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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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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.

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.

Sunrise, Sunset.

I feel the sun setting on this phase of my life recently.

I have felt it before. But maybe at the time it felt more like a storm passing through - grey clouds overhead, darkness creeping in. I have also felt it in ways that felt bright and new.

That’s what I feel this time. It feels more colorful…golden…hopeful.

I am not great with change (Is anyone, really?). I fight against it’s current even when it’s the best of circumstances. But right now, I am sort of letting this tide take me where it needs to because at the end, all I can see ahead are calm waters and golden rays.

Is it rose colored glasses? Maybe. Is it just that I am finally making changes on my terms? Most likely. Am I still fearful? Not really. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Most of all, I can’t wait to see the sun rise on the other side.

The Rhythm of Summer

When I was at the beach this weekend for an evening walk, I admitted out loud that if I should have to leave the coast for any reason in the future, I would really miss it. I would miss the soft ocean air and the salty tacky water as I walked lazily between the waves, sand between my toes.

This surprised even me a little. I used to think I was a mountain girl. I probably am, in all honesty. Being surrounded by trees does something to me. But recently, I have noticed a magnetic pull to the beach. Perhaps its the warmer temps. Or maybe 2 solid months of being locked inside has really done it (who’s with me here!). But the ocean does something to my very core. It’s rhythm and textures make my heart feel comforted and calm in the same way that the rhythmic swaying of a new mom can soothe a crying baby.

I think need the beach in my soul...like the air I breathe and the food I eat and the water I drink. I have heard people say things like “I don’t like how sand feels in my (feet/clothes/hair/etc).” Or “The salt water is so itchy.” Or even “I don’t like swimming in water I can’t see through.” All valid reasons, I suppose. But these are the very things I crave… the evidence of time spent by the sea. The prickly heat of the summer sun on my salty skin, cheeks flushed with too much time on the water’s edge, faces tacky from the hot and humid air. The feeling of those sandy feet washed off in makeshift showers…always with a little sand left behind on your shoes or swimsuit. It’s just all part of the feeling… of connecting with it all.

Maybe it’s not that I prefer the mountains to the sea. Maybe it’s just that I love being outside, fresh air in my lungs, sun on my cheeks, and me breathing in all this beautiful world has to offer.

So for now, I will lean in for now to these beach days. I will embrace watching each unique sunset, warm salty air on my skin, that gentle sway that mother nature has me cleaved to her chest, swaying back and forth gently into that rhythm of summer once again.

My world in a seashell

I have many memories of my father. He was a passionate and sensitive man who was raised in a time where it wasn’t really accepted to be a sensitive man. But it was always within him, even if it was stuffed down and suffocated by the masculinity and machismo that ruled the world at that time. Whenever we visited the beach - or the seashore, as he called it - he would marvel at the colors of the seashells. “Just look at the colors,” was a perpetual exclamation as we strolled along the seashore, picking up tiny shells along the way, gazing at the rainbow sherbet sunsets of Kiawah Island, where he retired long before I graduated from high school.

He didn’t grow up embracing the loveliness of the little things in life because his siblings wouldn’t have stood for it. Led by fear (and maybe a little ignorance), they would have given him a proper bashing for it, I am sure. But in his distance from his family and surrounded by people who made him feel safe, he was allowed the space to marvel at some of the most magnificent creations on this planet. Moreover, he was allowed to be more who he wanted to be.

My dad recreated himself over the course of his life. He came from very little, and left behind his upbringing in the East Midlands of Post-war England to start over in the USA - the land of opportunity. In his early days here, he worked hard all day, saving money to make a difference for the future of him and his family. Each night, he would go home to his quarters at the local YMCA, dreaming of his future, scheming of how to get there. He feared nothing, often standing bravely in the face of so things that would many of us crumble and give up. The man NEVER.GAVE.UP. He was resilient, resourceful and had a blind faith in life. Most of all, he was always there for us as a family, holding us both emotionally and physically up when whenever we needed it.

All that is important and significant to who he was as a person....

But along with that, he was vulnerably sensitive. He felt deeper than he would ever have admitted…. perhaps more than he even intellectually understood. He saw colors in seashells and vulnerability in animals. He loved flowers and sunsets and babies and puppies and sent me more cat litter advertisements than I would really admit to most people (“now this is a good ad, love…” was something he said often to my young, art director self). He loved us with silence and strength. His heart was kind, but it showed mostly when he felt safe to show it to you - like a dog that had been beaten down, you had to win his trust and affection. He was a dichotomy of fierce love, strong will, and a gentle sensitivity that is unmatched in most humans.

So each time I walk down the beach, this is what replays in my mind like a broken record: “Just look at the colors.”

