'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.

Silver linings

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Little Girl.

Dear Little Girl.

You. Are. Beautiful. You are braver than you think, kinder than you know, and smarter than you give yourself credit for. You have gifts inside that are just waiting to be uncovered and unearthed. But it's up to you to do it.  

I know you. And I know you are scared. I know you somehow took on the notion that you weren't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough... I understand that you don't feel right in your skin. Too big, too loud, too different than the others that seem to float together like a school of silvery little fish, floating in a rhythm that seems to sync up perfectly while you float alone, trapped in netting you are just too tired to try to escape from.

My whole life, I have been watching you...your strength and your whole-heartedness are unmatched. I have seen you do the impossible. Given these circumstances, who could possibly survive? Yet... still, I have seen you bravely carve the most unique life path - not knowing what's next, not knowing where it's leading. I have watched as this world stripped you shamefully bare and expected unrealistic things of you. And through your tenacity and utter heart, I have watched as you delivered every last one. 

It's not you who is failing. It's the world who has failed you. It has destroyed hope in all the places you were supposed to feel safe. But still, here you are. On the eve of your birthday, still smiling, still full of heart, still courageously standing in the storms of life.

You are mine. And I am yours. And I am here to guide you through the rest of this journey, full of love and void of fear. I am here to show you how to navigate the rest of this twisting, unchartered path of life. So take my hand. Don't be afraid. We have got this...together.

Love,
Me

Sixteen

Here we are...sweet sixteen.

I'm not sure it feels as sweet from this end.  No longer my snuggly little boy. Not yet a full independent man. But you are well on your way. It's inevitable. The clock just ticks along...and with each passing day, change is eminent.

You tower over me now. At 6'1", you are man-sized. But its your spirit that remains so sweet. It's still got the innocence of you when you were a toddler waking up from a nap – bleary-eyed and drunk with thoughts of dreams that made you full of wonder and curiosity. Sometimes, it makes it hard for me to see you as the man you are becoming.

This past year was hard. It was a year of growth. A year of hurdles. You gave up a little, and then you gave it all you had. You learned such big lessons about life. You know when to ask for help and where to look for it. You know what struggle looks like and how it feels to be hopeless. More importantly, you know how it feels to be empowered. Strong. Capable. And in control. You know how to change the story with mindset, grit and grace.

The year ahead will be something you remember forever. I often reflect on my 16 year-old self and what she did. The mistakes she made and the trails she faced. So this is my advice to you: Make good choices.  You are ready for the year ahead, but the world will test you - pushing back like a the bully it can be. That's how it works. Stand resilient in it's face. Just keep remembering who you are.

You are good.

You are kind.

You are strong.

You are smart.

You are talented beyond your years.

You are gracious.

And yes, you are beautiful. Full of heart. Full of soul. And full of wonder.

You are wonder-full.

I love you, sweet Graham. Happy Birthday.

Dad

I miss you, Dad.

I miss your big, strong hands that held mine tightly when I needed to be safe and loved.

I miss your tenacity and your insanely positive outlook on everything.

I miss watching you love the kids and the pets in our family. I miss seeing you chatting with Graham, both of you snuggly tucked into his bed having conversations about trains and jet fighters and weapons and boats and all the delightfully simple and sweet things toddlers talk about.

I miss the comfort of our simple conversations. I miss the quietness they held. I miss the simplicity of their tone. I miss the complexity of their quietness.

I miss having someone that believed endlessly and faithfully in all my powers, dreams and hopes.

Mostly, I just miss you being here, quietly guiding me, gently supporting me, endlessly loving us all where we were...as we were.

Thanks for being there, Dad.

XO

Lib

Blood, sweat and tears

National Air + Space Museum, Udvar-Hazy Annex

I recently took a short trip to Washington, D.C. to kick off the summer. Our trip was a real contrast to last summer where I basically hid away in the mountains in a cabin and slept off what felt like a very long year...or few years. I was coming out of some mild depression from – well...life I guess – and hiding away in the woods was really just what I needed at the time.

This year, feeling a little more adventurous and energetic, we took flight and headed to D.C. for some culture and stimulation.  Since I was traveling with boys, there were lots of adventures planned – airplanes, sporting events, spies, and news were all on our agenda. I was happy to go along for the ride, even though the art galleries are more my jam. But on trips like this, you never know where inspiration will lurk or what new things you'll see.

