The light through the dark.

The color seeping through is like salve to my soul…reminding me to breathe, be still, and know. It’s there to help me remember me that through the some of these hard days, I am okay. I will be okay.

A person. A phone call. A text. An animal. A sunset through the trees. It’s all there gently reminding you to remember that you are okay.

The light is always there. You just have to want to see it.

If you are struggling with anxiety or depression, please know that it’s okay and normal. Life is hard enough and this year was a doozy. Reach out if you need an ear. I will always respond to you!

Looking up

Things are looking up.

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

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

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

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

Flotsam and Jetsam

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

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

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

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

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

Mindberries

Recently I was on a shoot with a small family. The little boys were collecting items along the way and putting them in their pockets - treasures only little boys seem to value. We came across a bush full of wild berries and I said “you know not to eat those, right?” They looked at me like I was telling them something they were well aware of and said “uhhhh…of course.”

But it made me think…how do we know things are bad for us? Is it because it’s been drilled into us? In the case of poison berries, this is most likely the case. But what about those invisible things? The toxic thoughts? The self destructive patterns? How do you stop those things from seeping into your brain and poisoning you little by little?

I guess the answer is that you have to know how to identify them first. Sometimes we don’t know something is toxic until we feel it’s adverse effects. And even then, it’s often we need to be told. Those thoughts of unworthiness that creep in become such a part of us that after time, they almost feel comfortable. You don’t know what to do without them.

But when you are gently reminded, “Hey…it’s okay…you can put that thought down here. It’s not doing you any good anymore,” it helps bring awareness to the bad things. It’s nice to have help here, but sometimes you have to do the hard work on your own, too.

Distance helps too. Putting the thoughts that don’t serve you down, walking away from toxic energy and people, and even just ignoring it all can help. It’s hard to do because they look so enticing. But resisting temptations - no matter how bad they are for us - is always where the hard work is, right?

It’s taken me 50 years to identify some of those poison mindberries…the ones that look tempting to eat but are so bad for you. “I should look different…I’m in the way…I’m too much…I’m not enough…” The list goes on. Sometimes I see them on the path, juicy and enticing in their varied colors. Often I am tempted to eat them…like a good snack when I need it most . All it takes is a gentle reminder that they are not serving me in any way…and that reminder can come from me or someone I trust.

It’s only then that I can keep walking along that beautiful path and admire the rest of the things life has in store and leave those berries on the bush that they belong on.

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.

Enough

How do you see abundance in your life?

I am always waiting to see the fruits of my labor come to me in ways I am not expecting. Maybe I get an unexpected gift card or someone picks up a coffee for me. Maybe I find a homemade loaf of bread on my doorstep from a friend. Or maybe I just get the hug I was hoping for from my son after a bad day.

The lesson I had to wrap my head around is that the universe doesn’t always deliver in ways we expect. And when it does show up (hello, perfect apples on a tree), you need to be paying attention.

For years I lived my life wondering why I was always left behind - both financially and personally. I grew weary and frustrated feeling the weight of life piling on me. Everything felt hard. I was taking care of my parents, my child and even friends. Where was my break?

But the rewards were there every day. I just chose not to see them as such. While I was taking care of my sick and aging parents, I had the opportunity to go for walks to the beach with my son every day. While I lived with my sisiter and her family, I had the company, companionship, and family I so desperately had been looking for. And while I struggled to make ends meet, I always had generous friends to help fix my house or deliver me extra produce that they weren’t using.

While these seem insignificant - they weren’t. They were crucial to the well being of my life. And once I started paying attention to the little things, the big things came my way more readily. Or maybe my desire for the big things wasn’t so important anymore.

In times of stress (I’m looking at you 2020), it’s good to practice gratitude. It’s hard. But the rewards that you get from honor the universe with gratitude are 10 fold. A little acknowledgement goes a long way.

My industry has taken a hit this year. A big one. And I am always grateful for what I do have right now - work and otherwise. It seems like somewhere in the middle of all of this, I have gotten satisfied with life as it is instead of fighting what it isn’t or what I am not.

Right now, I am happy in my life…happy in my skin. I feel abundant. I have more love around me than I know what to do with sometimes. And my house is full of food, has running water and appliances that work (thank you AC gods!)

I am so joyful these days. I have what I need…and for once - finally - that is enough.

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.

Spaciousness

Space.

I am looking for some space to clear my head these days. Clear my lungs.

