Divine Imperfections

Long Time No Speak

Last night MIkael and I attended a junior high volleyball game, which was fun (and victorious!) but also a total trip.

Most days I conveniently forget I'm 30 - 12 whole years removed from high school, and way more than that from the dingy halls of Princeton Junior High.

But when you put me on a painfully-unpadded bleacher, and plop a bunch of stinky junior high boys down besides me (seriously, guys, deodorize!) it hits me like a ton of bricks (or a waft of that BO), how incredibly long it's been since I was a girl timidly walking onto a volleyball court, nervously tugging at my shorts (thank God they weren't spandex back then!) and secretly hoping the ball went to anyone but me. (God I was a bad athlete. No wonder that career didn't pan out.)

 

Fast forward to this morning, when I found myself frustrated, yet again, about having nothing to wear except ill-fitting "mom jean shorts" and dark circles under my eyes.

(#firstworldproblems.)

And it reminded me how utterly convinced I was in my youth, that my life would be totally made, if I could just get my acne under control.

 

Every Proactiv commercial would fill my little teen heart with hope, that someday I too could have flawless skin and the perfect life that would surely accompany it.

Suddenly all the boys would like me, and all my insecurities would fade away like the potmarks that'd be obliterated by those patented MTV-pushed products.

 

I wouldn't be afraid to walk down the hall, or take a hit from a volleyball, if only my skin would clear up.

Surely the pimples were my only problem.

 

 

If I could just get clear skin then I'd have the energy I needed - and the confidence! - to face life head on. With a smile. 

"If only I could be pimple-free, my life would be perfect," I thought, at thirteen.

What an idiot!

 

But really, not much has changed since then.

 

I still find myself worried about tiny problems on a daily (hourly!) basis.

I still find myself wasting a lot of time on the "If only..." bandwagon.

 

If only my pores were smaller, I would be so much happier.

If only I could fit into the shorts I wore last summer, I would be content. (Even though last summer I wanted to be two sizes smaler.) 

 

If only I had laser hair removal, and never had to shave again (haaaallelujah!), then I'd have the time to conquer the world - or at least mess with it, like Julie Bowen.

 

If only...

If only...

 

My Pinterest board is a rotating reflection of my perpetually discontented heart.

 

If only my pantry looked like something out of Martha Stewart Magazine.

If only my closet was filled with fall's latest trends, instead of the perfectly fine stuff I bought last year on clearance.

 

If only I had actually been doing all those yoga poses I pinned months ago, and now had a toned body to show for it.

If only I had taken to heart all those wise memes I collected, instead of letting them collect proverbial dust while I kept wasting time worrying, and wondering "what if?"

 

 

It's hitting me more and more, each time my back hurts a little, or I stare a little too long in the mirror, or at my clean and well-stocked if-not-magazine-worthy pantry, that this too is gonna pass.

All this stuff I'm surrounded by, all the vanity I'm chasing... it's all gonna pass.

 

 

And like Trace Adkins so wisely tried to teach me, some day I'm gonna miss this.

Some day, I'll look back on today and think "If only I had realized what I had back then."

 

If I get back into a size 10 or not...

If I shrink my pores or not...

If I never have a dream closet, or year-model car, or enviably-good hair, I can still be happy.

 

If only I choose to be thankful, for all that I do have. Right now. Today.

Easier said than done, but what a crazy simple concept.

 

I don't need more of anything to be happy.

I just have to be grateful, truly content, with what I've already got.

(Why has it taken me 1,001 Pins to that very-same-effect, to still not get it?)

 

 

Did I mention I thought I was losing my precious computer twice in the last month?

Each time I said harried prayers, "God, if only you'll make this an easy fix, I promise to take better care of it. I won't open 9,000 tabs in Safari and 'forget' to run updates."

And both times I found myself breaking that promise, though God - or the Geek Squad - did in fact come to the rescue.

 

This last time I thought I'd killed it (which turned out to be a kink in my charger's cord) I waited and waited in line, surrounded by grey-headed seniors.

Seriously, there were three women, like ghosts from A Christmas Carol, waiting beside me in the same uncomfortable backless stools.

