The Wild Corners of my little Life

For the past month, I have been sequestered to my bed by the pull of a new strain of COVID. It was - in a word - BRUTAL. And it went of for weeks. Weeks of me rolling around uncomfortably in the bed, waiting for things to change. I am always waiting for things to change.

While I waited for this long and frustrating virus to move along, I wasted hours in bed scrolling the internet looking for an escape from what I felt was an actual prison of my life. I stumbled across people living these fascinatingly extreme lives - women living in camper vans alone on the road or in off-the-grid cabins at the far reaching corners of the globe. Everything looked glamorous from my sick bed as I dreamed myself 1000 times around the world each day.

I have been looking to escape this life of mine for a while. I have been waiting for change to come. I have spent countless hours turning over and over in my head how I can get away. From what, I am unsure. But cross country skiing in the arctic circle certainly looked fun from my bed…the freedom, the wildness, the untamed life. As I laid in my sick bed, I felt like I was dying daily…aging at warp speed. I craved adventure, and most significantly, I craved freedom.

Thankfully, things turned a corner a week or so ago and I began to feel much better… life became more normal. I wasn’t as distracted with escape. Freedom came in the form of health and wellness, so taking care of myself felt like a release and has become an ever increasing priority for me. Routine and regimen seemed freeing.

What has stuck with me as I healed, though, is how much I wanted to live a greater existence than I have been. I want to live larger…feel bigger…than what I have been allowing myself to experience. I want to challenge myself to doing things I feel I can’t do. I want to see things I have never seen. I want to be push through boundaries I have created for myself. In a word, I want to improve me.

I have been putting my life on hold for a long time now. Over 25 years of taking other people’s needs and desires into consideration…maybe even longer than that. So it’s time to find the joy. It’s time to force the change I want. The world doesn’t hand that to you. You have to go get it. You have to demand it.

Perhaps I can find it here, right where I am. Maybe I don’t need to live in the remote reaches of Norway or a cabin in the woods in Canada. Maybe the joy and freedom I seek is right here, in the decisions I make and the choices I pursue.

Maybe it’s just time to change my perspective a little while appreciating the wildness that is right in front of me - like beach sunsets with my best people.

Returning

About a week ago, I went to the beach for an afternoon walk. It was a Friday and I needed some space. I needed something different than my house, my prison. I was looking for something - in myself, in the universe, in life. Answers. Signs. Something tangible while I walk this overwhelming phase of life.

As I wandered quietly on the beach that day watching the sandpipers searching for treasures hidden in the sand, all I could think of was the contrast of how huge things feel in me, but how small they seem in the grand scheme of things. Oceans and planets. Birds and little clams. Feather stuck in grains of sand. Swirling clouds. It all felt much bigger than me.

My head and my heart have been swirling like the clouds in this stormy photo. Last year was a frustrating and learning year for me - personally speaking. So these days, I feel I am seeking grounding. Something calm. Strong. Supportive. Something that calls back to me and says - “it’s okay, you are okay. We have got your back.”

It’s natural for me to come here when I feel overwhelmed to this beach on Kiawah. This beach is where I grew up. I spent days walking it’s sandy quiet shores alone as a teenager, and then later, as an adult, with my little toddler in tow, his little sunkissed legs dangling out of the jog stroller. It’s where I found my connection with my spirituality. So every time I come here, it’s like coming home. It’s like returning to myself.

The quietness and solitude of the beach in winter is one of the things I always look forward to…no tourists, no families splashing in the waves, no young adults sunning themselves. Just me, my thoughts and the occasional sandpiper to watch.

I keep coming back here. Over and over again. I keep searching for the sign. Maybe it’s whispering gently in the wind. Or stuck in a seashell. Or swirling around in the clouds. Or maybe, if I can quiet my mind enough, I’ll be able to hear it beating in my very own heart.

Happy New Year

The start of the new year with all it’s resolutions and goal setting can be daunting - even for the most disciplined of us. I personally love a fresh start, but sometimes I am just not ready to leap into that on the first day of January after a wild holiday schedule, months of a busy work schedule, and making magic for those who come into my Christmas wake.

I have long sinced abandoned “resolutions” as a thing. Frankly a goal of “losing 10 lbs” or “getting my finances in order ” seems as overwhelming as Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown…he’s never going to get that ball, is he? So about 10 years ago, I started making themes by choosing a word of the year. This works because you can keep revisiting your word and checking in - “Am I being “MINDFUL” with my choices today?” or “Am I really focused on wellness while eating this barbecue?”

You get the picture.

