La Vida Loca is a wonderful idyll, a place born from a seemingly endless labour of mental anguish, sleepless nights spent grappling with the discomfort of work and then of unemployment, punctuated by intense and increasingly protracted contractions – wave building upon wave of indignation, vindication, validation, freedom. Blessed relief. It’s a glorious place full of hope and possibility, and as fragile, tenuous, giddy and terrifying as the most passionate love affair.
Looking for the email that launched the days, I have come across a chain email that for some reason I’ve kept. Oddly disturbing and perhaps serendipitous if you don’t mind the shmalz. It’s called “St. Theresa’s Prayer”, I believe, and it seems that, along with being the patron Saint of the Little Ways, of doing the little things to live well and with great love, that St. Theresa may just be the patron saint of La Vida Loca. It’s a place that settles into your bones. I’d copy the prayer here, but life is much more interesting with a little mystery – you’ll just have to trust me. Or look it up.
La Vida Loca is remembering to breathe, and I plan to revel in it with such a tremendous abandon as to cause all of society to collectively blush. The dancing, singing, praising and loving of the soul are, of course, de rigeur. It’s good to be back!