(A Six-Year Muse-iversary Celebration)

The Part of Me That Goes Missing Every Time

The funny thing about writing a Muse is that every time I sit down to do it, a part of me is lost.

I don’t know it when I sit down to write, of course, but I discover that something is amiss when I can’t find the truth and I want to give up on the thing.

I need to find that missing piece of me. Maybe it’s stuck somewhere lodged among the clutter in my life, patiently waiting for me to emerge again.

And just like my Muse started in 2019 because I turned 50 and half my life was gone, I needed to find the truth within me.

What awaits when your cup is half full?

It’s been six years, and I keep writing to find my muse again.

This Muse-iversary didn’t start with the popping of a champagne bottle—that’s what I had envisioned. A big hoopla, showy and extravagant, though I tried.

The Glitter Dress That Almost Got Away

It started with a gold dress Alexandra never wore to her last semi.

We had it express shipped and right before it came Alexandra warned us it got its first one-star review: “Beautiful dress but glitter fell everywhere.”

We knew what we were in for, but when it came and lived up to its name, I fell into my role of super-mom-who-saves-the-day (because that would be my sole purpose in life if you’d let me hang onto it) and tried to hairspray it together.

But no matter how much Salon Grafix (Super Hold Unscented) I sprayed on it, glitter continued to fall everywhere.

Could she really go to her semi leaving a trail of glitter behind her?

It’s one way of leaving her mark on her senior year, but she borrowed a dress from a friend instead.

And the melodramatics before semi were gone, she was late and rushed off to the semi pre-party.

The Part Where I Get Lost

We went to the same pre-semi photo gathering at a friend’s house with all the kids and the parents. Everyone was there and I was in the middle of a mother telling me she loves my blog—it’s not every day I get a compliment like that—she even reads Substack, and me. And mid-sentence, I rushed over to say hi to someone else.

Somewhere in the lunacy of the lasts, of the kids taking their pre-semi photos, and of the conversation, I got lost.

Afterwards the kids were gone and we went to dinner. We ordered dessert—Chocolate Thunder. The name Daryl Dawkins gave his dunk—the one where he shattered the backboard.

How does life get lost in memories just like that?

Sometimes it gets lost in basketball.

But for six years it also got lost in cancer, motherhood, and legacy stories.

The Dance That Reminded Me Who I Was

The next morning we excitedly waited for Alexandra to wake up and tell us about the dance. I asked her if she stayed to the end because most of the kids don’t. She said she did, and she was glad she did because the last song was “Dancing Queen.”

If you’ve seen the photo of Alex and me at Mamma Mia! The Party in London, that was the night I first felt the pull of the Muse.

Of course that was the last dance, because it was the first dance that got this muse started in 2019 when Alex and I literally closed down the house at Mamma Mia! The Party in London.

We have to get lost before we can find ourselves again, and again, and again.

The Morning The Glitter Finally Made Sense

And then Alex looked outside and was confused by the can of hair spray, a return envelope, and a clothes pin—the remnants of our project to save the semi dress.

It had even rained, so the glitter on the envelope stuck.

Not the night before when I was trying to force it, but the next day, when I wasn’t even looking.

And I realized: there’s no catching glitter. It only sticks when it has time to settle.

Which, as it turns out, is exactly how the Muse works.

Six Years of Losing Myself — And Finding Her Again

Trying to find my voice.
Losing it.
Finding it again.
And realizing, without fail, that every time I think the Muse is gone, something small nudges me back.

A fleck of glitter.
A last dance.
A memory from London.
A dessert that sounds like shattered glass.
A reminder that I’m still here.

And suddenly it felt obvious:

I haven’t been writing to be clever, or thematic, or inspiring. I’ve been writing because it’s the only way I don’t disappear.

Every Muse I’ve written—whether it was heartfelt, chaotic, nostalgic, funny, or held together with a ridiculous amount of hairspray—has been one more step toward finding my muse again.

The Muse Vault: A Place To Return To

Losing myself again and again can be tiresome — for me, and probably for you, too. I needed a place to let go of the thoughts that swirl and go nowhere, a reset before I find the ones that matter.

This is not easy for me, or for you. And just as I needed a container for my thoughts so I could set the noisy ones aside, I found my Muse Vault—the reset, the breath, before I write.

Just as it will hopefully be that haven for you to lose your thoughts before you step into a Muse.

The Part Where You and I Meet

So here we are.
A trail of glitter I didn’t mean to leave, but did.
A mother who didn’t disappear after all.
A Muse that keeps finding me, even when I think I’ve lost it.

Thank you for being here—
for reading these pieces of me
while you find the pieces of you.

Here’s to six years of losing and finding ourselves.
Here’s to the Muse.
And here’s to the next time we lose it…
so we can find it again.