But lately, even that feels daunting. How do I focus on wellness goals when COVID has loomed over us for the past 2 LONG years and taken me down physically, emotionally and financially? How do I focus on mindfulness when I am overwhelmed with just getting through the days? All I want is a new horizon…new views and a fresh start. I don’t want the pressure of attaching anything to that but what makes sense for me and on my time.

While I slow roll into the new year and make decisions about what works for me on my terms this year, I will consider the views around me. What makes sense? What is working? And what is calling for change? And as the stillness of my soul lets the dust settle from the “new year frenzy,” I will wait for the call of what truly aligns with me…gym membership be damned.

Happy New Year, friends. I hope this year brings you what you and your soul truly seek. Get still…listen…and follow YOUR call.

Watching the storms roll in

I watched curiously a few weeks ago as a big storm came rolling in off the coast. The wind, the humid air, the dark clouds swirling around didn’t run me off. For the first time I felt compelled to stay. Instead, I felt like they were saying “stay, watch, learn.”

Typically when the storms come rolling in, I want to run for cover. Shelter from the winds and rain, the possible destruction, or just the plain old discomfort of being wet or cold. I have spent a lifetime running for fear of not only what I know, but what I have been told about storms - they are something to fear. So that’s what I do. I live in fear of the storms of life, fleeing at the first sight of cloud coverage overhead. After all, nobody wants to get caught unprepared. Right?

Lately, though, I have been just trying something different. I have been sitting with the storms. Waiting for the rain to set in before I run. Or maybe even dancing through it.

I guess the other way wasn’t really working because I have avoided things most of my life or tried to make them better in some way by protecting myself and everyone around me. I was taught to be afraid and flee the threat of any trouble. I have sheltered every moment from pain and truthfully, I shouldn’t have. Pain is part of life. Storms are a part of life. And it all comes and goes.

The good news is storms eventually pass. Some are worse than others. But you can clean up after them. With a little elbow grease and a lot of effort.

So for now, I am going to be more of an observer. I am going to stop trying to protect myself by running for cover. And I will watch with patient, curious eyes.

Wonder. Wait. Watch. And learn…

The light through the dark.

The color seeping through is like salve to my soul…reminding me to breathe, be still, and know. It’s there to help me remember me that through the some of these hard days, I am okay. I will be okay.

A person. A phone call. A text. An animal. A sunset through the trees. It’s all there gently reminding you to remember that you are okay.

The light is always there. You just have to want to see it.

If you are struggling with anxiety or depression, please know that it’s okay and normal. Life is hard enough and this year was a doozy. Reach out if you need an ear. I will always respond to you!

Letting joy take the wheel

Recently I was asked about why I haven’t been writing as much lately.

I wish I had a good answer for that. But I don’t. My heart has been a little lighter these days. And writing for me is therapeutic. It has served for these recent years as a way out of the cave of despair. So these days, I have been a little less inspired - so to speak. While I wait for inspiration, my writing is taking on a new voice…one that is a little brighter and lighter.

Oddly, this feels cumbersome and uncomfortable, like an ill fitting pair of underwear you constantly need to adjust. I almost feel like I need to apologize for it.

What.In.The.World??? Where did THAT notion come from?

Where does this notion of joy equate with something I need to make amends for right now? Do we get that message from our parents at a young age? How do we internalize not being worthy of JOY?

I am not sure how to steer the car with confidence riding shotgun instead of that smug bitch, fear, sitting in the front seat controlling and questioning my every move. I am used to the commands she makes and insecurities she dishes out… always making me apologize for myself and suggesting that in some ways, I have gotten what I deserved.

A little joy is a terrifying thing for me. I sit waiting and wondering when it will all come crashing down again. Sitting with joy often makes me feel like I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. She makes me uncomfortable in her kindness.

So while I wait, and wonder, (and perhaps schedule an appointment with my therapist), I will just keep working on how to lose those feelings of Doubt and Fear along this long stretch of highway. I will keep being myself…writing and taking photos along the way. Holding hands and settling in to my new relationship with Joy whenever I can.

While I am here, I will be certain to drive happily by those hitchhikers, Fear and Uncertainty, on the side of the road…not a thought of stopping at the mere sight of them. I’ll have no guilt for speeding by this time. They’ve been in this car on this very stretch of road with me before and honestly, they are horrible passengers.

A New Year

We all seem ready to usher out last year right now. I have been seeing more about the change of the decade this year than I can ever remember before now…2020 seems to be the hope that we are all clinging on to in this firestorm of life.

That seems like a lot of pressure though…giving a whole set of unrealistic expectations and demands that it can’t live up to.

