Jennifer

This one…

She has been standing by my side through this life with me for a while now…about 30+ years if I am doing the math right. Our friendship has outlasted careers and bad boyfriends, life and death, and even distance and proximity. There have been years I wouldn’t have made it through without her friendship, or her unyielding support. Her love is the perfect blended cocktail of strength and kindness for my thirsty soul.

She knows so much about me, often more than I can admit about myself. She listens to everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - that I am going through without batting an eye at the minuscule details I seem to cover. She calmly holds space for me in times of grief and patiently waits for me to come through whatever fog life has put in my path, always gently guiding me where I need to be.

But I think there are things she doesn’t know sometimes - like how much her texts mean to me each day or how strongly I value her opinion. She doesn’t know that I realize she almost single-handedly got me to actually pursue photography again after years of putting the camera down. It was this girl that held me up when I was falling apart a few short years ago in ways I can’t begin to express my gratitude for. And it is her that reminds me almost daily that I am worthy of so much more than what I ask for.

And here we are…her special day. A monumental occasion.

So, how do you celebrate a human that is this special to you on a day this special to them?

Candy? Balloons? A Party? A blog post? Nothing seems to fit this occasion. It all seems like an ill-fitting pair of cheap shoes that are wrong for the event. Too tight, stiff and awkward.

What I can do is share with you that I have hit the jackpot of friendships. What I can say is that she means more to me that she will ever comprehend. What I can tell you is that my gratitude for her unyielding support is immeasurable and undefinable.

Mostly though, what I can do is try to show her the same friendship, kindness and support she has shown me over these 30 years. What I can do it hold space for her as she continues to grow into the human she is meant to be - creative, kind, talented, smart, thoughtful, and generous with all of her.

Happy Birthday, my friend. May all your birthday wishes come true.

xox

.

2019

Here we are…2020. And I am just now getting around to reflecting on the past year.

Last year was BIG…capital B-I-G. I mean that in so many ways, too. Not just professionally speaking.

As many years go, I felt a tremendous amount of growth, both personally and professionally. My life seems to be taking shape into something I had always hoped for in so many ways. WHOOP WHOOP! I have been a full time, self-employed photographer and designer FOR 18 YEARS NOW! That’s nothing to sneeze at.

This year felt more focused and found some clarity along the way. I nailed down some amazing jobs…and experienced some awesome work and new client relationships. It was a year I worked hard for things I wanted desperately and a year I consciously stepped away from some experiences that weren’t serving me. Lessons were learned. And life went on.

So here is a sprinkling of what went down this past year. A little of everything - food and families, weddings and wine events, and a lot of hard work and growth.

Here’s to gratitude for amazing endings and fresh new beginnings, to living and learning, and to loving what you do. Happy New Year everyone!

82 Queen

Charleston Wine + Food Festival

Charleston Shop Curator @ Freshfields Village

Bjork Family shoot

Plate South - Strata

Mr. + Mrs. Wilson

Skirt Charleston

Skirt Charleston - Giving Thanks.

The Buencaminos for Vineyard Vines

Lyn Tally

The Barbers

Porter-Gaud Magazine

Giving Thanks article for Skirt.

Poe Family Shoot

Restaurant Tu

Tu - Interior shot

Plate South - Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble

Walker Family shoot

Lewis Barbecue for Charleston Magazine

Women in Construction for Skirt Magazine.

Women and Bruce @ The Charleston Music Hall

A New Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finding my way

A few years ago, my brother-in-law had a massive stroke. This stroke wasn’t caused by poor lifestyle choices or a genetic predisposition to strokes, but rather due to a genetic malformation in his brain that, up until the age of around 45, he was pretty unaware of.

What I found most curious about his condition was that he was born without some major arteries in his brain. To compensate, his body made up peripheral arteries to make up for this faulty wiring and he lived pretty much unscathed and healthy for years on end and continues to do so.

The magic of the human body never ceases to amaze me. It finds ways to do the things it needs to, regardless of imperfections and flaws in the system.

