A world in a bloom

Nature is captivating.

I’ve always been fascinated by nature. It’s rhythms. It’s relentless forging ahead - regardless of who’s on board or not. She pulls us all forward along this path called life. No reason. No rationale. Mother nature does her job on a micro and macro level.

I thought about this a lot the other day. This bloom was mesmerizing up close. Stamens. Pistils. And those luscious, red, velvety petals. It was fascinating. An entire world in something smaller than my hand. And that’s only the parts I could see. If I zoomed in, I wonder what other discoveries I would make…what miraculous small worlds I would uncover.

On the flip side, what if I zoomed out. Way out….

That little flower is part of a bigger picture. Part of a bigger fabric of life. Food for insects and energy for hummingbirds. Shelter for critters. And even beauty for the rest of us to gaze upon and treasure.

If you zoom out even further, the humble flower becomes almost insignificant. You no longer see it. You see a forest and tree tops. Zoom out even further it becomes part of a broader landscape - unseen from the air. Keep going and eventually all you see is a blue and white marble floating through space.

The older I get, the more I zoom out…so to speak. I see those details as a part of a bigger whole. I don’t need explanations or reasons. I just need to know that the earth keeps spinning and we keep plodding along day after day.

But sometimes I need to zoom in. I need to see the miracles of the smallest details that make me important and relative. I need to feel that my small contribution to this planet is worth something - no matter how small. I need to be curious about what’s close to me and not take for granted that this world - my world and all it’s pieces and parts - will continue on tomorrow or the next day whether anyone else notices or not.

The duality of this dynamic is not lost on me. How we can be seemingly insignificant, yet part of a bigger fabric of life or nature or this universe is a balance I think we all need to think about.

If you ask me, everything is important. We need all of us…all of the things that make this world go around. The individual is as important as the whole. The microcosms are as significant as the macroview. It’s a balance. A yin and yang. A pendulum that has to exist so that this little world keeps spinning.

And all those flowers have a chance to bloom.

Lying in the grass

Oh the backyard clover…

I lay there in the grass, plush comforter underneath my body, soft, fluffy clouds drifting by over my head. The air was as soft as cotton sheets wrapped around me and smelled like the spring of my childhood - sweet and perfumed with freshly cut grass, late season iris blooms and honeysuckle.

I noticed things in the grass I don’t take the time to look at anymore. I noticed tiny ants marching along in line with one another - not so aimlessly, but almost on a mission. I noticed caterpillars munching on garden leaves and busy bees buzzing around clover blooms. Taking their time to drink it all in.

I moved with the sun…out of it when it was too much. Into it when I needed it’s warmth.

I thought about all these things I used to do. When I was younger, more free, unencumbered by life. I used to linger over the little things. When did I get so busy? Why is there so much information in my face all the time? Where did all these useless emails to answer come from? When did I become a grown up? And why-oh-why can’t I make decisions as solidly as I did as a little girl?

When did I get so lost?

Maybe the choices were easier back then. Grape or orange soda? Hot dog or tuna fish sandwich? Play a game inside or tag outside? Maybe I am lost in the complexity of life. Choices feel bigger now…a sort of life-or-death situation.

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I lay there all day that day, unable to get up and unwilling to move. Paralyzed by life and what had come of it. I lingered all afternoon - swept up in the most basic pleasures of the world. Sitting in the sunshine looking for 4 leaf clovers. Drinking ice cold tea from a glass with a straw. At ease.

I thought of my younger self a lot that day. How hurt she was. How lost she had been and become. I thought of her and how she never thought she had any help. Maybe she didn’t want help…or didn’t know how to ask for it. Maybe she only wanted certain kinds of help. The kind of help that was on her terms…not the kind of help that the youngest person in the family gets which is always unsolicited and condescending.

That little girl in me laid there all afternoon…thinking about things…crying sometimes…curiously searching for 4 leaf clovers…did they even exist? Why are they so hard to find? Why are the good things so elusive?