Don’t get me wrong… I get needing hope. I get wanting change. While I have had some bad years, this wasn’t one of them. But I have been ready to boot years to the curb. I have felt pain and grief and loss like you cannot even imagine. I have dealt with personal struggle that should have made me quit the game of life long ago. But here I am standing at the end of this year reflecting on what magic has become because I somehow managed to make it further along in my little story.

In all those bad years and in all the time that I was trying to heal myself, I never leaned heavily on the year or decade ahead to get me through it all. That’s a lot of expectation for something that may not be able to deliver. The work came from me. Facing it. Trudging through it all. Doing the work. Showing up. It was on my shoulders…nothing else could help me but Me.

While I love the concept of a fresh start on New Year’s Day, I am not keen on the pressure and responsibility we seem to be handing over to it - especially at the turn of a new decade. It seems particularly heavy and destructive. It’s almost like handing keys to a toddler and saying “go ahead and drive this car for me.”

So this year on New Year’s Eve, instead of remarking about what I am looking forward to and running towards, I will gently tell 2019 “Thank you for the lessons, both big and small. I am grateful for what you taught me.”

I am ready for your lessons 2020. Let’s do this.

Rooted

Like seeds on some random wind, life takes us in unpredictable turns. We land partially where we intend, partially in the forest that we started in, and partially through the fate of where the winds take us.

The first thing that seed does, though, is dig down. It creates roots. A holding space…footing to carry it through so it can grow and blossom and flourish. But if the roots are not started first, dug deep below the surface, that plant will die. It needs support for growth. It needs to ground down in order to shoot up.

Once started though, those roots weave complex patterns for survival - digging into the earth with lifelines to feed and nurture their souls. They weave in between surround tree roots merging into them and becoming one complex pattern together, supporting each other as they work together to become one big complicated pattern of trees and leaves and shade, all supportive of life here on earth.

But it’s the roots that hold the the tree as it sways under the seasons and change. When the roots are deep enough, the tree sways, but always remains fed and nurtured. The roots bring it support, life.

I am interested in my own roots right now - what nurtures my soul, what keeps me going, where I get fed the most so I can support myself through the seasons of change that I see ahead. What is it that I need? What is it that supports me? What is it that brings life-giving nutrients to my soul? This is where my focus goes when I need more - not the parts that aren’t getting enough, but what brings me the things I do need.

For me, it comes back to the basics every time: Getting still. Deep listening. Completely nurturing my body and soul. And a calm and deep love for myself - as I am, where I am, and who I am.

Every day, we dig a little deeper with those roots means that every moment we can grow a little fuller.

Supporting Skies

I almost discarded this photo on my phone today. Scrolling around for memories, I stumbled across this subtle, washed out photo in a sea of dramatic sunrise shots. I was out for a walk during a moody August sunrise at Folly Beach, the sky playing dramatic tricks on me with each passing second. It felt true to my mood at the time. The sky was stormy, but the light was not having it. The sunrise came out to play that day. But this little Southern sky was playing nothing but a supporting role in the morning.

I stopped moments before I hit the delete button, because despite it’s humble appearance amidst conspicuously gorgeous and fire laden sunrise skies, this photo stunned me with it’s simplicity. The hued blue-grey color palette with it’s subtle pinkish, creamy accent seemed so forgotten. It seemed to fight for attention and it’s own role.

It got me thinking about how we overlook situations like this. Sometimes we are so busy looking at the dramatic sunrise that we overlook the subtle, supporting skies. Much like we don’t notice that mom in the audience as her son takes center stage in a starring role. We forgetting that she, too, has a key role here. She provided support, meals, comfort and endless hours as he honed his skills, making magic for the rest of us. We tend to forget the ones in a supporting role, the ones who support that big, massive, shining star.

But maybe that’s okay too, because that sunrise won’t be looking at me while it makes it’s way through the morning sky. It will look directly at the billowing clouds that allowed it to take center stage.

And that is enough.

After the Storm...

And after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up,
I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.

After The Storm, by Mumford + Sons

* I have posted the lyrics to this song before. It’s one of my most favorite ballads of all times by one of my most favorite bands ever. I listened to this music during a very hard time for me and remember feeling like it was a life jacket that some threw me in a wild, stormy sea. It still brings me to my knees when I hear it.

For Graham.

I want to be
where the sand meets the sea
where it’s just you and me
dreaming and wondering of what could be.

I want to go
where memories won’t know
how fast you grow
or my sorrow.

I want to take you
to a place we once knew
where the skies are so blue
and it was just we two.

Silver linings

I would have missed this sunset if life had been normal.

