Weathered and worn

weathered and worn

We live in a world fascinated with youth, beauty, and perfection. We value the young, the fresh, the new over things that have been tested by time Like wood that doesn’t rot in a year.

When do we learn that the story is in the age? The beauty is in the cracks and the chips…the weeds growing around the footing…the chipped paint…the vines twisting their way around familiar patterns only to be pulled away again and again.

This house stopped me in my tracks recently. T

But… for me, this home was interesting. I wondered how long it had been there. I thought about how many coats of paint it had. Do their door hinges squeak loudly? What about those floor boards creak under foot when you cross in front of that uneven floor near the bathroom?

What was it that this house knew? What was it trying to say?

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Thoughts of ageing gracefully have been on my mind a lot lately. I peer in the mirror and see wrinkles and age spots - wishing they were gone. Grey hairs pop up more and more. And all I want to do is hide from them. Because that’s what we do.

What if we embraced it all? No Botox. No hair dye. What if we just aged as we are for a minute and let nature take it’s course? What if we just let these marks be the signs of our inner beauty: Each wrinkle a lifetime of problems solved, each grey hair representing things we have learned. When will I see that these tired eyes, sore feet and aching back are just signs that I have lived a full life? When will I embrace each little fat cell I carry around my legs and waist that represents a meal enjoyed with friends or loved ones, or a delicious french fry or sweet ice cream cone I savored and enjoyed.

What if we put down the guilt and the shame of existing as we are and stepped away from the Botox and the banner ads telling us what we could improve? What if we just became comfortable as ourselves? What would happen if we just stopped listening to the BS we are fed and realized we are so much more than our outsides?

Inside these walls are where the interesting parts of me are. The story isn’t the wrinkle. It’s in how that wrinkle got there.

Help.

A lot of memories all in one place.

Yesterday afternoon, in true New Year’s fashion, we disassembled the Christmas tree. Ornament by ornament. Memory by memory. We dismantled the fragrant and not-so-dead-after-all tree.

While this is nothing remarkable (I mean, let’s face it, we ALL take the tree down at some point), it was remarkable to me. This was the first year in all the years I can remember that I had help dismantling the Christmas tree.

Maybe you are shrugging your shoulders right now thinking to yourself, “So what…”

The thing is, I am not very good at asking for help. I am even less good at receiving it.

For me, the help I always needed has never really been there…partially by design and partially because when I asked for help, it never came to me - at least not how I was expecting it. So I figured out life on my own. I became a “do-it-yourself” kinda gal. I never wanted to risk the disappointment of being told no, so I decided there wasn’t much I couldn’t do by myself.

The thing is, I tried to do this alone. For some reason, my guys weren’t having it. They pitched in and we had decorations out of here and life back to a semi-normal state within the hour. Record time. This could have taken me up to 3 days to get it taken down, packed up, and cleaned away if I was alone.

The help I desire to ask for runs deeper than help with the Christmas decorations. It’s in every facet of my life. Sure, I have stepped away from things from time to time and let someone take the wheel… But it’s never been easy for me.

Help came last month when I needed it…in a big way. Christmas was coming and we had an unexpected passing in our family. When my people came to me and said “we are here, tell us what we can do for you…” I felt a sudden relief from the pressure. We all pitched in and had maybe one of the best Christmases I can remember in recent years.

So maybe the key to happiness - or even the key to life - is acceptance. Acceptance of help, of love, and of truth. Acceptance of whatever is in front of you. I have spent so much time pushing it all away that it’s time to embrace that which was meant for me.

And that includes all the help I can get.

On Finding Your Tribe.

These two have always completed each other in the best way possible. Full of wild ideas and big love.

If I have discovered something to be true, it’s that we all need to find our tribe. The tribe where you belong to the people who accept you for all that you are. Flaws. Crazy ideas. Quirks. They are never leaving you. So find someone who can tolerate all of them - not change you to make you “better.” These are the souls who make us feel like we belong to something bigger.

I used to think I could change people and form them into the image in my head…you know the one: it fits nicely into the picture you imagine of your life. (Ohhhh to be 20 again!)

