I feel like I say this every year, but 2017 has zipped by with extraordinary speed. If I were to guess what month it was with absolutely no external clues, September 1 feels about right.
Of course September is just another summer month in Texas, so I’m happy that’s not the case humidity-wise, but I have a hard time believing that Thanksgiving is a wrap and we’re actually heading into the Christmas season. I mean I’ve got the tree up, I’ve ordered a few gifts and have already started listening to Frank Sinatra, Harry Connick Jr. and Rosemary Clooney belt out all the holiday favorites, but it still doesn’t seem quite right somehow.
The part of Christmas—and the end of another year—that has kicked in, however, is the decidedly reflective feeling. I was just in Colorado with my family for a long weekend, and I left with a truckload of treasured memories, a heart full of gratitude and a stirring reminder of how many remarkable women I have in my life—past, present, and thanks to my smart, loving, funny, adorable nieces, future.
There have been so many women who’ve helped shape my life, my writing, the process of becoming who I am today, and I can’t thank all of you enough. You’ve inspired me, taught me, befriended me, encouraged me, pushed me, made me laugh, prayed for me, been an advocate, offered a hug, your time, a listening ear, an invitation for coffee, for lunch, for book club, for friendship, and I wouldn’t be where I am without you.
Sending y’all lots of love from this crazy place I call home for now and giving thanks for you,