When I  left for New York that early Wednesday morning I was nervous. Nervous to leave my husband and son behind. Nervous to fly. Nervous about throwing myself blindly into a situation with 2400 other humans that I’ve never met in a BIG city where I’ve never been.

I sort of alienated myself from the get go. I had a king size bed in a room all to myself. No roommate. Nobody to plan the day with. No buddy to gossip with in our pjs at the end of the night. No fallback friend. Just me.

Peace and quiet.
Peeing with the door open.
Sleeping in just a t-shirt and undies.
Not having to get dressed in the hot steamy bathroom after a shower.
Time alone whenever I needed it.

A roommate would have been too much.

This was bliss. I was alone but not lonely.

I can see how BlogHer has all the potential to be ridiculously overwhelming and invoke panic attacks—but I was okay.

BlogHer was great for me. I missed the drama. I didn’t really expect empty elevators or working internet so when I didn’t get those things I didn’t freak out. And when I did? I was just a little bit happier because of it.

I was in control of my weekend. I made it what it was.

I took from it exactly what I needed and left the crap—literally and figuratively—behind.

I came home with so much more than just swag.

The sessions I went to were engaging. The tears I dabbed away—shed without any shame—at the Voices of the Year keynote were somehow freeing. The people I met always made me feel welcome. And understood. I can’t imagine too many situations where I could stand in a ballroom wearing a paper bag on my head, with a drink in one hand and a vibrator in the other and NOT have people think I had gone mad.

That is BlogHer.

I got to experience it first hand.

And I have a little secret. I owe that opportunity to this lady. She gave me her ticket. Why she gave me the ticket is personal and something I want to keep that way for now. But know this, it was an unselfish act of kindness and for that I will be forever grateful.

And if I have any regret from my trip to New York and BlogHer, it would be that I wasn’t there late enough that Sunday to hug her in person and tell her just how monumental her gesture was.

I was spent. Exhausted. Overwhelmed.

Devastated.

For weeks after that horrifying weekend I wondered if I would ever be happy again. I wondered when it would stop hurting so much. I hoped it would be sooner than later.

I was permanently altered in those moments in the bathroom. I had fear shoved down my throat for three days and saw things I can’t unsee.

It made me scared to try again.

I’m still scared.

Reading the posts from those first few days and all of your comments has me in tears all over again. I’m not sure I can ever express just how grateful I am to have received that outpouring of love from everyone. I did not grieve alone in those first few days.

I still hate that this happened to us. I never thought a miscarriage would be how my second pregnancy would end. Now I’m afraid it will always happen to us.

I’m not sure I could handle that.

But these past five months have taught me many things about myself. Especially about my unhappiness.

I’m still figuring out how to overcome that. I’m hopeful.

And I’m getting better.

Little by little my deep-seated wounds are healing. Thankfully.

Frankly, I’m tired of mediocrity.

So I decided at that moment to grab a pencil and a sheet of paper and write the ways in which I could live a life that was great. All the time.

Be more alive.
Be more aware.
Be more involved.

Take notice.
Slow down.
Enjoy it.

Get up earlier.
Be more active.
Enjoy the high of life’s little experiences.

Eat better.
Enjoy the good food.

Take stock of the important things.
Get rid of the unimportant—the clutter.
Meditate.
Be thankful.
Start a dialogue.

Love fully.

Writing the list was easy. Now it’s time to really live it.

I have been home for a grand total of about an hour since 8:00 this morning. On my day off.

I’m beat.

This morning I carpooled with a group from work 3 hours one way to Springfield, Ohio to check out Frank Lloyd Wright’s Wescott home. Which was amazing of course. But yuck, a 3 hour drive one way for an hour tour is not my idea of a super awesome time. Thankfully, I was in a van with a group that has a really fun dry sense of humor. Lunch at a Mexican restaurant in town and a 3 hour drive back put me in Toledo around 6:00 this evening. Then I had to drive back to my house and pick up the guys.

From there we dropped G-tot off at my grandma’s to see my mom and stepdad for an hour or so while JQ and I headed downtown to Bozart’s gallery to check out the opening of Kerry Krow’s show. It was one of those shows that I knew I didn’t want to miss the opening of. Not only were we going to see some great work, but I knew Kerry about 12 years ago and haven’t seen him in at least a decade. Talking to him tonight—and getting a big hug after so many years—was really great. He was always such a sweet guy and we just sort of fell out of contact. It was nice to reconnect again.

But now I’m tired. My shoes are FINALLY off and I’m ready to just kick back and relax.