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How do we get so far off course? When do we lose our curiosity…our sense of play and wonder? Is it when we are trying to fit into the scheme of life in our teens, desperately not trying to call attention to ourselves. Or maybe it happens when we watch others. We begin the complexity of wanting.

We are paralyzed in our want these days. The trap of wanting is a real thing. At my age, I don’t care as much as I used to. I am comfortable enough in my surroundings and I am at the end of the search for accepting myself. So life seems okay.

So, the question is this: why am I pushing so hard and what exactly am I pushing? Should I just walk away? Will it all come crashing down?

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It’s good to watch the rhythm of life every now and again…lie in the grass and just watch the ants marching to their nests and the bees buzzing around collecting nectar. For me, the best thing I can do now is to watch the seasons begin as I observe gently as the other ends. It gives me balance in my brain…a recognition that things always change and life always has a way of continuing on just as it needs to. Even when those ants are lugging around things bigger than them, they seem to know when to put it down, when to signal for help, or just when to stop. Even when the bee is fed up of searching for it’s nectar, it knows just how and where to rest and take a moment.

Maybe the answers are in slowing down. Laying in the grass. Letting that little girl inside me get what she deserves - peace, simple pleasures, rest, and stillness - so she can quit trying to be the adult here and run a show that is too big for her.

Time for a break. Time to rest.

Good enough.

The Daffodils are here.

Things are new. Fresh again. The spring is bringing me messages more clear than a sunny winter sky these days…sunshiney as the daffodils peeking out at me with their bright happy faces.

I am now focused on what matters most. You see, I have spent the better part of my life focused on the wrong stuff. Things like what I look like. Or how much I weigh. Or how many calories I have consumed on any given day.

Our society counts on us not feeling like we are enough as we are. Because if we were enough, what would happen? If you weighed enough and your teeth were white enough and your pants were a perfect size…what would happen?

Or rather, what COULD happen?

For starters, I think we’d be content with what is in front of us and focus in on the things that matter to us most. Things like sunrises and sunsets, flowers and new foliage blooming in our own back yards, or food and fellowship with those we love most. The little things. The beautiful things.

We would be less focused on our aging faces or those big bellies we acquired somewhere along the way. We would be content to be as we are…as things are…as life is.

I am all for improving ourselves. But I think I got lost somewhere on this path thinking the improvements had to be external. Or visible to anyone. The changes have to come more with the reality of life…the reality of how small we really are. The reality that right here, right now is good enough.

The flowers don’t feel like they aren’t doing enough. They know they are okay. They live for each moment. They go dormant when they need rest and thrive when the conditions are good enough.

Not perfect. But good enough.

And so here we all are. Standing on the precipice of change, evolution, and everything that happens and has been happening. And it’s all been good enough.

So this spring. I beg of you - of me - to let this all just be good enough…as it is.

Happy Place

This is my happy place.

I come here when I need to feel peace. I love it most in the winter when there are few people taking up space and I can feel the expansiveness of the universe - of myself - in the open. Summertime it takes on a different vibe with music humming, moms calling out for their kids, busy shell seekers and lots of sun worshippers out there for revelry and merry-making.

But the beach in winter is a different thing…a spiritual place full of wide open spaces to breathe, think, be.

Winter is a perfect time to dig into these parts of me. The world is hibernating, collecting energy for what’s to come. Spring is always around the corner here, ready to leap out and celebrate with us. Ready to show us what’s possible when we rest and reflect. So it’s no wonder I am drawn time and time again back to the beach in winter. Deep breathing and reflection is what I need - especially right now.

The ocean always tells me what I need to hear. It reminds me that everything happens in cycles, the push and pull will remain there - regardless of how much I fight it. And each time that tide recedes, treasures reveal themselves. Regardless if you can see them or not, despite their size or value…they are still treasures just below the surface waiting and wanting to be revealed.

The beach reminds me that the sands will shift and change - water, wind, and weather make this happen daily. The shoreline will become unrecognizable at times. But things always take their shape. It is always going to be there….as a guide. And when you stand still for too long on that waters edge, you need to change that footing or the sea will do it for you.

