You know the feeling. Name your place. Name your memory. When the ordinary, the mundane, the hustle is overtaken by a shiver of the bittersweet. When you remember that your story has not been without adversaries, without valleys or without pain.

A twinge of pain eclipses an unsuspecting moment and I find myself for that second swimming in the history of my life that I never would have chosen if given the choice.

My eyes burn, and I hope the kids don’t notice my glazed disposition as the storms I’ve weathered swirl by to say hello. The hidden mountains of my heart have made their mark on me, and though I walk with a limp, I wouldn’t change a thing.