As we walked through the museums and giant structures with massive planes suspended precariously from the ceilings, my mind wandered - not to the history or the information behind each one - but to their stories. I wonder: how many times did those inventors and scientists have to fail to reach their goals? How many times did they screw up or go back to the drawing board?  How many times were they SURE of something only to be proven wrong, yet again?  The Wright Brothers failed miserably before achieving their goals. But they kept going. They had bigger plans, and an even bigger belief in themselves and their ideas.

The things that strikes me most is that they didn't give up. Each person had a belief that they worked tirelessly for. They paired themselves with like-minded friends and collegues to help them achieve their wildest dreams...all while failing over and over again.

Failure was eminent in those walls of the Air and Space museums, but that's not at all what we see. What we see is an evolution of flight, a tireless display of dedication and the grit to never ever ever give up - no matter how crazy your thoughts may seem. What we see is the success, the achievements, the trophy...the end result. What you don't see is failure. You don't see frustration. You don't see the tears and long hours it takes to get a rocket ship off the ground and into orbit. 

Sometimes, life can feel like that sometimes - like a massive plane grounded by gravity and the weight of it's heavy armor to protect it from the elements. And then other times, life can feel weightless and free like you are floating gently through space, unencumbered by the gravity of it all. Just remember on the days it feels heavy that it takes a lot of blood, sweat, tears, failure, and a whole lot of fire power to launch yourself into the future.

You just have to keep trying. It's as simple and complicated as that.

Messy rooms.

Some days, I wake up and look at my son's room and sigh. It's always a mess. Carpet tiles askew. Bed never made. Clothes strewn about the room. I turn the other way as much as I can. But honestly, some days it gets to me. The mess feels chaotic - like loud music with a lot of dischord.

Lately, though I have been leaning into the mess. I walk by the room and smile a little. Nothing has changed except, perhaps, for my outlook on it. He's growing up. In 2 years he will be gone, walking across the stage in a cap and gown, a sea of opportunity in front of him. After that, his little room that he has know since he was 2 will be tidy, quiet, and organized. But it won't have him in it.

So today, I sat in here for a few minute. I admired the spots and stains on his white carpet tiles from the juice he spilled when he was sick. I traced the tiny, dirty hand prints on the wall that he outgrew so quickly. I picked up a little matchbox car he has on his bedside table and remember all of it... flood of memories I can't quite contain before they come spilling out around me, messy and chaotic...just like his room.

I guess the moral of the story is that life is messy when we have more in it. Soon enough, his sheets will be tucked in, dresser dusted, and life will be tidied up. For now though, I will hang on to the mess. It reminds me of how much I have to hold on to.

Good Grief

Grief is a curious and sneaky emotion. It lurks around those dark corners, waiting to pounce on you when you least expect it. Sometimes it stands out there - front and center - challenging you to try to avoid it's clutches. But it's smarter than you. It knows your escape routes. It knows the places you hide. So it always finds you, weak and tired from all the running and avoiding.

I have lived with Grief for a while. I had brushes with it in the past through lost relationships and the general passage of time. But I didn't really get to know Grief until my Mom got sick and died. I knew it was coming. We all did, really. But honestly, there is no way to face it until you come face-to-face with it.

Grief washed over us this day 11 years ago when my Mom took her last breath. We all stood, side-by-side, hand-in-hand, watching helplessly as she slipped away to a dimension I don't quite yet understand. And then Grief stepped in to overshadow it all and run the show for a while. It cozied up to us when my father died one year later. Then, I got real familiar with Grief when my sister died a few years ago. We are well acquainted now.

I used to try to avoid Grief, like the close talker with bad breath at a cocktail party. I had ways of slipping away - or so I thought. But it always knew where to find me again. Lurking in corners, in empty spaces, just waiting for me everywhere.

I live with Grief now. We understand one another. Once I stopped running from it, our relationship became something I understood. I am not afraid now. I know when it comes around, I just need to be with it...sort of lean into my time with it. This isn't something I ever understood until we played the game and I always kept losing. Grief always found me. So I decided to let it in.