I seek it everywhere. At my desk. On my back porch. Near the water. In the quiet of my bedroom. I need space. Air so full it washes over me like a waterfall - powerful and full of life.

So each day right now, I come here seeking that release… that special moment. Each day I come here to this very spot to find some sanity in this crazy, mixed up time. Hoping for the winds of change to speak to me.

__________

You see, I was healed here once before. My heart heavy with grief and fear, I walked this lonely mile every day wondering if life would get better. Each day, I made silent prayers to the universe that this, too, would pass and that one day, I would wake up and things would be bright again. Each day I seemingly got a message that life, indeed, does go on: a family of foxes playing in the grass; a bobcat resting in the shade, dolphins leaping out of the water, tails splashing; a pack of deer crossing right in front of me; an owl perched on a branch so obviously watching us, it gave me chills; blossoming jasmine; the scent in the air dripping heavy with honeysuckle. Life was there. Every day. It kept proving itself to me.

I kept showing up. Noticing things. Breathing in that fresh air I so desperately needed. The first days were hard. I felt like I had cinder blocks attached to me, to my heart. I dragged them behind like anchors weighing down my soul along with all the years of love and loss and pain and heartbreak I had gathered in those bags around my heart. I lost a sister, a mother, a father. I lost a family , an identity, a lover - all these things once knitted together, now frayed at the edges, torn apart by life.

But it was that air that kept me coming back. Full in my lungs. Clean. New. Blowing out the old, toxic air…the toxic thoughts. The grief and sorrow all washed away by the spaciousness I created.

_________

In the face of this time, I am admittedly not doing well. This stuff is hard. It’s scary. I feel the same anxiousness I did before, darkness seeping into my soul like the night stealing away light, forceful and stronger than me. But I know the light will chase away the darkness soon enough. Night always yields to day. The wind blows the old away, making room for new seeds to germinate.

The thing is that I know where to find the wind, the spaciousness I seek. I know it’s there. I just have to be patient and wait for it to come once again.

What is to come...

I want to watch the sunrise and the moon set with you. Beside me. Beside the sea. Holding hands, melting into the dreams we have for the future.

I want to wake up early, before dawn, making coffee. Routines in place, the rhythm of life present in our days, in our nights. In our hearts.

I want to love you where you are and be loved as I am. Wholly. Completely. Unapologetically.

Let’s blow away the dust of yesterday with the fresh sunshine of today on our faces, whole-hearted love in our souls. Doubt, fear, worry behind us for the pleasure of what is to come.

A Purposeful Life

I took this photo about a year ago on a clear and crisp May evening at Folly Beach. It was one of those days that you realize the promise of summer is coming, gently at first…and then, without warning, it’s in like a lion.

Like many of us are now realizing, I took this and many other of my days for granted. I took my proximity to the beach for granted. I could, after all, go anytime I wanted to. My freedom to move around this planet on a whim was something I thought rarely about, if ever at all. What a luxury.

But now, I sit in my quarantined life on this gorgeous April day. The sun is shining and temperatures are climbing to the mid 80s this afternoon, creeping slowly into a reminder that summer is around the corner. Today is a perfect day to sit with my toes in the sand and breath in the fresh sea air. It’s just the kind of day I would be planning a picnic with friends, walking down the beach holding hands with my guy, or even heading there alone to be in stillness.

I miss the sea. I never thought about not having access to it much before. But I miss it. I want to breathe in the fresh, cottony air in my lungs and feel it wrap around my skin like cool summer sheets. I want to be itchy with salt and sand and sunburn on my shoulders. I want to hear the gulls squawk around me as they scavenge for the little scraps of food and crumbs we drop.

If there is anything this time has taught me, it’s that I want to live simply again, but with purpose. I want to live in the moments I took for granted with the people I assumed would always be there. I want to remember what actually matters. Freedom. Joy. Relationships. And good health.

Most of all, I just want my life to be purposeful - lived with love and simple pleasures.

This, too, shall pass.

This is what spring is supposed to feel like. Hopeful. Light. Bright. Colorful. And most of all, optimistic.

Instead, here we are, smack dab in the middle of a global crisis. GLOBAL. This isn’t just happening in our little worlds. It’s affecting everyone…everywhere. Lives are transforming daily because of this horrific situation.