 

One in jean shorts, not unlike my own, frantically asking questions about the benefits and drawbacks of Google Chrome, making me nervous just to hear her.

One angrily talking with a young man about her warrantied parts, who ended up wheeling off in a frazzled huff.

And one woman, the oldest of the three, beside me, looking poised and patient.

 

She was the only one to make small talk with me as I tried not to sweat or cry about the potential loss of my laptop.

She was kind, and  gracious, both with me and the poor overworked, (& pimply-faced) Best Buy employee. 

And I found myself sitting there thinking, "God, if I could just grow up to be a little more like her."

 

She had a tiny stain on the white socks she was wearing with her sandals. But her laptop bag was stylish, and she had a lovely smile.

More importantly, she was just one of those women that exuded grace under pressure.

You know the ones?

 

The ladies that never seem to sweat the small stuff?

God, I want to be like that someday.

 

Only, I don't want to wait 'til I'm 70 to develop that sensibility.

Just like I don't want to wait 'til my laptop is dying to appreciate it, or use it wisely (stupid updates!).

 

I don't want to wait 'til I'm 20-years-older to appreciate the skin I'm in now.

And I don't want to wait to enjoy my life - to really live my life - 'til it's almost over.

 

There's something to be said for planning for what's up the road, but it doesn't do me any good to spend all my time planning, or wishing things were different now.

I've gotta be present. And I've gotta be grateful.

 If I want to suck the joy out of this one life I've been given.

 

Maybe this is me classically overthinking things. It wouldn't be the first time or the last.

But maybe this is a wake up call, or a gentle reminder, or a cheesy cliche, that the little things really do matter. 'Cause I think they do.

 

And maybe gratitude for those little things - and the huge things, like being loved - plays more a part in our happiness than pristinely labeled pantry storage, or tiny pores.

 

I do know we won't be in junior high, or 30, forever.

So we should just enjoy this season in life, the very best we can.

 

 

And on that note, happy weekending, friends.

May your days be filled with the kind of peace and joy you can't even imagine yet.

FMF: Release

Tears. 

Anger.

 

Pressures.

Steam.

 

Those things need out. 

Scary as it may be.

 

You can’t keep it all bottled inside.

You can’t keep yourself hidden inside.

 

 

Fears.

So many fears.

That haunt your dreams.

Those too have to be set free.

 

Lest they run your life.

Lest they ruin your life.

 

 

It’s good to care.

To be compassionate. 

To love deeply.

 

Natural to want the best for those you hold dearest. 

But they can’t control you.

You can’t give them the reigns to the only life you’ve got.

 

So release the idea that your whole purpose is being there for them.

And embrace that your role is both bigger and smaller than that.

 

 

When the weight of the world is on your weary shoulders, it’s hard – impossible really! – to take even a single step forward. 

But when you release it, the need to control all things, fix all things, be all things, you can breathe again.

And when you are breathing again, those baby steps don’t seem near as difficult.

  

 

Celebrate the progress.

Release the past.

 

Mostly, show up.

Be present. Today.

Do your best today.

 

Let tomorrow worry about itself.

 

Exhale.

Inhale.

Repeat as needed.

 

 

Release.

Five Minute Friday: Nothing

Nothing. 

It’s my go-to answer.

 

 

 

What’s wrong? Nothing.

Of course, what I mean is everything.

 

EVERYTHING!

 

Life is so hard; there’s no way around that.

There’s nothing you can say to make it easier.

No magical cure for the troubles that plague us.

 

 

What are you up to? Nothing.

It’s my code word for avoiding the truth.

The truth is I feel stuck, and I’m sad about it.

I’m not moving forward. I’m not making progress. 

I’m treading water, ‘til my legs throb.

And still I’m barely keeping afloat.

 

 

I’m drowning, quite basically. And worse. I’m refusing to do a thing about it.

I’m not kicking harder and faster to beat the waves, at last.

 

I’m not screaming for help either.

I just keep… almost going under.

 

Nothing ever changes.

That's a fear most days.

 

 

What do you have to offer? Nothing. 

That’s what it feels like some days.

 

 

What do I have to give the world?

What can I do to make others’ lives better?