I would have been in my house, AC cranking, cooking dinner alone in the kitchen. I would have probably been listening to a podcast or book on tape or even watching some sit-com rerun for the umpeenth time, my son in the other room doing homework or playing guitar or a video game.

Instead, my life had been turned around in a first world kind of problem sort of way. We’ve been without AC for weeks. And I am on a cooking strike. So I piled my son and myself into the car and headed to get some form of take out. On the way, we saw this incredible sunset. We stopped in awe of mother nature, the universe and the power of serendipity.

Sometimes, life happen for us. Sometimes situations present themselves. Last night, as we sat around the table at the restaurant, we marveled at the fact that had it not been for the awful week we had, we would all be spearated ,living our own individual moments in front of one screen or another. Instead, we have explored forests, new restaurants, new cities, and even glorious sunsets with views for days right down the street from where we live.

So maybe the past few weeks weren’t really a crisis after all. Maybe it was the just the opposite - maybe past few weeks was the universe trying to break up our regular, safe, ordinary days with new adventures and some much needed fresh perspective.

If it comes with a silver lining like this, I’ll take it.

Weathering the Storms.

I have spent an unmeasured amount of my life running away from the approaching devastation of storms. Afraid of the turmoil and unknown elements they would bring, I tended to protect myself from what might be instead of just standing inside of what is.

Over the years, I have found the things we worry about happening rarely – if ever – come to fruition. In other words, I have spent a lot of time fussing about nothing. I attribute this to not listening to myself or trusting my gut and paying far too much attention to what others opinions are.

As I get older, I seem to get more sturdy with trusting my inner voice. It often whispers quietly and gently, and can be drowned out by the many other opinons, thoughts, and voices that surround me. But if I listen, it’s clear, persistent and confident in it’s conviction. I just have to listen and be still enough to hear it.

This ship – MY SHIP – is the one I have to steer through the stormy seas. So I do what’s best for me with each decision I make. I have to trust myself and know that, even if I am wrong, it’s all going to pass over eventually. Each “wrong” decision is just another opportunity to learn. Each storm I stand through, another lesson. And each time I listen to myself, another chance to build that relationship of trust with myself all over again.

Summer Storms

When the storms roll around, what do you do? Do you hide in the corner shaking like a scared puppy? Do you retreat as far away as possible so you can get out of the path of destruction? Or are you a "wait it out and see what happens" kind of person?

The other day, when this storm rolled in, I was ready to retreat. I was done with storms (it's been a long, rainy summer) both literally and figuratively. But watching this spectacle change by the second was compelling me to stay. These quick storms that move through are firey and fast, but they can be some of the most beautiful things to witness with their continuously morphing clouds and their intense colors and shapes shifting right before you.

As the storm came through, we waited it out an watched the mesmerizing clouds. I could have watched all day until the threat of lightening became more real than imagined and we all packed up and headed for home - wet chicken packed tightly back into our coolers. I was happy to be in the car, headed safely home with all my people in check.

I learned something though as I watched this storm and the people around me navigate it's perceived threat. I am quick to flee any crisis. Maybe I have had enough of tempting fate in my life or maybe I am just a chicken, but this storm looked ominous and imposing, and frankly I have had enough of that to last a lifetime - emotionally speaking. Honestly, I have never liked storms. Thunder scared me as a little girl and the rain always makes me feel like something is going to need repairing (hazard of living in the south in the summer and through hurricane season).

But maybe the storms are really just what I need. A big, fat reminder. Something to shake me up...challenge me to think and stop running away from problems that will be there with or without the storm. Or maybe the storms are there to remind me that sometimes things blow through quicker and easier than we think. That it isn't always about destruction. That sometimes facing it all is really what we need, so we can be present and be witness to all of it.

Whatever the case, I am glad I watched this morph, shift and change my view. Because honestly, a little storm might be all I need to face the reality of life.

The adventure of being alive...

One of my most favorite photos ever. I dream of this day every day.

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for – and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It' doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool – for love – for your dreams – for the adventure of being alive.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

The summit

Raven Rock Falls. Lake Toxaway, NC

I just got back from a three week escape to the mountains of North Carolina, just off of Lake Toxaway in a cabin in the woods. While that may sound like a luxury to many people, I think it was completely necessary for me at this point in my life/career/year. I had reached the pinnacle of burnout. I was tired, cynical, doubtful and hurt. Being a photographer isn't for the faint of heart - especially in a market like Charleston where you can't swing a cat without hitting someone who carries the moniker around with them. It was time for a break. 

While I did break a little, I also did a lot of work. Not in the traditional sense of the word, but I did a lot of work on me...goals, dreams, values, and overall wellness. I meditated. I wrote. I thought. I slept...boy, did I sleep. And I challenged myself...physically, mentally and spiritually.