One day it dawned on me that in my desperation to change people, I was the one who began to change. I bowed and curtsied to anyone who needed anything from me. I became what others wanted. And when it became too much, the relationships failed. It happened every single time. I lost big love. I lost family. I lost myself. All because I didn’t know how to be me.

One of the reasons I let this happen was because what I THOUGHT I needed was love. And to get that love, meant to seek the approval of anyone and everyone around me. I had no convictions. I had no person. I became a shell of a human just to feel love. I put myself on the line far too often. And while I think in some form I have always been myself, I never really learned how to be ME.

Today is a new day. I am ready to stand my ground and be who I need to be. I am ready to tell you my political bent. I am ready to stand up for the things I believe in. It’s easier now than ever before because I have my people….that tribe that loves me as I am. It’s not as big as it once was, but this time I know it’s real.

And real is all I ever needed. There is nothing else but real. Because that, my friends, is where the love is. And the love is where your tribe is.

So keep being you. Not that person on instagram or Facebook. Not your neighbor or your friend. Your house doesn’t need to look like a magazine or catalog. You just need to surround yourself with things that are authentically you. Friends. Love. And real life.

Trust me on this one.

Life from the passenger's seat.

Shot from the passenger’s seat.

You miss a lot when you run life in the driver’s seat. There are so many details and intricacies you have to pay attention to when you are the driver. Your speed. Other drivers around you. Sudden animals or humans crossing the street. Weather. Directions. There is a lot to keep up with.

It’s true in life, too. When you are in the drivers seat, you have to pay attention to everything. You can’t miss a detail or you risk disaster. Details for the day, schedules, food likes of family members…you mind becomes a perpetual spreadsheet of information that needs to be cross referenced all the time.

This weekend, we went to dinner and for a rare moment, I was the passenger. I tend to be the driver because I get VERY car sick, so I drive a lot of the time. But on this day, for some reason, I let go and let someone else do the driving.

And you know what? It was glorious.

I wouldn’t have really been able to see this photo safely if I had been driving. I wouldn’t have noticed the few boat trails left on the water that evening by those last few boaters coming in from a long day on the water. I would have missed a bumper sticker that became an immediate inside joke between us.

You miss a lot when you are driving the ship because there is so much else to observe. But sometimes it’s nice to just let go and be the passenger. Watch the world go by from the passenger side window. Let someone else handle the responsibilities. You don’t always have to fix everything. You don’t always have to solve everything.

You can just let yourself be…lean in to being the passenger…lean in to the uncertainty of it all.

Back to the Basics

I am tired. Weary.

I am tired of feeling like I am not enough…and yet, somehow, too much.

I am sick of being sold shit at EVERY DAMN MOMENT of my life. Since when did we need so much CRAP!

I am tired of toxic positivity. Not every day needs to be slayed. Really. Some days you need to just rest.

I am over caring about anything but comfort. That goes for clothes. Routines. Food. Work. And the rare show I decide to watch (I’m looking at you Fraiser).

I am tired of politics. The pitting against each other. The bickering. The back and forth. The aggressive behavior on both side. It’s humiliating to watch. Like being inside of a massively dysfunctional family dynamic that none of us can escape from.

I am sick of feeling responsibility for everything because I am a sponge for others emotions. For the love of god, someone out there please tell me how to be Teflon.

I am tired of all of the minutia that occupies my brain when I could be doing something useful with it…coming up with better ideas for living a smaller life and making a difference for those I know and love. The only change I can influence is my immediate circle. I have found that it’s rare to make a statement that can change the world. But you can do things to change your world.

I am tired of living large. Dreaming big. I want simple. I want to feel full of heart when I look at the ocean, or a little hermit crab, or a bird perched on my fence post, or a flock of Canadian geese flying in formation. I want to see the wonder in how bees work together and feel fresh air on my face and be so excited that my legs covered in cellulite and scars can still hold me upright after 50+ years. What a MIRACLE it would be to LOVE ourselves as we are.

I am just done.

