Thank you 2025 Word of the Year: Thrive

 

I’ve had a hell of a few years from 2022 to 2025. Here’s a recap:

2022 - 4th of July flood in my house, damage took a year to repair. 

2023 - My husband got laid off. We lost income and health insurance. It took 6 months for me to get Social Security and Medicare. 

2024 - The year of Misdiagnosed Illness that ended in major surgery to repair. 

2025 - Recovery from surgery both physical and emotional. Didn’t know about PTSD

But I’m here. I survived. And that’s why I picked Thrive as last years word of the year. 

Because I wanted and needed and hoped, now I’d be able to Thrive, not just survive.   

And I did. 

It wasn’t easy or fun. There was still pain and physical limits. And after I worked my way through all that, I got hit upside the head with trauma. Now, I’d had surgery before: 2 C sections, 1 broken wrist, 1 skin cancer removal. But none of them hit me like this surgery did. Every little twinge sent me into the fear zone. 

And I understand it now, thanks to support from others who’ve been through it. And books about it. And, most importantly, thank you, my  Substack friends who have been down this rough road ahead of me and were here to shine a light for me to see by.  

Art as therapy. Throwing is out. 

After the surgery, I couldn’t do my art the same way anymore. I used to love throwing clay on the wheel. But it uses my abdominals and it was very uncomfortable. I had to let it go and move on. Honestly, now I know, it was time anyway.

I was gifted a wheel and kiln from a wonderfully supportive couple decades ago. They loved my copper work, saw my clay work and gave me a huge gift. I was a failure at throwing in high school. (Cue embarrassing clay incident: clay sailing off wheel and hitting the wall behind me. WTF) Yeah. I went back to ‘school’ and learned to throw. I even sold it at shows and galleries. 

But I’m not a production potter. What I truly love is sculpture and faces and masks. And over the months, my surgery recovery led me back to where I’d began. I didn’t realize it at first. I was just ‘goofing’ around and trying to do whatever my body would allow. 

Relief.

It all started with doodling. When I was still unable to do much, I was gifted with a set of sparkle gel pens and a drawing pad. Some days, all I could do was doodle. Maybe swish some watercolor paints around. And crochet. 

But I worked my way back to my studio. I had a little clay left, so I rolled it out and played around. Here’s what found me: drawings and watercolors coming to life in clay. What a weird idea, right? 

I made one, then another and another. 

Then a face appeared. It sat on the shelf, alone. Until one day, I looked up at the sunflowers in my kitchen and got an idea. 

Soon, in addition to the sunflower, a poppy, gingko and oak leave reliefs appeared. 

I’m not sure how or where I’m going to be able to show them. But I’m hoping  somewhere, somehow, someone will help make it happen. 

That these new pieces, along with me, will thrive. 

Celebrating Health

 

For the last two years, I’ve spent my holidays recovering from procedures and surgeries. It’s not been fun or easy. But I’m here. Sitting in my chair writing and looking at the twinkling white lights on my holiday tree. 

I’m alive. Even though some young doctor told me, “You remind me of my mother, there’s nothing wrong with you.” Yeah. Right. Major surgery was required but it took almost a year to get there. 

But I’m here. Now. And today, I’m snacking on homemade shortbread, cherry cake and  chocolate candies. 

Letting the light in. 

Remembering staying up into the wee hours sewing Winnie the Pooh characters into felt tree decorations for my little children. (They officially came from Santa.)

Packing up race cars, paints, books and a very tiny ‘Hungry Caterpillar’ to put under the tree for my children’s little children.

Sighing with relief. All is well. (Maybe not in our country right now). 

But right here. Right now. In my small space on this big planet. 

All is quiet. All is bright. 

And I am well.  

My Christmas wish: For everyone, everywhere to have enough food, warmth and love. 

And Health.

Now that’s really something to celebrate. 

I’m alive. 

And I’m thankful. 

‘

Now that’s really something to celebrate. 

Lean in.

  

I got a strong message the other day from my ‘tree’. With all the swirling politics and anger and fear around me, I knew I needed some wisdom. So I walked into the woods, planted my feet on the ground around the roots of one of my favorite Cedar trees. 

And I listened.

As I felt the familiar warmth radiate through my legs, up my back and into my shoulders, I waited quietly for the message. It doesn’t happen quickly. It waits for me to settle into the ground, quiet my mind and honor its presence. 

So I leaned in. 

As my feet absorbed the energy from the roots, my back and neck relaxed and my mind opened, I could sense the message was coming. And as usual, it was simple and powerful. 

And I heard. 

“Lean into the Good.”

Yes. Simple and clear and difficult all at the same time. Especially now. With all the turbulence and threats and fear around us, it’s hard to see anything good. But that’s the point, isn’t it? They want us to be mired in it all, spinning and swirling in fear. They feed off of it. I know, I can’t let that feed my thoughts.

I leaned in more. Head. Shoulders. Back. Legs. Feet. 

And I felt the change. The warmth. The light. The breath of light air. 

I inhaled it all deeply. 

The Strength. 

The Calm. 

The Good. 

It is the energy of the planet. 

It is the wisdom of the trees. 

Lean in. 

Feel the good. 

It’s there for me. 

For you. 

For all of us. 

Lean into the good.