Dragonfly Journal

If your life isn't a journey, you're doing it wrong


I do not sleep in the middle of my bed.

I sleep on one side only. Even since my divorce, I have slept, by habit, on only one side of my bed, and use the other for my “do it tomorrow” stuff, like rotating the contents of my gym bag, or for my computer after doing a bit of writing, or for my carefully placed, clean laundry (because…clearly, a ten foot walk to the closet for hangers is unreasonable tonight).

In essence, half of my bed is always made.

Tonight, I’m thinking I might like to learn how to “starfish.”

To sleep on all of my bed, just because I can.

Because, for 27 years I have slept in a bed of virtual twin-size.

What am I waiting for? What’s my hold out?

Tonight. It’s mine. All mine.

I shall starfish tonight, even though I usually sleep on my back and motionless, as a mummy.

If nothing else, I’ll sleep as a mummy in the middle of my big ol’ bed.

©6.16.17, Aja Hart


Faultlines and Fools

I learned as a child that culpability is subjective.

There’s something to be said about the discord of sibling relationships…and how that discord provides one with opportunities to become an individual.

I grew up with many sisters; I was “set up” for some crap by my one of the older ones, and then suffered consequences of the corporal sort when our parents happened upon my situation as it was. What does a 6-year-old say at that moment? “So-and-so did this and left me here to take the blame?” No. It never flew.

As a result, I developed some defense mechanisms over the decades, but mostly, for some wild reason, my modus operandi has remained, in all roles, to trust — to a fault — until the very first time one proved he/she was unworthy of that privilege.

So I’m here. I’ve made choices to trust, and give, and give more, and trust where trust has seemed foolish.

Oh, man, the foolishness.

My choices, my consequences.

My pain.

My growth.

My journey.

I’ve squared my shoulders. I’m doing this.

©6.15.17 Aja Hart

Life Livin’

This summer I wanted to accomplish three “bucket list” items. I learned last week that one cannot book accommodations at Crater Lake Lodge this time of year; in fact, bookings begin a year in advance. So, not happening this year.

What remained were my other two: winning back the love of my life, and going on a tandem skydive. Inasmuch as the former is largely outside my control, I checked the forecast and seized the opportunity to jump from a plane.

One of my six kids chronicled this day for me on YouTube.

My oldest child initially wanted to dive with me, and she had suggested Skydive Snohomish because it is between the Cascade and Olympic Mountain ranges. Sounded good to me! Understandably, she decided she wasn’t ready to do it yet. But I was.

In our region, the glory of summer (if one defines summer as sunny and dry) is a game of chance once late September hits. Usually, we have a healthy dose of autumn sun into October, but this is the Pacific Northwest. It rains here. A lot. One cannot bank on sunshine accompanying any cooler temps in these parts.

And once the rainy season begins, one never knows the degree of its omnipresence. So I took charge of checking off my summer “to do” list the only item on this summer’s list that was within my control.

So, here it is. I went for it. I’m thankful that Skydive Snohomish provided a YouTube link for my experience. I’m all smiles for the duration.

Do you have something you’ve always wanted to do, but just haven’t?

Stop wanting to do it. Do it. Make it happen. What are you waiting for?

©Aja Hart, 2016.9.23







I miss my mom.

Moms understand what needn’t be said. Or what cannot be expressed. Or what will not be revealed.

Moms just know what their children need…even when their children don’t.

I’m 47. I wish my mom were here to tell me, “I know, Darling Daughter #5.

Because even if I don’t know why tears come, she would know. And she would, in her wisdom, remain silent about it.

She would just be there.

And she would wipe the tears away. And hold me. And tell me it’ll be fine.

I miss my mom.

©Aja Hart, 6.8.2016

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