The sea opens my heart in ways I wasn’t aware of most of my life. It feels like it’s a direct portal to the universe - full of lessons and love and things that light up my soul in ways I can only imagine some feel attending church on a Sunday with their tribe of like-minded souls. It’s where I am closest to myself and the universe…everything mystical seems possible at the beach on a winter afternoon. Peace. Love. Presence.

So if you need me in the near future, you can find me here. Just taking a few deep breaths and finding my scale in the grand scheme of life here…just like the rest of the grains of sand under my bare feet.

Calming those stormy seas.

I set out to write a lot this month. A blog post, journal entry or social media post each day was the goal. Writing is very cathartic for me in so many ways. It helps me process and organize the wild thoughts churning around in my stormy mind.

Come to find out, the universe had some other plans for me.

Stomach bugs, hospital visits, and other life emergencies really just grabbed me by the throat this year. A mega force tightened around my jugular shoving my back against the wall so I was unable to move. I felt controlled by a bully so much larger than me all I could do was surrender.

So I leaned into it. I waved the white flag. Healing myself and being there for what and who I could was the only option. Perhaps this wasn’t bullying at all. Perhaps this was the universe demanding I take some downtime to focus on myself and those that I love. And pleading with me to just give my brain a little space and time to figure a few things out.

I have been running on high anxiety for a while now. You’d never know it if you met me or had a regular conversation with me. I fake it all pretty well. But the slightest thing goes out of balance and my insides begin to collapse like a wild avalanche. Its a daily practice for me to manage this level of worry. I have a pretty good recipe of good nutrition, rest, breathing, meditation, walking…the list goes on. But the feelings are always there - just below the surface - waiting to bury me alive.

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It’s been a week of this virus that refuses to release it’s grip on me. But I can finally see the light. Fever free and calming down. The tight, jugular-squeezing grip loosening ever more each day.

Over the past few weeks, I have had some time to think and clear my head. I have learned that all of the worrying and angsting I am doing (and have done my entire life) is pretty much for nothing. Nothing gets solved. Nothing changes or gets better. It just makes the present so much harder.

I set a goal for the year - or if I am being fully transparent, a goal for the rest of my LIFE. I am going to quell the storm inside me. I want to deprogram that flight response…even just a little bit. I want to let my inner child know she’s safe and doesn’t have to drive this ship anymore. It’s not her responsibility anymore. It’s mine. And I’ve got this shit.

I have never felt worse at the start of a new year. I have also never felt better. There are other things at play here…things I’ll get into at a later date. But right now, despite this rough and stormy start, I somehow feel that things are gonna be okay in the end…kinda like when you see catch that sunset right after a storm blows through.

So if you need me, you can find me where that sun sets after that storm. That’s where I will be resting.

Buckle up

If I am being honest, the end-of-the-year scares the crap out of me. Perhaps it’s the “letting go” part that I am not good at. Or maybe it’s the goal-setting, intention-making, resolution-creating that scares the crap outta me. But it all feels so much like I am not living up to an expectation that floats around out there like a half-filled helium balloon - a little too far out of my reach.

This has been a heavy ending to a year that made promises it couldn’t keep - just like so many years before it (I’m looking at you 2020 - 2023). We have sick family, thwarted plans, and lost friends. And it just feels like a lot these days.

As I hung up the phone with my now fiancé a few moments ago (more to come on this news breaker!), he said “It’ll be our turn soon…”

I responded immediately with “maybe when it’s just our turn, that means we don’t have anyone left in our lives to worry about. No parents. No children. No close friends. I’ll take over that any day.”

I have seen my share of down days. But this isn’t that. It’s a gentle reminder that love digs deep and letting go isn’t always something we aim for. Maybe I have spent all my years trying to let go of something that was so much a part of my being, I didn’t see it. Like aborting a part of my soul that I never recognized.

Maybe my weight is just a part of me I’ve tried to deny for too long. Diets would never work and resolutions to lose weight were being thwarted because I just never saw it for what it was…a part of me. Even when I tried to make gentle resolutions or set intentions - like BE MORE MINDFUL - it always seemed like I was telling myself I didn’t measure up as I was.

