Under my umbrella

I don't know if it's possible to describe just how lonely I've been these past 7 months. Even typing the words "I've been lonely" pinches me hard enough for guilt to pool at the surface of my pride, but the skin of my armor doesn't burst, the guilt doesn't overflow...it only lingers, coexisting with the tremendous sadness in my heart.
Since November I've been kissed by 4 lovers, buried a friend, moved across the country leaving all sense of comfort and familiarity on the horizon, seen Native American ritual dances, slept in mountains and valleys, in snowstorms and on sand, eaten the most amazing food, gotten fearlessly lost in a city where no one I knew or trusted would be able to rescue me, been adorned with a traditional India bindi and rescued by the cord of Vishnu, listened to a psychic tell me my aura is blotched & known she was right, gotten a little too comfortable with drug abuse, been made a business partner, received my best friend from his own cross-country expedition only to lose him to the canyon created by our own private evolutions, missed my niece's 4th birthday, learned to ride public transit and Northern California waves, (relearn) how to ride a bike, lost 17 lbs, been told I'm the most incredible woman in existence, been told I am the worst human being ever created, performed at poetry slams in front of an audience of genius writers and received raving praise afterwards, changed my cell phone number for the first time in 10 years, completed another college semester and subsequently dropped out and made more money than I ever have in my life. That is the snapshot synopsis.
I've had the most torrential downpour of loss and blessings.
I want to be grateful.
I don't want to focus on the enormity of my sadness when the days are long and rough and all I need in the world is to crawl in bed with Rach and a movie, or sit on the patio and drink whiskey with Johanna. I don't want to think about all the places I've been and all the places I am and all the places I've yet to see. I don't want to think about love's long gone in the Midwest every.single.time I turn on my iPod. I don't want to hold a flannel shirt of my mother's because it's the closest thing I have to hugging her right now. I don't want to think about how much I miss late nights with Sara Steele and early mornings with the brooding artists that fill the Half Price Books employee roster.
I want to be grateful.
So many doubts flooded my ears before I pointed my car West and threw my hands in the air, "Fuck it." I had to go. I had to know if all the roads between what I knew and what I wanted truly existed. They do. Every pothole, every cactus, every Evergreen, every grain of red desert silt that compacts to make each fire mountain exists and they all guided me to the Promise Land with gentle voices and soft caresses. At some point on those lonely highways between home and destiny God whispered to me through the landscape, conveying that no matter the beauty I was leaving behind, there would certainly be more to come.
I want to be grateful because beauty has come in every medium imaginable. I've not once been alone or in any way suffered the way so many suffer every day. I am at my best in every aspect of my life. My worries are inconsequential to the betterment of the world and yet, they are consuming. They are consuming because it is safer to hide underneath an umbrella than drift aimlessly in a hot air balloon. I've been experiencing and resisting my own evolution for months, years even and now, in my acknowledgement of loneliness, the umbrella has blown away and I have no choice but to accept the nudity of being revealed small in an enormous world.
Perhaps it's just one of those nights, one of those weeks, one of those times in life where everything culminates and compacts to build a directional fire mountain and the most I can do is be patient and listen for the whisper of God.