What can I do to make a positive difference during this blip of a life I’m given?

 

Nothing.

 

It’s what I want to say, what I feel inside. 

What I am afraid to admit. What I’m sure no one will understand.

 

  

 

Only somewhere deep down I know it’s not true.

 

I know that I’m not alone in feeling that way, but also that those feelings aren’t based in truth. 

 

Part of me knows nothing is hopeless, even if it seems that way some times.

 

 

 

 

But what can I do to really, finally change things?

 

For a long time I worried I'd have to change everything to see any difference.

I'd have to walk away from every thing I ever believed in, everyone I ever loved, in order to find myself somehow.

 

But now I'm thinking the answer is much simpler, and less painful, than all that.

I think the key isn't to change everything.

It's to not do nothing.

 

 

I can show up.

I can refuse to give up.

I can try harder.

I can ask for help.

 

I can take a break.

I can take baby steps. 

I can take my time.

I can take a deep breath.

 

Mostly I can admit I know next to nothing, and learn to trust that’s okay.

I can do something, and hope for the best.

 

*This lovely print is sold out, but you should follow the link anyways.
The entire website sells wonderful (& inspiring!) tees, posters,
and gifts that benefit different charities. "Do what you can."

For Jude Law, the Dreamers, and Anyone That's Had Trouble Sleeping Lately

 

Last night, I swear to God, I dreamed up an entire book.

I wrote a novel in my half-sleep, the movie version of which was to star Jude Law, and maybe Rachel McAdams as me, though Lena Dunham would  probably be a more suitable fit.

 

And for two minutes I laid in bed wondering if I should get up from under my body-warmed blanket, to write it all down.

The plot twists. The love interests. The mystery.

 

I knew I'd never remember it all in the morning. 

But I chose to stay in my comfort zone anyways.

And now the world may never have that "brilliant" story.

 

 

I woke up this morning feeling like I'd let a really good story slip through my hands.

And in the waning afternoon light the irony of it all is not lost on me.

 

 

I woke up sad about losing a story.

Yet I'm daily letting my life slip by while I do the very same thing.

 

I would rather stay in my comfort zone than do just about anything.

Than to write something real, and therefore scary.

Than to go out and try to make a new friend.

Than to do something so simple as signing up for a Michael's craft class.  (I'd hate to see me in a war zone, or trying to kill a spider. Geez.)

 

Don't get me started on having to admit when I’m copping out of what I really want to say, instead of bravely, boldly, speaking my mind.

I hate that!

Yet I refuse to change.

 

And I'm just wondering, at what point does this all end?

At what point do I demand that fear loosen its grip on my life?

At what point do I call enough “enough,” and take control of my life back?

 

And divine talk aside, I do have control over my own life.

Not the weather. Not whether I'll get a flat tire or not.

Not my height. Not my hip size.

 

 

But I do choose how I face each day, whether with dread or delight.

And in those little choices my life is built. It's based on the decisions I've made, and the decisions I've refused to make.

Sadly a good portion has been shaped by the latter.

 

I choose whether I remain in my PJ’s ‘til 4 p.m. or if I shower straight away and begin the day like a champ.

And I choose to swing through McDonald's or make a sensible sandwich at home instead. 

And so my story goes...

 

I get to choose. 

And yet I choose not to.

So many days I feel like life is something happening to me, because I fail to show up, or to decide what I want to do with my days.

I see the choices as opportunities to fail, instead of as an incredible, fleeting gift.

"A ladder to the stars."

 

 

Before I lose the evangelicals, and I don't mean that as a derogatory term (hi Dad!), I do believe a Creator exists. One that desires for us to live lives that please Him.

But I also believe that Creator wired us with free will, which was meant to be a gift not a burden.

 

I believe He understood something we lose sight of all the time, that Love is only true and real if it’s a choice.

And so He gave us one, no strings attached.

He gave us a daily, often painful choice, to put our own needs aside for the sake of another.

  

I believe that Creator expressed pretty clearly, through a story of His own - one of sacrifice and world reshaping - that what pleases Him most is justice and mercy, grace and love.

I believe He wanted people to care for each other, especially those in the most need.