Maybe instead of aggressive resolutions and strong finishes, we focus on being gentle with ourselves, focus on what’s important, love where we are and what we have right now, and take precious care of us. Let’s reflect on what we did do in 2023 and what lessons we learned and float gently into the new year - like a feather and not a bomb.

I am not here for the STRONG FINISHES or hard and set goals for 2023. I have spent the better part of my life trying to accomplish things that never get done. And frankly, I am exhausted from trying to keep up. I am here for soft, gentle, and loving. Because I am just now realizing I respond to gentle encouragement much better than commands anyhow.

So this year, my intention, my hope, my mission is this: let’s see where this ride takes us, shall we?

Just don’t forget to buckle up!

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.

Fill me up

The clarity I get from being by water is unmatched. Moving water. Stormy water. Calm water. It all comforts me.

I have needed to be close to the water lately. But somehow I am denying myself this simple pleasure. The simple joy of doing something that fills my soul up is exactly what I am depriving it of. But why? Why do we hide from pleasure and hide from joy? Why do I dodge something that fills my soul?

Of course, for me parts of this are rooted in the fear of over indulgence…or at least appearing to be over indulging (pretty hard to avoid as a chubby middle aged lady). Hustle culture has gotten so real and if I can be real for a minute - I hate it. What if I want to feel good for a minute? A month? A millenium? But what message will that send to the universe? And (horrors), what will everyone think of me if I do something (or too much) for myself?

Isn’t it time we put down the need to prove ourselves to anyone but our self? Shouldn’t SELF come first? I am all about the hard work…but it’s been at the cost of my own sanity. I am fearful I have forgotten the importance of where I begin. I have become a prisoner to proving myself to others.

In this next year of my life, I am choosing to find joy. Fill my own cup. Wait for no person and put nothing before me. Recovering from a bad illness this month (I’m looking at you COVID) and battling a life long one is only making it more obvious every day and every moment that I need to choose me first.

So if you need me, look for me here - by the water. Or in the sunshine. Or even under a lovely canopy of trees. And if I am smiling alone, know that I have once again found space for me.

The Good Parts

Photos tell a sweet little story… a memory plucked out of a moment in the line of forgotten memories. Some of those moments tend to slip away and that’s okay. Not all memories are made to savor. But I really like that part. I like to remember the whole story. I think it’s a big reason of why I do what I do.

There is a back story to every photo I take. The hard work in the back yard - literal blood, sweat, and tears - that allow you to enjoy a summer morning on the porch. Or the haul to the beach with so much gear you’d swear your arms will fall off as you sweat out any remnant of remaining water in your body (Hello, Charleston summers). Or even a solitary moment by the stereo belting out a childhood favorite after a long, twisty, carsick ride just to get to that little vacation spot. There is something to each photo above that makes me remember the bigger picture. The good and the bad.

Often we post these sweet images…the results of the life we are living. From the outside looking in it all looks pretty perfect. And maybe that’s what the point is. Remembering these moments.

I don’t think when I look back at the end of my days that I’ll think much about the blood, sweat, and tears it took for me to get to those moments above. I think I’ll remember the parts that counted. Call me an optimist or a glass half full kinda gal…or even a goldfish. It’s all true. But I think I want to remember the good parts anyhow. It’s why we do the hard stuff in the first place.

Just remember, those good parts are just the result of the invisible work behind the photo.

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.

Letting go

I have spoken before about the beauty of letting go. I am mesmerized by the fall. We marvel at the leaves and the bright colors they turn before they fall to the ground. They serve us all summer with shade, protection, cool. And then when they are so tired, they fire up before they fade away.

It amazes me we don’t do this with humans…watch intently as they fade away into whatever takes us on. The miracle of life is as much at the end as it is at the beginning of life. We just don’t celebrate it. Everyone I have known that’s close to me that has passed away has always gifted me with something more magical than I was prepared for at the time. I just didn’t know what I was seeing in that moment.