Nature seems to be the same way. Water gets to where it needs to. Seeds plant themselves and grow in places they aren’t always intended to. Life always seems to find a way.

Next time you are struggling, remember the water that makes it’s own path after deliberate work. Remember the seeds that seem to grow in the cracks of the cement out of sheer determination. Remember that this, too, shall pass and life will go on as it should.

Magical shoots

Recently someone commented to me about my photos being so spontaneous. Then they asked “how do you get people to DO that?”

Honestly, the answer for me has always been, “I don’t!”

I don’t work on posing clients. I never have. What I do work on is building relationships with my client to put them at ease. That means taking the time to listen to them. That means not watching the clock. That means chatting and playing more than I shoot.

These people invest money in a shoot that will provide memories forever. FOR.E.VER. So, it’s important to me that they look like their authentic selves in the shoot. Happy, relaxed, and joyful.

Wouldn’t it be great if EVERY business, EVERY relationship we approached has this mentality. Wouldn’t it be great if your dentist or accountant was concerned about how you feel in such a stressful situation. I know I would approach things differently if I sat down at my accountants office and she asked how my family was, what was new, or what I planned to do in the coming year. It builds trust. It puts us at ease.

And when people are at ease with me… Well, that’s when the magic happens.

'Tis the Season

I have been noticeably absent these days around here. My blogs, instagram, and facebook accounts have all taken a huge hit. And it’s with good reason. Life has swept me up in it’s wake.

Sometimes (more often over the past few years) when this happens, it’s due to some really hard times. Dealing with the death of my parents, my sister, and life somehow all seemed to overshadow so much in my life. I slid into the dark side of depression and anxiety and didn’t know how to get out.

But recently, I have reason to be joyful…or maybe that’s just how aIl see it all now. A few things turned around for me this year which brought some tremendous joy into my life. But truth be told, the rest of my life hasn’t changed. I still grieve the loss of my parents every now and again. I still struggle some months with the balance of work and life. I still have a fully grown, driving, teenager who is soon to be on the way out the door. So why couldn’t I see my life with joy before? Why does one change in life change the filter at which we look through the rest our lives? Why can’t life just show us pleasure no matter what juncture we are at?

I have been thinking about this each morning as I sit here under the Christmas lights, taking in the meaning of the season. Whether you practice Christianity or not, I think we can all agree that pausing in gratitude and with love for what we DO have is what this time of year is about.

So for now, I will sit under the Christmas tree that hasn’t been switched off since I put it up and feel gratitude for all the things I have… a warm home, some delicious food in my fridge, a healthy family, and a whole lotta love to give.

Rooted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As tall as the trees...

Protect me. Shield me. Nurture me.

Let me breathe life back into my tired soul in your presence. Let me roam wild through your roots. Let me lean on you when I need rest and use you for my strength.

Let me be with you always, listening to the rustle of your whispers through the winds, always telling me things will be okay…that I am okay.

Let me learn from you as you bend and sway, but never break, even when you are weary from what life is tossing you. Let me bow to the nature of you.

But never ever let me take any of it for granted…this love for you that is as tall as the trees and as wide as the seas.

Supporting Skies

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

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

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

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

And that is enough.

Free to float

I have been standing at the water’s edge for a long time, watching the waves lap against the Lowcountry shore in wonder of what’s out there. I have been afraid to jump in and swim around in the salty waters because of the dangers that lurk beneath the surface.

What was I missing out on by letting fear drive the ship? Was there something bad under the surface? Or just stories or random encounters I let take over?

When fear drives, we believe things that might be untrue. We believe if our friend gets bitten by a crab in the water, we will too. We believe that sharks lurk below waiting to attack us for their next meal because someone 3 beaches away had that happen and we saw it on the news. We believe in box jellyfish and man of wars and things that we have actually never seen ourselves. We believe in the worst.

But what happens when you release and dive in? You float. You surf. You bob around in the warm waters and find your way. You feel free and untethered. There are no crabs nibbling on your toes, no sharks looking for a meal. It’s just you falling into what is.

