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A.R. Stanley

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A Year on The Porch

My blog about life, grief, finding my way, and everything in-between, A Year on The Porch. Follow the blog here or snippets and posts on Instagram @ayearontheporch

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It wasn’t easy, and it was easy all at once. I’m finding my world full of gray more and more. What made it easy, knowing how badly I needed to reset and refocus. If we couldn’t lean into refocusing, we weren’t going to make it back home any better than how we left.

Perhaps this is a blog to me by me. A letter to myself to remind me what makes me come alive. What kills my joy. What I believe and why I think it. What if this is the place I learn to become me fully and stop trying to please the masses.

#onedaymay began, you know, nine days ago, and I’ve yet to join in. I saw the first post by @laura.tremaine , “post a selfie,” and I thought, “I’m gonna join this one!” Then life. It’s ok. I'm not going to try and catch up; I’m just going to start where I am.

Today is National Tell a Story Day. Did you know? I have a lot of stories. Stories about my childhood, stories about going to shows and following bands around, camping stories, love stories, heartbreak... I like to tell stories about this kid and me, though. They have all the best qualities, a hook, conflict, heartbreak, victory, questions. He's only been on this blue planet for a little over 11 years, but he's touched a lot of lives. Resilient. It is the only word to describe him best. He fought back to life when he was two weeks old. He could have gone quietly in the night, but he did not. He let me know. Sick, broken, tired, he fought. I've been by his side for each seizure, brain surgery, hospital stay, victory. Me and him. Him and me. We go together. He fought for himself, and he saved me. He saved me from depression; he saved me from apathy, he saved me from giving up. If he could fight and smile and rarely complain, I could too. He showed me the way to Jesus.

I found a beautiful dogwood tree bent and broken under the weight of a tree that had fallen on top of it. It bloomed despite its circumstances. Still, it hung heavy and broken, supporting a load it was not created to carry. I found myself in the woods pushing, pulling, tugging until I freed her. She still hung broken and bent. She still bloomed, she was free. In time that little tree will heal. So will you. So will I.

It’s amazing what we absorb from our environment. Remember to keep your soil rich in love, kindness, empathy, and grace to give. You are colored by what you inhale.

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walking back to me
becoming a student
living the drama
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