Is that the problem? We don’t recognize what we see when we see it. Or do we need space from the beauty of it all so it can sink in?

This photo sat on my phone for a few months. It stopped me in my tracks today. I think because I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just discarded it as one of those things I see that I love…like the one zillion photos I have of the beach at sunset. It’s just another sunset. Just another beach. Just another leaf from a tree.

But really it isn’t. It’s all powerful. It all has tiny meaning as we shape ourselves into who we are. This leaf meant something to me at the time. And today, its message leaned in for a powerful whisper - like the warm whisper of a sweet lover - saying to me gently, again, that it’s okay to let go.

Searching for perfection.

I walked outside the other morning, cup of hot coffee in hand and looked up. In that moment, things were perfect. The weather, the sky, the energy I felt. Life felt good - even great. The moment of peace and gratitude hit me as if from nowhere. Like a love bomb from out of the blue

How did I get to that moment? Where did it come from so unexpectedly. It’s not like I haven’t walked on my porch – coffee in hand to welcome the day. I have spent countless mornings walking outside, looking at the sky, wondering when it would hit me…that feeling of things being just right. And there it appeared, on my back porch when I wasn’t even looking for it.

I feel like I have spent the better part of my life waiting - waiting for things to be just right, for life to get easier, for the right moment. Waiting until I am thinner or prettier or in the perfect mood or the weather to be precisely what I want. If I am being honest, it’s been an exhausting search.

I think I realized on my porch last week that things are really good enough. You just have to want to see it that way. Life isn’t what I expected it to be, but isn’t that true for most of us? Maybe the weather isn’t what I was hoping for or my thighs aren’t the size I wish they were, but if I step a little further back from that, I can see things more clearly. I am healthy, happy, and pretty lucky to have what I have.

Maybe striving for perfection isn’t really about perfection. Maybe it’s just about acceptance of it all. Maybe we just need to be grateful in the now to appreciate what is.

Beauty in letting go.

There is beauty in the letting go. Fall tells us so every year. But we deny it over and over again.

Just sit back and observe in nature. The seeds are here for our tomorrow just waiting to sprout forth innocent fresh ideas for us all to bear witness to.

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…

Learning to float.

Years ago, I went on a tubing expedition with a casual group of friends like one does in their 20s. As we headed down the river, little groups slowly broke off - some going faster than others, while others lingered behind near the coveted beer float.

The group I was in was in the front - we called ourselves the “lovely ladies.” We had hit some rapids on the way down and gained momentum, breaking us off from the beer group and the boy I was woo-ing.

Included in our group of “lovely ladies” was me, an exotic sounding German woman I had never met, and a friend of mine that looked like the spitting image of Cameron Diaz - tall, blonde, lean, stunning. She was gorgeous and she leaned into the safety of that. I can hardly blame her.

As the three of us floated aimlessly down the wide river, giggling and gossiping and having a fun little Saturday, I noticed something…my gorgeous friend seemed to just glide around obstacles, long legs extended, peaceful and serene. I, on the other hand, kept getting caught. Stuck. Stopped by the river’s obstacles. I caught myself on rocks and branches. I rammed head first into rapids that flipped me over, making me look like a bedraggled prom queen the night after her big debut. Meanwhile, “Miss Diaz” kept those long bronze legs in the air and made it down rapids and around boulders effortlessly.

I determined at that moment that this was a metaphor for life.

And in truth, this has been my life. I have watched a few people glide by me - even with a headstart from my parents - no college debt and a little help when I needed it. It’s not because I’m wasn’t working hard or giving it my all - it’s just that my balance was off. Or sometimes I drifted into the wrong current. Or maybe I didn’t believe I could do it all on my own. After all, when had that happened before?

I have believed as long as I can remember that I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough or worthy enough. It’s taken me years to unravel this story, which still gets knotted up in my brain sometimes. And it’s gotten me tripped up and stuck for years. The only way I can stop believing it is to keep pushing through those obstacles and keep showing myself how strong I really am. Get up. Dust myself off. And just keep going.