Let fear go. Stop standing on the edge and watching the fearless live your beautiful, unencumbered life. You will float. You will be fine. There is nothing lurking in the deep, dark corners this time.

You are free to float.

The Sacredness of Food.

I am one of those weird people who finds cooking therapeutic and relaxing. When I tell this to people, they often stare through me, as though I am speaking another language of sorts. Sometimes people mumble back to me, “how do you have time for all that?” or “I just can’t be bothered…too much work!”

I get it. I really do…there are many days that I feel like take out is the best option. But there is something so mystical that I get lost in during the cooking process. Somewhere in the rhythm of chopping, mincing, and mixing, I get a little lost from the thoughts that plague the reality of my life. I get lost in the sacred ritual of it all.

For me, cooking is very definitive. It has a beginning, a middle and an end that usually happen in hours - as opposed to the days or weeks some projects can take. Whether you are baking a chicken or making a cake, the results are instantaneous and tangible. While I can make a cake in an afternoon, it could take days - even weeks and yes, sometimes months - for me to plan, shoot, edit, and deliver photos to a client.

Mostly though, it’s the end result. Feeding someone is giving them a gift you made yourself. When I cook, there is a sacredness to making the meal…I think about what people love, what they need…what they crave. I put energy into sourcing ingredients - where can I get the most delicious produce? Who has the best meats? Who has the “right” food for the meal at hand? The mere process of combining flavors, textures, and smells together makes it feel like art - like a painting coming together in all it’s vibrancy. It’s carefully crafted and created just for them.

So next time you sit down to a meal that someone has made, give pause and think of what went into making it. Or, when you endeavor to make your next meal for someone, think of the gift in the creation of it all. There is a sacredness in the food itself. There is a sacredness in the presentation and the process.

And then, after you think about all of that, dive in with love.

Oh, Joy.

About a month ago, I found myself smack dab in the center of Joy. I didn’t navigate my way there. I just stumbled upon it, like a secret garden or a hidden hot spring that nobody can quite tell you how to get to. It happened right here, at a Mumford & Sons concert.

It sort of snuck up on me. It tapped me on the shoulder a few times, but I ignored it - chalking it up to a song or the energy of the room that night. It was, after all, a great concert. But at the end of the last song, I stepped back, away from the crowd, and I just took a breath. It was in that moment of space that I gave myself that I recognized where I was. Smack dab in the middle of Joy.

It was bound to happen. I had been denying myself Joy for so long….pretending like it didn’t even exist. Maybe I just didn’t recognize it because it had been gone for so long. So each time I saw it, I looked away, seeking it in some other format. Or maybe not at all.

Depriving ourselves of joy is not new. We do it for many reasons. I think mine was a sort of self-flagulation, as if I didn’t deserve a relationship with Joy….as if I wasn’t meant to live side by side in the presence of something so simple and true to our well being. I wish I had a better explanation of why I have left Joy behind in a dustcloud - shame, guilt and fear all vying for shotgun in my life, but I don’t. It’s silly and ridiculous and I wish I didn’t feel this way. But the fact is that I do. Or at least I did.

After I snuck away from the mosh pit of humans that night, I squared myself up center to the stage - iPhone in hand to take a shot. I took a deep breath in and smiled, just lingering in the moment a little. That’s when I realized Joy was back. And there we were… face-to-face, hand-in-hand with all the other couples in the back of the room. We cozied up and renewed our long lost commitment to one another, dancing under the confetti like we had just renewed our holy vows.

And if you, too, are seeking Joy in your life, I think you can find it tucked away at the crossroads of love and gratitude. Just make sure you don’t bypass it as you take a direct route on the superhighway to where you think it should be. It’s not clearly marked on that map someone tricked you into believing. There are no shortcuts. No direct routes. No signs pointing to a singular destination. It’s tricky to find and even harder to recognize. But once you arrive, you’ll know it.

