going too. Writing is so much a part of who I am, and I don’t see narrowing it down to just one kind of writing style, but, and I do mean but – I need to explore legacy writing. I think the way events have unfolded in my life. Missing my dad and writing letter releasing the guilt I’ve carried to him, it just feels right. Dad was a private man, but I know through some of his letters to me, there were things left unsaid. Not only between he and I, but there were things he wanted to say to his sons too and those words will never be spoken to them.
I received so many beautiful messages about my writing — words like called, chosen, meant for this. One friend said something that landed right in the center of my chest:
“Now you get to choose. You can listen and answer your calling… or choose not to.”
There was no pressure in her voice, just truth. A gentle reminder that callings don’t force themselves on us. They wait. They linger. They knock softly until we’re ready to open the door.
And then, in the most unexpected way, life gave me another reminder of how fragile and precious this whole thing is.
This afternoon, I sat down to eat a little bit of pasta — nothing fancy, nothing out of the ordinary — and somehow it got stuck. Just like that, I couldn’t swallow. Fear started settling in. What would I do if I couldn’t breathe? I made my way to the kitchen sink and bent forward just enough to put pressure on my upper chest, hoping it would help. Swallowing became harder, not easier, and before long I started vomiting. It went on for over an hour, and as strange as it sounds, I was grateful for it — it meant something was finally moving.
I’m still struggling to swallow anything tonight, but the feeling is different now. It’s not that “blocked” sensation anymore; it’s more like everything inside is bruised and irritated from the ordeal. Earlier, though, it felt like the small bites I took just stopped mid‑way and began backing up without any warning at all.
Since my surgery, I’ve had to take tiny bites and chew until the food is practically dust. I was told swallowing might be an issue for a long while — sometimes up to a year — and that for some people, things never go back to the way they were. I don’t believe that will be my story, at least I hope not, but today was a clear reminder that my body is still healing.
Yesterday I saw my primary care doctor for the first time. She said I still have swelling and tenderness in the surgical areas. And then today, the pasta got stuck. I suppose she was right on point. It was scary. I was close to having John call 911 — that moment when the food wasn’t going down and wasn’t coming up is one I won’t forget.
It’s incredible how fast fear can take over your whole body, how quickly your mind can go from calm to panic. For a moment, everything in me froze. I tried to stay steady, tried to breathe around it, and eventually it passed… but the feeling lingered. That sharp awareness of how thin the line is between ordinary and terrifying, between “I’m fine” and “oh my God.”
That experience wore me out. I actually fell asleep for about an hour afterward — I think my body finally said, “You’re done for the day. Rest.” So, I’ve been laying low ever since.
I’m so grateful John was here. He even went to the store to get me some liquid Tylenol. I’ve had a headache ever since, and swallowing is still painful. The Tylenol takes the edge off, but it doesn’t make it disappear. I’m really hoping tomorrow brings a little relief. To be honest, I’m a bit afraid to eat anything solid right now. I think I’ll stick to liquids, maybe a yogurt here and there, until this soreness settles down.
Even with all of that, I keep circling back to what my friend said this morning — that quiet truth about choosing to answer my calling or choosing not to. Funny how life has a way of underlining the message. One moment I’m reading beautiful words about purpose, and the next I’m reminded how fragile breath, body, and time really are.
Maybe that’s the gift inside today’s scare. Maybe it’s life nudging me again, saying, Don’t wait. Don’t hold back. Don’t silence the thing that keeps trying to rise in you.
So tonight, even tired and sore and a little shaken, I’m choosing yes.
Yes to writing.
Yes to listening.
Yes to the path that keeps calling my name.
And if you’re standing at the edge of your own “yes,” I hope you choose it too — gently, bravely, in your own time.
Love Life++ Hugs,
Dawna — may the butterflies remind you that we are all still becoming
Love Life with Dawna 