Eventually I made it to the end of our float, a little wet and ready for a snack. I made it before some of the beer floaters. I made it right behind those easy long legs. But I made it.

______

It’s been years since this day and I think about it today like it just happened last week. I have no idea where the “lovely ladies” have landed now or if their lives have been easy, effortless or struggle free. I have no idea what happened to the boy I was chasing back then who crushed my ego like so many before him…he ended up bringing someone to the next party that looked like a call girl.

I digress.

What I do know is that I am still standing here…stronger and more resilient than someone who has glided through life effortlessly. Because I know how to get through the rapids. I have had some practice.

Life is full of rapids….full of obstacles. Learn to navigate them early and with grace for yourself. Because the quicker you navigate that, the easier the big boulders down the river will be to get around.

Oh…and make sure you learn how to swim, too. That’ll come in handy.

Spring Fling

I have spent time in love with something that doesn’t love me back quite the way I need to be loved. This city, with it’s fickle heart, makes me feel like a scorned lover at times. But it’s during the spring season that I can look away from the push and pull of this sordid relationship. Those cotton candy sunsets, the flowers bursting with color in backyards - dropping petals like confetti at a party. The seductively warm sunshine and cool, soft air like sheets dried in a breeze that wrap around my skin. It’s all enough to make me fall in love again, only to be scorned by the scorch of prickly summer heat lurking around a corner.

This year feels different. The rose-colored light looks warmer than ever before. More welcoming. It’s as if we are trying to fall back in love with each other, little by little. One sunset, one drive over the connector, one pile of petals at my feet at a time.

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!

Looking up

Things are looking up.

Call me an optimist, but I always feel like we are headed up rather than down. Sometimes…okay often…I am not right. But it’s okay to always feel like our lives have room for improvement.

I have lived a lot of my life in fear. Scared of making the wrong decision. Scared to change my mind. Scared of my own shadow. So feeling like life has room for improvement is, in and of itself, IMPROVEMENT!

So when I see blue sky, changing leaves, and fresh air, I get hopeful for the future.

Truth be told, life hasn’t been all that bad. I have had moments…like everyone. But this sky, these leaves ,this moment…it just lets me know that really and truly it’s all gonna be okay.

Flotsam and Jetsam

This is my favorite spot on my favorite beach. 8W on Folly Beach has been a constant in my life for the past 15 years. Summer sunbathing. Evening picnics. Winter walks. They all began here. Many personal photos I have taken have been snapped of this very spot - building sand castles, suntanned faces, sandy toes, and the waves just washing over our feet, begging me to hear their calming call and secrets to life. I saw my mom step on the beach for her last time here. I saw my son ride his first wave here. I have fallen in love here. I have cried here.

Recently, I sat here waiting for some clients for a shoot. I have lived in Charleston off and on for the better part of my life. Truth be told, I have never felt fully at home in this city. But this spot on this beach…this is my sanctuary. This is the place I feel at home…connected. Connected to my life, and my memories. Connected to my past and my present. Connected to my future.

But as I sat here the other day, a wave of emotion took over. You see, my future looks a little muddy right now. Unclear. I am confused about what’s to come. The push and pull of the tide seems to understand this rhythm and phenomenon, yet I don’t. Maybe I never will. The clarity of my path seems as unclear as the murky, muddy sea floor - unsettled and topsy turvy, full of sharp flotsam and jetsam that I find myself trying to navigate.

And yet, so many things seem clear to me like that horizon you can focus on - even when the sea is stormy and heavy with waves. My horizon is there… I have amazing love. I have a great career that I have built on my own. I have friends and a roof over my head. I have more than I ever considered having despite the crooked path I have taken. Despite this broken boat I keep charting this course with.

So, I guess for now, I will keep coming back here while I can to wrestle with the questions in my heart. I will watch the ease of the push and pull of the ocean – the way it calmly and gently floats to the shore. And I will ask it softly to help me with the answers while I watch all it’s treasured answers wash up gently on the seashore. Patiently, calmly, quietly. Watch for the answers to surface like treasured sand dollars resting quietly on the sand.