So for now, you may find me doing the simple things. I will keep posting about the things that feel pure and fill my heart. I will find magic in the minutia. You can find me there…in the garden watching the bees, or at the beach looking for that perfect shell, laying on my back watching clouds change shape as they float by. Looking at flowers as they open wide and fireflies as they LITERALLY produce a magical glowing light from their bodies. I’ll be chasing waterfalls and searching for stars in the sky and rainbows after a storm.

I am going back to the beginning when things were simpler and curiosity was what ruled the day.

I am going back - back to the basics.

The Plug for Family photos

The sweetest family that has trusted me for years to do their photos.

I was photographing this family over the past weekend for their annual Christmas Cards. I am always so grateful when I get to re-shoot a family year after year, watching them grow and change. It’s such a treat.

Rita, the mother (and owner of Rita’s Roots) turned to me at one point and said “It’s so important for us to do this every year…”

The comment stopped me dead in my tracks. OF COURSE IT IS! How did I miss this?

You see, I have lost sight of this very sentiment. I didn’t want to overwhelm people with my “sales talk” at the holidays or pressure anyone into doing something they didn’t want. I have spent years cultivating a business based on referrals and character, not gimmicks and sales. I didn’t want to put the sales calls out there. I was caught up in the parts that reflected me for too long instead of what this meant for my clients.

As a marketing professional, this is embarrassing.

You see, these sessions were never about me. They are about you…customers and clients. They are about your family. Your product. Your life. The only part of me I need to bring is my heart…and maybe my camera. The rest is about you. It’s my JOB to show up and reflect you.

So I will continue to make sure you know I am here…snapping these photos and ready for anything. I love what I do. And chances are I am going to love you and your people, too.

So, I will tell you now - TAKE THE PICTURES. Schedule the appointment. You are fine as you are. Just bring yourselves and I will take care of the rest.

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.

The in-betweens

If you ask me, I think we all need to lean into those in-betweens a little more.

This shot was from a recent session with a sweet family I knew casually. I met this little angel (literally, she is the SWEETEST child I have EVER met) a few years back. She had a matter-of-factness about her. Calm, collected, and confident…at 2. I kid you not.

I post this because it’s a classic moment for me on a shoot. These moments are what I call the “in-betweens.” The moments you don’t ask for as a client, but give me a larger story to tell. Most people trust my judgment and let me do my thing. But sometimes I run across clients that have a specific “shot list” and want to stick to it. Sure, we get the family group shots and the portraits. But this time, as we were photographing a portrait of her, I noticed those MEGA lovely lashes and asked mom if I could take a few shots like this. She obliged and I was thrilled.

The problem with sticking to structure - both in photography AND in life - is that you could miss these moments…these in-between the planned parts where life flows a little more freely. If we aren’t careful and stay too structured, we won’t get to swim around in these deeper and delicious moments that I know now are the times we remember best.

The best times in my life with my son (who is now 20) were the in between moments - the times we spent taking road trips, sitting side by side in carpool line, or just randomly going to the beach on a Tuesday evening. They are the times I haven’t forgotten. Our conversations were honest and vulnerable. The moments were never staged or forced. It was a natural. He trusted me in those quiet, spaces - leaning in and letting go of the fact that neither one of us had an expectation. It was usually the times when we were alone, nothing was forced or scheduled like the rest of his teenage life. Just easeful moments letting us both just relax into each other.

I think I need to take more clues from these in-betweens - both as a human and as a photographer. I somewhere lost trust in this very easy moment and sometimes try to please too much instead of shooting and acting like I want to…not like what’s expected of me. I need to trust the flow more and lean into the moments I write blog posts in my PJs with half a cup of coffee in hand about a little girls eyelashes…trust the flow of what comes out because magic happens JUST EXACTLY when I let go of what something should be and let it become what it needs to be.

Lock the door and throw away the key

Lately, I have really had the urge to padlock myself behind a heavy door and throw away the key. Just hibernate and regroup to come to terms with myself.

We are saturated with information every day. The world tells us a lot of things. What to think. What to wear. What to look like. How old to be. Who to love. What to eat. I feel as though we are all being bombarded with information - or more likely, MIS-information - about who we are in relation to the rest of the world. It’s exhausting.