Connections

I pressed the button here, so this is technically not my camera or edit. But these are my best people. Credit to my cousin, Rowan Williams of Parrot & Pineapple Photography, for her mad skills and camera.

A few weeks ago, we had these lovelies visiting us for a week from England. My whole family is from “the Motherland,” and we don’t get to see them nearly as much as I would like. When we do see them, days zip by as we navigate through meals and sightseeing, sitting poolside watching time slip away relentlessly, like water in a sieve.

Shortly after their visit, one of my best friends came to the area for a brief overnight trip. I felt the same tugging at my heart - that familiar feeling you get when you slip right back where your friendship last dropped off, despite years of children, missed birthdays, and too many miles between you both. It’s a familiarity of friendship that can’t be replaced or changed. I melted into the feeling once again, leaning into a sense of peace as they shuffled out to the car in my dark driveway, sleepy babies in tow…the fuzziness of familiarity, peace, and satisfaction of a delicious evening together.

It’s that feeling that I always want to bask in…the timeless love, forgiveness of sins, and unabashed acceptance of one another as we are in the moment we are in.

It’s not often we get these people in our lives that can hold space for us as we are. It’s not often we get people that love us unconditionally. I mean…let’s be real….I don’t even love myself that way. But when spend your time with people who make you feel wholly you – without hidden, selfish agendas or a mission to change you – isn’t it worth hanging on for dear life?

Perhaps the place I am in with life right now makes this even more poignant… change is on the horizon: my child is grown and ready to spread his wings, and loved ones have passed on…leaving connection to the people I have been closest to that much more desirable and necessary.

We are hard wired for connection. Ask any anthropologist or sociologist. It’s a requirement for living. Babies will actually die without physical connection, even when their other needs are met. So it’s no wonder that despite my best efforts to cut myself off, these deep connections I feel with family and friends who I have shared a history with are normal and expected…and, dare I say, necessary.

So now, I look forward to what the next phase holds. Maybe it’s a re-connection phase. Or maybe it’s a freedom phase. I just know it will be a phase of deep, meaningful relationships wherever I turn.

And thank goodness for direct flights.

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.

The pursuit of joy.

Do you remember what it was like to play or be silly? When was the last time you laughed so hard your cheeks hurt? Do you remember the feeling of reckless abandon…driving with your head out the window or skipping along a path or falling hopelessly in love with someone?

Somewhere along the way, somehow, I feel like we have collectively lost our sense of joy.

Maybe it’s the heaviness of the news right now. Or maybe it’s adulthood pulling at you to responsibly face everything…the laundry, the bills, the carpooling, the work, the shopping, the taxes. Or maybe we have been spending so much time in our heads, we have forgotten how to connect with how we feel in our bodies.

After so many years of being corrected, punished, and told how to act right, the world gives us no time for pleasure (no wonder drug use, prescription medicine and alcoholism are at an all time high.) We grow up being told to stand in line, take your turn, smile petty for the photo. We are told to suffer through it all or suffer the consequences. We are put into tiny boxes, expectations swirling around us like vultures ready to feast on the dying carcass of joy trailing behind us. After all, you can’t pay the bills having fun.

Or can you?

Could you – just for a moment – decide that life (and even work) was meant to be fun? Could you assume that there is joy within it all? Wouldn’t success come more readily while we are finding things we enjoy?

Pleasure, or joy, can come in many ways…going for a nourishing walk through the woods, finding an amazing concert of your favorite band, road tripping to a fun, new town with your favorite friends, or even in your daily work.

When I am photographing a family, or food, or whatever I am doing, I feel joy. But I can get caught up in the seriousness of it all with things like “Am I good enough at my job?” or “When are they going to pay me for this?” can get in the way of WHY I am doing this. It puts joy in a choke hold and suffocates it. If those questions creep in, I always see it in my work.