And that He, Himself, met people where they were at.

 

 

I believe He exemplified crazy, society-baffling compassion for the marginalized, and unheard of disdain for the religious powers who’d been keeping them down.

I also believe it’s taken me 29 11/12 years to realize I am not playing the part of a beggar on the side of the road of America’s streets, but I am the rich, privileged person, who chooses on a nearly daily basis to stay safely in my comfort zone, rather than following the lead of Someone I claim to walk with.

 

I have sat on my incredible riches, my talents so to speak, instead of sowing them into all the things that really matter, none of which are purchased through a cable bill, or accomplished with mere internet action. 

Rather than finding ways to share my gifts, I have let the fear of failing, or offending, stop me dead in my tracks.

 

I have squandered so much time (and so many resources) trying to outrun and distract others from the plain and simple fact that I am a deeply flawed individual, who happens to be unreasonably loved.

And all this time all I really wanted to be doing, was the same thing I really felt like I should be doing, which was sharing how crazy amazing that Love is. How freely it was given, and how freely it was meant to be shared.

 

  

I stopped writing for a long time out of fear.

What if people think I'm silly, or foolish, or a biggot, or a heretic?

 

I took on other projects, maybe mostly as distraction from the call to "write hard and clear about all that hurts." (Great advice from Hemingway, or, you know, Pinterest.)

 

Mostly, though, I just got tired of feeling like all I had to say was the same thing over and over.

So I stopped writing, and even stopped talking to most of my friends and family members.

I was getting on my own nerves, and the only way I knew to fix it was to stop.

 

 

I hated the sound of my own voice, both literally and metaphorically.

So I shut up.

 

 

Grace and failure, and the exhausting nature of perfectionism.

Doubt and struggle and perspective changes.

I felt like a broken record it was time to stop playing.

Who wants to hear that over and over?! 

I sure didn't.

 

But after last night’s wake up call, I’m reminded of something far more brilliant people than I acknowledged long ago.

That what writing is really about, isn’t growing a following, or impressing others with one’s intellect and grasp of grammar.

 

It’s not about creating something Tweet-able, or groundbreaking.

It's not about anything new at all.

 

It’s about making sense of one’s own experiences, in light of one important constant:

The Love that binds all our winding stories together.

Love that makes sense of a way crazy, chaotic (and sometimes scary) world.

 

 

 

You’re not good enough.

You have nothing to offer.

You’re a fool.

You’re a mess.

You should just shut up.

 

You should just give up.

 

 

These are the accusations that haunt a creator who’s not creating.

I believe these are the questions that haunt us all when we shut down instead of opening up.

 

When I'm not releasing my words, my thoughts, I fail to reveal the lies for what they really are. They eat me alive from the inside out, and cause me to cower even more than I normally would.

They accumulate, like clutter, which grows like a parasite, 'til it's impossible to sift the rubbish from the treasure... 'Til it becomes one homogeneous, out-of-control mess.

 

And eventually I use those same awful lies to bring other people down, lest they escape the sad fate I've found myself in.

Misery loves company, and lies do too.

So I shoot them like arrows, meant to keep others from winning their own battles.

I try to keep them from daring to claw out from their own despair, their own questions, their own doubts. Because I don't want to be left alone.

Because I have lost sight of hope that there is an option other than this self-made prison, I want to hold other people in theirs.

 

 

Dramatic much? Yes.

But true nonetheless.

 

 

A long long time ago, now, I had a talk with some friends about how easy this Facebook-ed world we live in makes it to envy others.

When you’re flooded with other people’s happiness it’s easy to start feeling worse about your own state, especially if that state is sad, or alone.

 

When you're bombarded with other people's happiness, real or contrived, it makes it all-too-easy to believe that happiness, itself,  is some kind of limited commodity.

Something that must be fought for, instead of something that is simply found.

 

Get it now, before it sells out.

Find it now, on Fab.com.

Don’t miss your chance. This won’t be restocked later.

 Grab your happiness while the getting’s good.

 

 

And if every one one of your “friends” is beating you to it, there won't be any left for you.

 

It’s you or them.

That's the mentality this creates. 