So the thought of locking myself away in a cozy little place and letting myself be comfortable with who I am sounds really appealing to me these days. I want to get to know me and only me….sort of like I would do if I was dating myself.

I have lived a life as an unlocked door - open for passers by to come inside and get comfortable. I let anyone have the keys - men, women, friends, and family were all allowed access to me, allowed inside to come in and get comfy or a soft place to land. Don’t get me wrong… I don’t mind a little compromise, but I think what I did is to give away to much space in my heart.

It turns out that when you give people free access to your insides, they trash the joint like a band of twenty year old college renters with zero stakes in the game. They take that cushy pad they landed in and stain the carpets, leave water prints on the coffee table, break the appliances, and walk away with all the valuables, leaving you to clean it all up.

Trust me, I know this is a choice I made. A pleaser by nature, I wanted people to walk away feeling good from me. But what happened was I let them walk away with all my best stuff. They raided the china cabinet and left me the dirty dishes.

It’s time to heal. It’s time to regroup. It’s time to take precious care of what’s behind that door. I’ve got some serious repair work to do.

So maybe this us where I will sit - behind this big locked door. No access for the outside world. Just me and myself - getting reacquainted with each other.

Freedom

In the beginning of the year, I decided to explore something new creatively. I didn’t want it to be photography related in any way, take tons of time, or become a burden. So I started a 30 challenge to make a watercolor every day.

At the suggestion of a friend who did this for A YEAR, I stuck with a specific size and just started exploring from there. And you know what - I really sucked at first. Like…my first stuff was awful. But as I continued, I sort of watched it all unfold and stopped having expectations of myself.

This one simple act of showing up with nothing in my head and no expectations lead to some pretty awesome creativity. I experimented with paint, paper, brushes, and watched as the water took over every single image I created. Sometimes it was great. Other times, I ended up throwing it away. But each moment was a delightful experience in losing control of an outcome.

This dance became something I craved. I woke up each morning looking forward to seeing what happened with paint, water, paper, brushes and me. I got into a rhythm and found that the paper I thought I would hate, the brushes I didn’t like at first were the EXACT things I went back to over and over again.

Losing expectations and losing control was necessary at this point in my life right now. I had to lose some control to see how little it really matters. I had to give in creatively to something I knew literally NOTHING about other than the little palette of Crayola watercolors we distributed in art class when I was a teacher. We spend so much time having expectations on us and responsibility laid out for us. Sometimes letting something else have a little control - letting something be what it is without wanting to change it or manipulate it too much - is just where we need to be. It was like uncovering a path to somewhere new, somewhere that freedom took over and expectations were left behind for 15 minutes a day.

So do that thing – go take a dance lesson or hula hoop class. Sign up for that ceramics class you dream about. Learn to sew. Free yourself creatively a little. Then watch it all unfold with an open mind and an open heart.

Connection

“There’s an inexplicable delicateness to your photos…like you put your tender heart into each picture you take.”

Perhaps the best compliment I have ever gotten about my work in one simple sentence.

When my work started looking like I feel on the inside was when I knew I had finally found my style - so to speak. Of course it’s easy to shoot a wedding this way or a family. But the trick is to let yourself come through in those shoots with commercial work. Food. Portraits.

All photos need to have the balance of the client plus the photographer. It’s hard to not let instagram or other people’s work dictate how I portray myself. But with each photo and each moment, I try to put a piece of myself in there.

It’s about connection. No matter what I shoot. Connecting the people to the moment.

Unapologetically me.

I love food. One of life’s greatest pleasures is eating delicious food. The fact that I get to sometimes photograph food and food stories are always a favorite part of my job.

It’s taken me a long time to be able to say “I love food” again. You see, I have never had a great relationship with food. From far too early an age, I was taught by almost all the people around me to be ashamed of myself. I was chubby growing up and struggled to be slim like my peers. I was frequently teased – both by people I both looked up to and people that were supposed to be taking precious care of me. After all, I was an easy target – as most people with visible differences are. I carried around this albatross for years until developing disordered eating patterns that lasted well into my 30s.