Finding the fun in the everyday isn’t only a recommendation anymore, it’s a requirement - like breath and water. We need joy, but it seems like we have lost it inside of adulting. When the heaviness creeps in and gets in the way of all that we are doing, it zaps energy and steals the joy we have. When I approach life with the “What am I gonna get out of this” mentality or “what is the (so-called) cost of this,” joy always takes a back seat. It’s an immediate buzz kill. If I worried about the price of the tickets to the concert we went to this week, I would never have been able to lean into the experience. I would never have felt that deep joy.

Much like anything, joy takes practice. It’s a shedding of layers of guilt and years of unraveling what messages we got around being happy - if we deserve it, if we are worthy enough for it’s company. But like everything, you have to keep trying.

But your happiness - your pursuit of of joy - has ripple effects. Your joy affects everyone you come in touch with and everyone around you. And, my friend, that little practice has the power to change the our whole world.

So buy that ticket. Invite those friends over. Pursue that new career. Jump off the diving board into the deep end and swim around in that joy. You’ll be so happy you did.

Tiny Changes

These little flowers changed my day in a big way today.

This morning I sat waiting for a client in a sweet, local cafe. It’s raining and the temperature has dropped a good 20 degrees over the past 24-hours. It’s gloomy, grey and wet… a mirror of my heavy heart these days. Between saying goodbye to our family dog a few short weeks ago and dealing with the rest of regular life like taxes, prom planning, bills and laundry, I just feel like I am moored to Life.

As I sat there, I looked down at the clean, marbled table and paused to notice this tiny vase and these little perfect flowers curling and weaving around each other. I was baffled at their delicate strength. I was consumed by their simplicity for a moment. I became curious about their unassuming gentleness and forgiving nature. They made me stop my train of though for a brief a minute…to pause, to breathe. To remember to forget and to let go.

Life can be altered in these little moments. They are the moments that encourage us to lean in. They are the moments that encourage us to breath, pause, remember or forget. They can be transitional and transformative. But mostly, they are when we can learn to tolerate ourselves, our stories, our lives, and all the things that wait for us beyond their delicate and perfect features.

Changes usually come to us when we are ready. But sometimes, I think the biggest changes can come to us in the tiniest moments, bravely weaving and curling their way gently into our tender, aching hearts.

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.

Finding Grace.

This week was hard.

In the midst of all the missed deadlines, forgotten appointments, back to school schedules, financial disarray and angry clients, I had a brief personal training session (brief because I was late because I had the wrong time written down…I told you, not my best week). I was down… and my young, and too-wise-for-her-own-good trainer knew it. We worked hard for 20 minutes, and then she looked at me and said this: “I want you to go into the sauna for 5 minutes and close your eyes and just… be.”

It was a pass. A free ticket. A permission slip.

It was permission to be – to be still, to be quiet, to be imperfect. It was a pass to slip away from my life for a moment in time. It was my ticket back to me. It was permission.

I feel like we all need something like this…someone to occasionally, out-of-the-blue, step in and say “I GIVE YOU PERMISSION…” on those days when we maybe forget to have the grace ourselves to give us a much needed break. We are not supposed to go hard all the time - and it’s particularly difficult to be mindful of this during the time of year where everyone looks like they are cramming for life’s finals with resolutions and magical words of empowerment. January can be hard when you feel like you aren’t on top of your game. Social media makes it look like I am surrounded by people that are literally conquering mountains. (You know who you are.)

So I went in the sauna. I fidgeted. I looked at my phone. I fought and wrestled with the stillness until I gave. I knew it needed to come. It always needs to come. When I finally closed my eyes and leaned into everything, there it was…Tears. Sweat…. Release. Every glorious moment of being in that space was exactly what I needed to momentarily let go my imperfections and move on. Every second I spent in there with the discomfort of sweating and crying and being present with my emotions was a direct deposit into my soul. Building that account to be stronger so I can face the tolls of life on the rocky road ahead.

Sometimes we find grace in the strangest places. Sometimes it comes from unexpected people. But the times I am most surprised by grace is when I have found it fumbling around in my everyday life…all by myself.

After the Storm...

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

After The Storm, by Mumford + Sons

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

For Graham.

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

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

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