I see him, walking next to me, bent over to pick up the nearest shell and marvel at it, like countless others before it. Warm corals. Bright yellows. Creamy pinks. Cerulean Blues. Vibrant purples. He’d look to the sunset and telling me to see as many as I could in my life, reminding me that - like snowflakes - no 2 sunsets are the same. It’s like an old movie in my head, flickering quietly to the background soundtrack of Charleston’s warm ocean waves lapping gently against my feet.

I see him in the seashells and the sunrises. I see him in the babies splashing in the surf and the sandpipers running along the shoreline. And if I silence my mind, I can feel him - his gentle and strong arm, leading me just to where I need to be.

Spring

Each spring, life bursts through the frosty earth and spiny trees. The world slowly comes to life after it’s dormancy through the cold and quiet winter. Cycles renew and continue bringing forth familiar rhythms and energy.

These little lessons teach me every year. Spring is time to burst forth with energy and hope. It’s time to unfurl our colors and wake up to the possibilities around us. It’s time to hold on to what brings new life and new energy. It’s time to let those winds take the seeds of hope and possibility, spreading them all around to grow and fruit under the heat of the fiery summer sun.

Spring is my favorite season…it’s full of little seeds of hope, cleaning rain, refreshing clearing winds, hopeful blooms. And if we just relax into it, we, too, can bloom.

Loss

I’ve been looking for that sliver of blue sky lately - the tiny slice of hope that keeps us going through the dark and stormy times - wondering if the sun was going to ever shine back down on my heavy heart again.

I am in a stage of loss right now – something all too familiar to me. I have experienced loss before… Parents. A sister. Aunts and uncles. Friends. Pets. To be honest, loss never gets easier. And it doesn’t diminish at any stage. The overall feeling is still the same.

Loss comes in many forms. And so does the grieving. It doesn’t have to be traditional - like a death. It can happen when a friend leaves your life or you have a relationship-altering disagreement with a family member. The loss of a loved one can have a ripple effect, too. Breaking up with a boyfriend or divorcing a spouse can lead to losing extended family that you thought you would be with forever.

A few years ago, I had some friends move back home to Europe. I remember the grief I felt when they were gone. It was a loss in it’s own way. I also remember having to hide it - stuff it down like it didn’t exist. They were, after all, not gone…or so everyone kept trying to remind me. But with kids in schools, different schedules, different time zones and expensive plane rides, the likelihood of us seeing one another often seemed like a fleeting hope as I watched them drive away that last time, my battered heart trailing behind them in the dust. I felt heart broken. I felt loss.

I feel it each time I drive by their street. I feel it on Saturday afternoons when we would be making plans for the an evening of dinner and conversations together that lasted late into the evening. I feel it when the weather warms up and we head to the beach, picnic in tow, empty chairs beside us. The pangs of loss can linger for a while.

But, as I sit there on the beach on these cloudy days with my picnic in tow, I just look for that sliver of blue over head. Because it’s always there… peeking through just to remind us that above all, this, too, shall pass and that that big, bright, beautiful, warming sun is always shining above those heavy clouds.

'Tis The Season

The holidays are here again. The picture-perfect life of candy canes and Christmas lights adorning every available surface are streaming through social media feeds and magazine covers. Happy faces anticipating romantic nights by the fire, cozied up with steaming cups of goodness and a mostly TV-less existence – except for a brief encounter with Elf or Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Only that’s not totally true, is it?

Maybe this is true in moments. Or for a day here and there. But when you really boil it down, it’s about all of us working, folding laundry on partially decorated dining room tables and anxiously checking bank accounts to make sure there is going to be enough to see us through the season of spending. We are still living our lives…just with more to do now.

The truth is, the holidays can be hard. Being around family for days on end can be stressful. Cooking freaks a lot of people out. Gift giving can create a lot of anxiety. And lots of people are lonely or dealing with loss, change or pain.

But there is a happy medium…a place where fantasy and reality collide if only for a moment. Not every day is going to look festive and light. Some days are going to be regular… even hard. But it’s leaning into those sweet spots and silent nights where we can find some true holiday spirit and joy.

When I talked to my son on the way to school the other day, I asked him what he was most looking forward to this holiday. He said, without a beat, “decorating the tree with you and drinking eggnog.” In my mind, this activity is always a disaster. Broken lights. Trips to Walmart. Wrestling with the tree stand. It never feels perfect to me. But for him, it’s his favorite time. His memories are of the good parts. The parts that bring him complete joy and gratitude…a representation of the season at it’s best. He’s not focused on gifts or jobs or wrapping - just a nice moment with me, creating memories that will last longer than I am here on this planet.

So this year, I am going to lean in to those simple moments that he remembers forever. I am going to stop worrying if my food is good enough or the gifts were perfect or the house was decorated like a movie set. I am going to spend time making the magic in the best way I know how – together.

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.