For the life of me I will never understand why people think it’s appropriate to discuss someone’s appearance, particularly that of a child. For me in particular, it lead to a lifetime of trauma I have to unravel. 50 years of comments on my appearance by people who are supposed to be responsible adults, doctors, authority figures in my life re knotted into a mess of me not feeling like I am enough. The work I have done on myself the past 10 years is like no other work I have done in my life.

We all carry the mistakes of others around with us. Comments made by others that were inappropriate at the time or that sliced us precisely in half at a vulnerable crossroads are a heavy burden to bear. They become a knotted mess that seems to never want to unravel.

We must be careful how we talk to one another. We must stop judging how someone else feels based on our experiences. It has to stop here. With each one of us.

Start seeing beyond yourself. Start loving people where they are. Start apologizing for your missteps…because we all have them. We all make them. Start with you. Start where you are today. And find the joy in each day.

I am gonna start with my next delicious plate of pasta. Unapologetically.

Closure

“I don’t know…I think I am just looking for closure, but I don’t think I’m ever going to get it.”

This was the end to a text conversation. Hopeless and desperate all at the same time, the words hung with me like a weight around my neck. A verbal Albatross. The feeling was palpable between us both.

Closure has been on my mind a lot lately. It’s an image in our heads of resolve. The end of something. The moment we lay everything to rest during it’s final chapter. The problem is, I am not really sure there is such a thing. Closing a door to something doesn’t mean there aren’t things behind it. This closet is still full of crap that barely gets used. But it’s still there. And I know it.

When my parents died, I wondered if there would be closure. I hoped for it…even prayed. They were great parents, but the relationship between parents and children is a complicated and twisted path. But during their final chapter when their eyes closed for the last time and I watched them take their very last breaths, I realized how many holes there were in our story, in our history. My heart never fully had the chance to heal from some of it, and to this day there are still unresolved issues I have over moments with them, memories of them.

The same happened when my sister passed away. Or numerous break ups I’ve had. Or arguments. The list goes on.

I think the closure I have been seeking - the closure we all seek - isn’t real. It’s an illusion. The reality - the thing that IS real - is forgiveness. The closure is in the forgiving - the letting go. It’s in trying to stop the outcome of what is and living along side it. While this feels doable on some level, there are times where it can be especially hard. It’s hard when you aren’t prepared for it. Or when our pain is so real you can feel it physically. Or when you can’t get space from the person or situation. It seems unrealistic to expect someone to find forgiveness in something like an affair, abandonment, abuse.

But I think it can happen. I think forgiveness can come… with space and time.

I have mourned relationships that didn’t work out for decades before. I have wrestled with things said to me for a lifetime. So each day is a practice. Forgiving is letting go. And often, the hardest person I need to forgive is myself.

But each morning, I wake up and work on it.

I forgive. I breathe. And mostly, I hope.

Connection

This week, I took some lifestyle photos for a place that is near and dear to me - The Cooper School. I have taught art here. I have photographed these kids for years. I have designed collateral for them. I even sent my child to school here when he was younger. To say I understand the workings of this place would be an understatement.

It’s always fun when people trust you to tell their story - no matter what it is. But there is something truly special about a place that lets you back again and again to capture them both as they are and as you know them.

I don’t take for granted the families that come to me over and over again to tell their family story. Or the businesses that hire me year in and year out to photograph their staff, their day to day activities. It’s a special thing to be trusted like that.

And it’s a special thing to fall in love with your clients. In my opinion, it’s not the technical aspect of the job that tells the story. It’s not the fancy camera or the high end lenses or lighting. it’s not even assistants or other people on the job. It’s the connection.

And it’s that connection always makes for the best photos.

Freedom

My schedule allows for LOTS of days like this right now. I am very lucky. And more free than I know.

I was recently having coffee with a friend. Sitting in the cooler breeze of the day, we sat talking about life and kids and future goals for ourselves.

She looked at me and asked me “If you could have anything you want in this world, what would it be?”

Without hesitation, I calmly and mindfully said “Freedom.” Which, in truth, caught me off guard. She looked at me curiously and said “That’s an interesting answer…what do you mean by ‘freedom’?”

