Updated: Sep 1, 2021
I met an intuitive man recently who said to me "what happened to you last November, something shifted your life and opened doors for the months ahead."
November? Uh, nothing special.
But November was truly special, the month that I fell into a fold of wild writers at Springfield in the Southern Highlands for a week of connected hilarity, vulnerability and creativity.
It's rare to get a group dynamic that 5000% clicks, where vastly different life stories gel with shared experiences. I didn't know it at the time, but these women would become a weekly panacea for all that's hard in this big old world.
I would never have moved down to Bowral when my father suggested it early this year, if I didn't know all of these women.
They welcomed me with open arms and open doors and our weekly Zoom writing meetings gave way to long bush walks, coffee and cake and cocktails and dinner parties, full moon dancing, country drives in classic cars and an extended circle of more friendships introduced by those I already loved. Because true love multiplies and an expanded heart will always have room for more.
When my father was dying, these wild women were there to hold my pieces with care packages, gifts, flowers, tear laden coffee cups and rosè wine. When he died they came to his funeral and held me up under the sun, wrapped warm in the love of writers who feel deeply, live deeply, laugh deeply and care deeply.
The challenges that came after with family fractures and broken hearts did not scare these women. Not at all.
They said "come, be messy, walk beside me, sob like a banshee, I've got you for as long as it takes."
So, I did.
This goddess tribe gave me a safe space to roar like a lion and sit still with the calamities of my personal 2021.
Now, in never ending Covid lockdown, we send each other letters and cards and memes, bake each other food, do yoga weekly online and dress up in silly hats for Friday night Zoom gin and tonics online.
We meet in twos to walk, a lot, and talk, a lot, and write and laugh and cry. We text and phone and facetime and WhatsApp and Skype and Zoom and communicate in 1000 ways because one way is never enough.
We're not all in the Southern Highlands, we have one member in Young, in Newcastle, in Sydney and in Melbourne and see each other in person when life allows - all tribal members connected by heart strings.
Yesterday I came home to a hand painted paper bag on my porch. Inside I found a gift with a "make a wish" message.
When I opened it I found the largest dandelion in the world of dandelions, so I could make the largest wish I so desired.
It was left there by a fellow Wild Writer.
I reckon we need some BIG wishes this year, the same way I reckon that intuitive man I met was right.
Something did happen to me last November.
I landed in the write place.