I miss my mom. But I have learned to live with this life without her and with Grief standing in her place. I have no other option but to lean into that. I spent so much time exhausting myself by running away from it all the time. But I can't anymore. I am too tired and it knows all my tricks.

So now I lean into the tears, the hurt, and the memories. And suddenly and swiftly, Grief slips away so we can get on with our days once again, living in the present.

The Human Experience

My sweet little garden, on a particularly gloomy spring day in Charleston.

If you follow me on social media, you know that this spot is one of my favorite spots in my yard – or really in my whole world. I don't know why, but it seems to symbolize everything I love about this space – the yard, the privacy hedge, the chair, and my futile attempts at gardening. It's an intimate snapshot of all that I have worked hard for and become over the years.

And yet, it's imperfect. The chair needs a good cleaning and some fresh paint. Weeds are growing through the crack in the pathway. The hedge is out of control with vines and overgrowth. And I have an unplanted hand-me-down pot sitting there, full of leaves, debris and actual trash.

The thing is, this used to bother me. I wanted life to be perfect. I wanted the perfect house, the perfect yard, the perfect family, and the perfect life. I wanted the social media life everyone was selling me. I wanted a spouse that loved me purely. I wanted to enjoy the sunny southern weather here like my friends on their boats and in their backyard pools. This seemed to be the recipe for blissed-out perfection. So in my mind, if I could just get my life to look perfect, it would be perfect.

We all know that's a lie. Yet, somehow we fall into this trap over and over again.

And the trap is deeper that the superficial things. It's about more than a pretty house > pretty yard > pretty life. It's about having life in the palm of your hand. It's about owning every challenge that comes your way. It's about not looking like your world is rocked when you are climbing out of a crisis or depression or another loss you can't bear. You have it together in your sunny, colorful, insta-life.

These superficial ideals are more dangerous than ever. We are living in a time where we aren't embracing the Human Experience.  We aren't accepting the bad with the good. We get depressed when we have a string of too many cold days in a row. We get frustrated when we have to wait in line at our local Target with a cart full of possessions we don't even need. We get mad when the barista doesn't get our order right. Or the traffic light hangs us up another 60 seconds.

In the current landscape of social media, we have been trained not to overshare. Don't tell me the bad stuff. I just want to hear the great parts of your life. I have been told not to tell you that my kid is struggling with school, ADD and depression, but I can tell you he loves rugby and is kind to all animals. I can't tell you that the past 15 years have been the ultimate struggle for me because life is hard, y'all. I can't share my fear of failure as I send a proposal for a new assignment out - I just have to ROCK THAT SHIT and OWN IT! Because we all know that leads to success, right?

The problem is, we are losing all sense of why we are here - flesh and blood walking around on planet earth. We are here to experience it all. That doesn't just mean jumping from airplanes or living the sweet life in a van traveling back and forth across North America. (but by all means, it can mean that!) It means doing the dishes, running out of gas on your trip and forgetting your passports. It means leaning into the rainy days. It means living through grief and pain – even if it lasts for years. (Because honestly, sometimes it does last for years. And I am here to tell you that it's okay.)

The Human Experience is what we are here to live through. Leaning into the days and moments that aren't so great is part of why we are here. We aren't meant to be permanently happy and blissful. We need all of it to make our time here on earth meaningful. The good is there... it's just waiting for you to find it. It's hidden in messy bedrooms and piles of laundry. It's lurking at the bottom of your sink full of dirty dishes. It's hiding behind the clouds on a grey and gloomy day. It's in all of it. You just have to be patient.

The rain will soon end, but the sun never stops shining. It's there all along. For now, I am going to watch the raindrops and lean into this beautifully chilly spring day.

Sliver

This was a test shot as I was walking out the door a few days ago. I almost threw it away. But look at the magic it created.

Sometimes, all it takes to grow is that sliver of light you let shine into your heart. Day by day, week by week, the light gets in and makes real change that can only be witnessed with patience and time and perseverance.

The gentle sliver warms the space it needs to and suddenly you are new again.  Thriving. Growing. Stretching towards that accidental slice of golden light. 

And before you know it, you are growing. And changing. And ready to be transplanted into a new place full of sunshine and light and delicious space.