It’s hard to find hope in this space we have landed in. It’s hard to look up and say - we’ve got this… Especially when our most basic of needs are being threatened on a massive level (seriously though, what’s with all the toilet paper hoarding?!?!). None of this is controllable. The only thing we can do to control it is to stay home, stay put, and stop the spread of the virus.

So I’ve been trying to do survive right now one day at a time. “What is true today? In this hour? In this moment?” These are questions I ask myself hourly right now. “What is real and honest? And what can I actually DO?”

Sometimes it’s as simple as taking a deep breath. Other moments I am talking myself off a ledge of despair because this all seems so big and overwhelming in so many ways. Honestly, I am just trying to be present and calm. I stay busy. I feed the people I love. I work hard at coming up with what’s next for work and life. I dream a little. And I make it through another day.

We all process stuff so differently. And this pandemic certainly has made me aware of that personally and with those that I love the most. I have watched my normally effervescent, joyful child become depressed as he is robbed of his senior year in high school. No prom. No final rugby games. No senior skip day. Nothing but the trauma of something he doesn’t understand presented with no options or end in sight. All the parts you look forward to all of high school - and dare I say most of his life - are completely gone for him. And that’s only a small consequence to the greater picture we are all dealing with right now like loss of jobs, loss of income, and, in some cases, loss of lives so precious to us.

All I can do is sit and be present with what is. I am not trying to negotiate my way out of it, but lean in to the fact that this is where I am. This is where we are. This is what is. And that this, too, shall pass.

Sending love and light to all that need it.

Letting joy take the wheel

Recently I was asked about why I haven’t been writing as much lately.

I wish I had a good answer for that. But I don’t. My heart has been a little lighter these days. And writing for me is therapeutic. It has served for these recent years as a way out of the cave of despair. So these days, I have been a little less inspired - so to speak. While I wait for inspiration, my writing is taking on a new voice…one that is a little brighter and lighter.

Oddly, this feels cumbersome and uncomfortable, like an ill fitting pair of underwear you constantly need to adjust. I almost feel like I need to apologize for it.

What.In.The.World??? Where did THAT notion come from?

Where does this notion of joy equate with something I need to make amends for right now? Do we get that message from our parents at a young age? How do we internalize not being worthy of JOY?

I am not sure how to steer the car with confidence riding shotgun instead of that smug bitch, fear, sitting in the front seat controlling and questioning my every move. I am used to the commands she makes and insecurities she dishes out… always making me apologize for myself and suggesting that in some ways, I have gotten what I deserved.

A little joy is a terrifying thing for me. I sit waiting and wondering when it will all come crashing down again. Sitting with joy often makes me feel like I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. She makes me uncomfortable in her kindness.

So while I wait, and wonder, (and perhaps schedule an appointment with my therapist), I will just keep working on how to lose those feelings of Doubt and Fear along this long stretch of highway. I will keep being myself…writing and taking photos along the way. Holding hands and settling in to my new relationship with Joy whenever I can.

While I am here, I will be certain to drive happily by those hitchhikers, Fear and Uncertainty, on the side of the road…not a thought of stopping at the mere sight of them. I’ll have no guilt for speeding by this time. They’ve been in this car on this very stretch of road with me before and honestly, they are horrible passengers.

I am ready

A quick story.

On a visit to the upstate, we were coming back from a quick grocery store trip and I suddenly yelled to my sweet, obliging driver “PULL OVER!”

“Really?”

“Yes. I want to take a picture.”

This is a repeated story in my life. Only, up until a few months ago, I didn’t really do it. I just wanted to.

I have spent most of my life trying to live small. I was afraid - afraid of inconveniencing everyone around me, afraid of being too high maintenance, afraid of having needs and wants.

I am not sure what to attribute to this newfound confidence and voice. Is it a new relationship that has me seeing things differently - including myself (or rather, especially myself)? Is it my ripening age? Or is it that I have finally had it with putting my life on hold? Whatever the reasons, I am happy to speak my needs and shout out for the opportunities that have so often passed me by fields on a country backroad.

So many things whiz by you when you don’t speak up. Jobs. Love. Even simple photos of old, decaying barns that perhaps I just want. Living small is just not worth it. I have paused my life for so many people and I am ready, finally, to live for myself.

I am ready…finally.

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.

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.

Into the light...

“What are you looking for? “

“You…my love. I have been looking for you.”

And they walked away, fingers forever entertwined, forging a whole new path together led by their brave and fragile hearts.

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.