I have moved 17 times in my life. (Just counted. I surprised myself too!)

Down the street. Across town. To another state. To another country. Alone. Together. Alone. Together.

Each and every time I left something behind. Not just stuff but a piece of who I was.

I remember saying one time, I’m not moving, I’m moving on.

Before the joy of traveling lighter sets in I experience a sense of deep loss and failure. I failed at marriage. I failed at being a good daughter, a good wife, a good mom. I failed at having my dream house. I failed at running a once successful business.

Each time I thought I’d failed, each time I moved on, I had to ask myself, was I quitting, taking the easy way out?

Or was I healing myself, waking up to a more enlightened version of myself who wanted to be born through me?

Sometimes it was fuzzy, I wasn’t always sure which one was true.

I know this about myself. I am not a quitter. Sometimes I should quit. Sometimes I should step away sooner than I do from places, work, relationships. It isn’t until hindsight that I can see that.

So no, I’m not a quitter. I just keep waking up from one illusion and another illusion as I strive to create a reality that keeps me expanding and amplifying each and every experience my life presents me. When I do this grief, loss and failure are replaced with gratitude and grace.

I keep outgrowing the labels and boxes that limit me until I become a stranger unto myself.

Over and over again.

I find my grounding in a place of groundlessness. I have to. That’s what life demands of me.

Another rebirth. Another personal star blowing up to create a new constellation. Another level of light, wisdom and a deeper sense of a Self that keeps transforming over and over.

I can never get comfortable with myself because my Self keeps transforming into something I would never have imagined. That is life itself drawing me closer to my soul and away from limitations.