And all it took was a sliver of light to get you through.

KEEP CLOSED?

Taken at the Garden & Gun offices here in Charleston, SC during the Southeastern Wildlife Expo.

I am always casting doors open. I aspire to live in the wide open, so I can hear things like birds chirping, see the shadows fall differently, and smell the impending rainstorm as it moves in from the west.

Yet, we are warned. We are told by the writing on the wall to keep closed. Is it for self preservation? Is it a precautionary move? Or is it necessary? Should we be constantly shutting ourselves off because it's just too painful to stay open?

My former self was wide open. I lived fully and without pretense. I fell madly in love, dove straight into uncharted waters and let the current take me fearlessly where I wanted to be. But after years of a battled and bruised soul, sometimes I think a closed door might be a good thing.

The key is not to lock it down and throw away the key. We don't need to vault ourselves. We just need some well greased hinges and maybe a window to the other side. We need to crack the door just enough for the light to come in.

Because after the light pours in, the rest can easily follow along.

An early spring

It feels like we are having an early spring this year.

As much as I want to say "praise the maker," I am stuck. It's the same feeling you get when you didn't get long enough to spend in bed on the weekend because obligation rang. Or when a party ended too early. Or when you just weren't quite prepared for your guest arrival.

On the bright side of things, spring is my favorite season. It's gusty winds clear the dust from my aching soul. It's colorful parade of blooms makes me feel like life is colorful and clear and oh-so-alive. The early arrival of spring means a long, lingering season of amazing things...things like fresh, garden grown veggies. Long, lingering days that melt into extended evenings and deep conversations. Bonfires. Delicious meals. Friends. Beach evenings. The best things that life is made of.

Maybe an early spring - crisp and bright like garden radishes, crunching with peppery brightness - is just what I need after all.

Lately

I have been more quiet than usual this fall and winter. I have been working on some exciting projects and new ventures. Thankfully, quiet = busy… at least for right now.

One of the projects I have hit the ground hard on is a book on saving seeds I am working on with my good friend Julie of Julie's Garden Delights. I liken this project to a type of step by step for seed saving gardeners which has taken me literally from Spartanburg to Charleston and everywhere in between. I have learned so much on this project - not just about seeds and gardening, but about myself and my work. I love when a project comes along and changes everything, don't you?

Here are some images for you to see. I have no idea what's been rejected, but images of vegetables never disappoint! Special shout out the the folks at Charleston Parks Conservancy for my all access pass to their gardens!

Winter Wonderland

The magic and mystery of the world silently sleeping under a blanket of fluffy, white, freshly fallen snow never gets old through the eyes of wonder.

Welcome to Charleston, Winter. We are so glad you came for a visit.

.

My best self

I resolve to love more and to give more. I resolve to be more gracious at receiving. I resolve to be more aware and mindful each day – to move more and eat healthier. I will work harder at being my best self.

But I also resolve to stop judging myself and others and to know - without a doubt -  we are all generally doing the best we can with what we know. I resolve to stop holding myself to ridiculous standards that don't mean anything to me and to set my own goals that will set me up for successes.

I resolve to remember that just because today is a day on the calendar, that it doesn't mean anything. There are 365 days this year - each one a chance at redemption, love and becoming who I am supposed to be. So if I lapse or falter or trip, I am here, to pick me right back up and set me back on my path... venturing towards my best self.

Back to me.

Wild love.

"Sometime's hope will look a lot like you." Unknown

It's Christmas.

I didn't do a card this year. In the past, we have had some winners. The first one was you as a naked baby sitting on a stool with little, white, drawn-on angel wings attached to you. That's where we started. And truth be told, we are still there. I could draw wings on you in this photo and it would be very fitting. You amaze me still...every day and in every way. Your heart is kind and full and ready to give. Your soul is like gold. To me, you look a lot like hope.

But we are at 15 now. It's been a tough year for you so far. Fifteen is hard. Between hormones and high school, you have been battled, beaten and worn down. But you just keep getting back up, facing it every day in the only ways you know how at 15. By flying with those wings.