I recoiled. I knew I couldn’t articulate what I felt very well, perhaps because I wasn’t sure what I even meant. On the outside, I have a lot of freedom. My days are flexible. My schedule is mine. I can work as hard as I choose. But there is a tradeoff to that kind of freedom. As a photographer, you are at the mercy of the seasons, weather, budgets…the list goes on. So you really aren’t totally in control of your schedule. I work weekends often - especially in the fall when happy families line up for polished photos for their Christmas cards. It’s a trade off that I embrace. I love showing people the best version of themselves. I love shooting the best of what something is - be it food, families or just life floating by.

In truth, the freedom I wanted to feel wasn’t any of this. And I need to be honest with myself. What I was hoping for the most when I calmly and evenly said “Freedom” was emotional freedom…and if I am being honest, that is something I don’t know that I have ever felt.

I want Freedom. Freedom from anxiety. Freedom from worry. Freedom from being beholden to what others expectations of me are. Freedom from the petite prison I put myself in because I think I am not enough. And if I am being honest, that is where I am headed. It has nothing to do with anything else really.

When we continued our conversation, I said “I guess it sounds silly, because I feel very free. I have a great schedule. I have a good life and a lot to be grateful for. So many people are so much worse off than me. I guess financial freedom is what I am talking about.” It was an easy out and a quick cover for something I was so convicted about. At the time I wasn’t wholly sure of what I really meant. I thought on it a lot and let the answer come to me in truth.

So now I know the answer to my deepest desires. It’s not things. It’s . What I want most in this world is, indeed, Freedom. I want to let it all go and just be me. That’s what I meant. That’s what my heart wants.

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…

National Day of You

There was a recent push around the interwebs for “national son’s day” and “national daughters day.” These things always feel so staged to me. Canned and triggered responses thoughts thrown out into space about the love we have for our children.

I mean…sure. I love my child…we ALL love our kids. But why do we need to set aside a day for this? Isn’t this a sentiment that should be shown daily - outside of the realm of social media? It feels wrought with the same canned emptiness I feel around Valentine’s Day.

But while I don’t love the “forced” nature of these sorts of days, I do love a pause to appreciate and show gratitude - be it a prayer or a party. Whether it’s a small token of gratitude or an entire celebration of someone, maybe showing each other we love each other should be more cause for pause.

If you know me at all - even a little - you know I love my son. I don’t need Hallmark or National Calendars to tell me how to celebrate him. Mention his name and watch my face soften like butter on a warm day. Ask me how he is and listen to the tone of my voice shift like sugar melting into a smooth, rich caramel.

I am so lucky to be this kid’s mother. He is special and amazes me every single day. His kind heart. His open mind. His sensitive soul. He came to me this way. All I did was nurture those good parts and help guide him to being his authentic self. My job has been mostly easy with him. The hard parts are always watching what the world had in mind for him - as thought it knows him better.

So in honor of all of the times I didn’t let you know enough, in honor of National Son’s Day, in honor of you, my son: I thank you. Thank you for being yourself and showing up as you are, 100% you, all the time. Thank you for that kind heart, that gentle soul, that clear mind. Thank you for following that heart. I am so proud of who you are becoming. You are celebrated everyday in my heart.

Balance

Things haven’t been great lately.

I mean…life is okay. But, truth be told, a lot of stuff has been coming my way this year that is making me have to reassess the things that are important.

When this happens, I have a set of things I do. Talk to a friend. Write. Take care of my body with movement and healthy food. Sleep. Meditate. Take a nice, long, lingering bath or shower. See the ocean or stand in the middle of a forest. It all became a laundry list of things to do to care of myself in the most essential of ways.

When I started out on this regimen, I felt guilty when I missed something. “Shoot - I forgot to write today.” “I missed working out.” Or, even worse, “That workout wasn’t good enough.”

record scratch

Where on earth does THAT come from. The very thing I am doing to help myself is the VERY THING that causes me to feel worse about myself.

That didn’t feel good. Time to flip that script in my little pea brain.