One of the most memorable moments on the trip for me was this hike to Raven Rock Falls on theToxaway River Trail. It's a special hike that takes you back and forth over the river to ultimately end up at this spectacular site - a towering 60+ foot waterfall that cascades and ends in a frigid pool by your feet. It wasn't my first time hiking this trail, but let's just say after 20 years, it felt like my first time hiking anything.

I expected to be challenged physically, but what I wasn't expecting is the emotional ways in which the hike would challenge me. I struggled, always last in line in the group. My footing was unsure. My body was cumbersome. I was sweaty and hot and hungry and nothing felt right. And to be honest, I felt downright mad about it all. I wanted to turn around and go home. I wanted to stop...to just sit there, like a stubborn mule on the rock, refusing to move forward. I felt as frustrated as a little child in my skin.  But the group pushed me to forge ahead to the final summit.

During the second half of our hike, I noticed something shifting. With each step forward, I saw us working together as a group. We looked out for each other. We took our time. We shared stories and laughter and our water rations. Suddenly, my perspective changed. Pushing through the hard parts encouraged me more. I wasn't thinking of how miserable I felt. I was thinking of how much fun I was having, how beautiful this was, how healthy and strong I felt. I stopped worrying and started just living in the reality of the moment. I stopped fighting the currents and let it take me where it was going to.

It is said that nothing good comes easefully. And I have to agree with that. Life's greatest moments are challenging - sometimes even when you are on vacation. While I took some time off this month from work, I was still working. My "work" became checking in with myself. My hike was a reminder that while there may be challenges and slippery rocks underfoot, you just have to keep on going. You may fall. You will stumble. You will sweat and maybe even cry a little. But you have to keep going. It doesn't have to be pretty. But you do have to finish what you started. 

So as I keep climbing through life - sweating on the path, slipping on the rocks - I will remember it's not always easy. But it is always worth it in the end.

Sunrise, Sunset.

Letting go of a sunset is a little like saying goodbye to something you love. It's bittersweet - painful and a little beautiful all at the same time.

But while each sunset can feel like a goodbye, each sunrise can be a fresh start...a hello all over again. It's a reminder that the circle continues, and life just continues to renew itself over and over again. Each day brings something a little new, a little different and something to look forward to all over again.

The faith comes in the letting go...in the sunset. And the affirmation comes with each new day.

Ten.

Ten Years.

A decade has passed since you left us...a decade since our little party ended too early for my liking.

Ten years is a long time to love something you can't see or feel or touch or hear or talk to. It's a long time to love something that is no longer tangible. I can look at these pictures and try to remember what is was like to walk down that sunny street with you on that crisp fall day, or what it was like to eat chocolate together, or play Yatzee before bedtime, or just melt into the the comfort of your soothing, strong voice on the phone.

But it's not the same, is it? Memories always feel like they become more translucent as time goes on until suddenly and without warning, you can't see them anymore.

In ten years, I have become a pro at living around the hole you left behind. I did my fair share of falling into it's clutches in the early days. But now I know how to co-exist with it – dodging it's jagged edges and walking around it's stony cliffs. Sometimes I stand on the edge of it, just looking in... just remembering. But I know now how to climb out and dust myself off. I know where it is. And I know how to live with it.

Death changes the landscape of your life. Grief and sorrow become the pit you live around. You lose your way. You lose your sight. You lose your sense. It's disorienting and all-consuming – like being in a storm at sea without a mast to your sails or oars to a boat. And through it all, you still have to pretend like you have some semblance of control.

After ten years now, I have figured out that this landscape that I got used to in my early days will keep changing. Life will continue to shift things, so we can't get too attached to the view. Babies will be born. Children will graduate and become adults. Family members will pass on. Relationships will fail. Trust will be lost and found again. Friendships will be made. Love will be had. It's all part of the landscape of life: it's ever-changing. 

So I will just strap on those hiking boots and keep learning how to make it through the dry, harsh deserts and deep, musty caves. I will swim and sail through dark, stormy seas and slink through the wild, sticky heat. In the end, I hope see it all and witness the brilliant spectacle that is life.

In the meantime Mom, just keep being that shiny star, helping me navigate this ever changing terrain. I still need you.

With love,
Libby

Forge Ahead

When we are caught in a sea of uncertainty, the best thing to do is to find a spot on the horizon line to focus on and paddle towards it with all your might. The seas may get rough. The winds and currents may be unforgiving. But you will always end up at your destination if you keep focusing on where you are headed. 

So eyes forward. And forge ahead.

Island

"The larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder." Ralph Sockman