I have admittedly been worried about you lately. It's what parents do. I know you feel it, too. The future is looming. There is so much pressure to Be and Do and Achieve. The expectations that life puts on you at this age are unfair. I don't buy into them. And yet, I still fret. I worry because I am unsure of what life holds - not only for you, but for me. I am unsure of how much to push, force, or encourage you to do things like study for an English exam or practice guitar. The doubt and pressure you are feeling are most certainly trickling down from me standing on a little shaky ground of my own.  Some of it matters. And some of it just doesn't. It's a fine line that is a unclear to a lot of people.

I saw a video the other day. It said something I was so sure of and I will never forget. It said "The world is desperate now. It is desperate for unconditional, wild, defiant love. Be that love."

I may be unclear about many things, but if there is one thing I am sure of it's this...we need love. Wild love. Unconditional love. Defiant love. So stay on your path...this path of kindness, empathy, caring. It's in you.  Be brave with your self because your self is beautiful. Spread it around like confetti. It may hurt sometimes, but I know one thing: the world needs more of you.

Merry Christmas, my wild love. You are all I could ever hope for in this world.

Motherhood

"Having children puts the whole world into perspective. Everything else just disappears." Unknown

Here is where...

I have spent the past few years unraveling myself. Gently brushing out the cots and the knots of some pretty colossal perceptions that may or may not have been a reality. While I have done other life-building things like losing myself in the woods for 3 weeks or traveling to the other side of the globe to wander and wonder, the place I have done the most work to get my head straight is right here in a small, humble corner of my bedroom underneath some magical morning light sitting on a folded blue blanket.

This corner brings me more peace and angst than I can express. Some days I have avoided it. Other days, I can't seem to remove myself from just resting here quietly and gently with my breath. Because some days, my breath is all there is to focus on.

One of the hardest things I have ever done is meditation. I remember the first time I tried it. I read about it in a magazine about 15 years ago and decided to give it a whirl. All I could think about at the time was "is my child going to wake up?," or "wow, my head really itches." Like most people do, I spent a lot of time in my head the handful of times I tried it.

A few years later, I found myself on the other side of the world. Riddled with jet lag and angst over leaving my life and indulging in something for myself, I found myself sitting on a bolster in the middle of a rice field in Bali. With a gentle breeze floating around us that felt like cotton balls up against my prickly, moist skin, I was told that the first thing we would do was meditate for 20 minutes, sitting in silence, not moving, resisting the urge to itch anything or move very much. I started panicking. Would someone be watching? Would I get in trouble if I had to itch my back/hand/arm/foot? I am good at a lot of things, but sitting still for 20 minutes is not one of those things. I practice for a full week out there and somewhere along the way, off and on, meditation became something I needed. The silence. The stillness. And mostly, the breath. Steady, gentle, constant, deep breath. Fulfilling breath. Life affirming breath.

With much practice over the past years and a lot of trial and error, meditation has become part of my self care routine. While this is a blog about photography (in theory), I cannot stress enough how important self care is. - to my career, my mental health, and my family. It is paramount to the quality of work I put out into the world and the quality of myself I put into my life. Believe me when I say that for years, I have been on auto pilot. I had to be. And truly there is nothing wrong with that. It's about surviving.

But somehow, this time of self reflection, while often painful and resulting in tears, has also been a monumental thing. It had allowed me to grow and change and uncover the things that were shaping me. It has allowed me to rewrite my story. It has been a harbinger of change, and a beacon of light in the most difficult times, gently holding my hand through it all, whispering to my heart "Here is where you belong. Here is where you are whole. Here is where..."

Believe in tomorrow.

"To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow." Audrey Hepburn

Waiting to bloom

I have lived in fear and self-doubt for most of my life. My story is a wild ride of elements that sound like I should have packed it all in years ago. On paper, most people would have given up. But somehow, here I am, still standing.

Aside from the self doubt, there has always been a gentle undercurrent of hope in my heart. A spot that says "Keep going...you have got this." It's like a gentle hand, softly guiding me through the mud and mire of life. The hand that knows that I have it in me to bloom through it all like a delicate and brightly colored lotus flower rising from the mud.

It's the voice that says - do not give up. It's the voice that says - give it one more try. It's the voice that says - you can do this.

So I keep pushing. I keep persevering. Through the mud and the mire and the muck. Because under it all is a big, bright flowery dream that is just waiting to bloom.