In the past, I would be the perfectionist and ask myself, “why even bother?” I would throw in the towel and just continue being unhappy because if I can’t do all of it, why bother even doing a part of it. But after recognizing this behavior and awful script running through my perfectionist brain like a Monday morning train schedule in New York City, I decided to loosen the reigns on the regiment of it all. Because isn’t trying part of the game of succeeding?

So, these days I just use the list as a set of options…suggestions of how to get towards my better. Not perfect. Just better. The steps are not specific instructions, but merely suggestions on what to do or where to start.

Today, I will show up for myself in a few ways. I’ll write a little. I’ll move my body. And I’ll go breathe in some ocean air. If a hamburger gets in to my body, I won’t beat myself up about it. Because life is a constant balance of what feels good in the moment and what feels good in the long term.

And what makes me a better human in the long run is balance.

Summer love.

I love summer.

Wait. Maybe I need to refine that statement. I love summer FOOD!

I love the freshness, the immediacy of summer. The bright foods grown in your own backyard. The seafood caught and eaten the same day. The smokiness of the grill. The spiciness of food. Different temperatures and textures. And lucky for me, the real magic happens at the crossroads of summer food and summer food photoshoots like this one. It feels inspirational and gorgeous.

But, it’s not ACTUALLY REAL. This is staged - perfection in an imperfect world. I look at this photo and remember what happened that day or the conversations of lives crumbling at our foundation, I can’t help but realize we are always telling a story out here. The behind the scenes isn’t always this beautiful. Sometimes in our lives we eat out of plastic containers with sporks.

And you know what…it’s okay! Part of life isn’t what you see. It’s a balance of beauty and fun.

Life isn’t this perfect. But it can be in moments. It is as perfect as you want to make it. Embrace the good parts, because those messy parts are always there, hiding behind the scenes, waiting for you to clean them up.

Of this I am sure.

Reconnecting

Photo taken at a meal during a recent yoga retreat I photographed for Beth Cosi at The Horse Shoe Farm

It’s been a strange year.

It’s been a year of isolation and of disconnection. It’s been a year of reconnection with ourselves and our families. And sorting through the muck and mire of life until we what is most important to us. For me, that has meant a lot of things.

Let me start by saying that the general timing of my life paired with the aftermath of a major pandemic has thrown us straight into transition mode around here. Plans are being formed for the next chapter for all of us that will both carry us away and bring us closer together in some respects. Our lives are so far flung that we are reaching out - both unconsciously and very consciously. We are trying to find our way back to each other in all the ways. We are trying desperately to hang on to each other. To connect.

When life starts pulling at you (money, sickness, kids, life, general stuff), suddenly you can see the holes you managed to sloppily repair in the first place. They are always the first to give way. So, as life pulled at those strings (and as it always will), I quickly saw the holes coming back open like a sweater that easily unravels at the pull of a dangling piece of yarn.

But I have made these repairs so often now that I know how to jump into action. For me, it’s self care: Meditation, mindfulness and movement. That’s all I need to check in and make sure I am okay, regroup and put myself on track.

Or so I thought.

This past weekend, I went to a yoga retreat nestled in the crook of the North Carolina mountains under the safe and regal watch of Grandfather mountain. We had a healthy dose of all the things you need to get on track. Yoga. Meditation. Amazing food. But I felt like there was more there. More that I had missed. It was there that I realized what I have been missing this year - connection and conversation. I needed these things like I needed water. I needed to connect with humans and again - both physically and emotionally. I needed to walk on the earth in my bare feet and feel the grass against my back. I wanted see myself reflected back in other humans, in nature, in the mirror I have so desperately hated to gaze into all these years. I wanted to see both my good and my not-so-good parts.

This year has made me see that the thing I have been missing in this puzzle has been connection. It’s been a crucial piece missing for so many of us, too. Connecting to ourselves and others. Family. Friends. Strangers! I need connection like air. I need to connect over food and music and everything we have in common - not what we DON’T have in common (I’m looking at you politics!)

So each day now as I face a lot of transition and the turmoil of life, I try hard to remember to do the important stuff. I take care of me first. But I also pick up the phone and call someone. I hug my family. I walk in the grass and sit in the warm sunshine. I smile at people in the car next to me. I pet my dogs. And know that these repairs might just be a little more substantial this time.