And that single phrase – you or them – brings me back ‘round to that Creator guy.

And how the story He told was one of inclusion, not exclusion, though I think that gets lost in our American English Translation.

 

His story was about an invitation to all. Not those selected, or who opted in for the email blast, or who fit a target demographic, or hadn't already blown their last dollar or chance.

 

Happiness, the real kind, not the kind sold on Colgate commercials, was meant to be shared.

It was meant to get bigger and better the more it was given away.

 

And the only real happiness I’ve ever known (besides coffee) has been Love. Plain and simple.

Excruciating and Exquisite.

 

 

Connection. Community.

Laughter. Shared tears.

Life, as a unit. As a team.

As a "we."

 

Burdens halved and joys doubled.

That's Love, right? In one listed out nutshell.

 

I, for one, have gotten so used to the counterfeit, that it's hard for me to fully accept, and share the Love that doesn't rust or expire, get stolen or decay.

But I should would like to get back there. To remembering the taste of what truly matters, instead of the saccharine-y crap that's being peddled by the world/web.

  

For those of you who weren't around in the early 2000's, I started this blog many years ago.

At the time it was a story about a single girl just starting to recover from her first real heartache, trying to settle into life post-college, to navigate her way through a confusing, scary world.

 

And while my mailing address might have changed several times since then, the blog address too, and even my last name is new, the mission remains the same.

To tell my own story, not because you need it, but because I need to get it out of my head.

Lest it keep me up at night, from yearning to be told. To be made sense of. To be wrestled with.

To be let out into the world. 

 

 

I can’t promise what I write here will be interesting, or earth-shattering, or even coherent some days.

I can’t set up a schedule and guarantee I’ll stick to it. (In fact, the past tells me I absolutely will not.)

All I can say is that this will be my story, and I will tell it true.

And I'll leave the sifting up to you.

 

What's golden and what's garbage, you can decide for yourself.

I choose to write 'cause I need to, for me.

And I realized that today, after spending most of the afternoon alone with my lies.

 

 

Thanks to those of you willing to go along on this journey with me, and for those of you much braver in sharing your stories with us all.

The company, and the encouragement, is far more valuable than I can tell you. 

 

*And Jude Law, if you’re reading this, have your agent call me.

What I Learned: March Madness

 

 

1.)  The Princess Bride doesn’t have a weird plot twist I didn’t remember, involving a romance between Danny Devito and Holly Hunter. I accidentally changed the channel, and then spent 20 minutes of my life – time I WON’T get back - watching a horrible movie and rethinking my whole childhood.

 

2.)  It is difficult, but possible to disagree with someone respectfully. Conflict is inevitable in life. You can’t hide from it forever. (Especially if you insist on keeping your Facebook. Ugh, Facebook, officially the worst thing I just can’t seem to get rid of.)

But I’m really excited to be discovering that I have friendships that can handle tough conversations, and people in my life that will support me in spite of opposing views. It’s good to know civility still exists, even if the internet’s doing its best to kill it.

 

3.)  Roasting a whole chicken isn’t nearly as hard as you think. Thank you Crockpot and Pinterest. We have delicious meals for a week with minimal prep.

 

4.)  Samuel L. Jackson, tough as he seems, has been married for-ever (nearly 40 years) and has one daughter. The things you learn when you fall down the internet rabbit hole.

 

5.)  I was crazy stoked to discover that Tom’s is now selling coffee. But when it arrived – yay! – my excitement was short lived. We still don’t have a coffee grinder, which means those bags are just sitting sadly in our cupboard.

Someone, some fellow coffee fiend, please help me pick a reasonably priced coffee grinder!

 

6.)  Flowers and candles go a long way in making a house feel like a home. My simplest goal for spring is to have something green, and something prettily scented, in every single room.

 

7.)  When people say it feels better to give than to receive, they mean it’s a HUGE relief when the box of late Christmas, birthday, and Valentine’s Day gifts finally makes it out the door. And even better when that box makes it out of the car, and to an actual post office.

Also good is when you clean out your closet, and have a collection of (lovely, but ill-fitting) things to send to good friends instead of Goodwill. Long live giving. And may this spring-cleaning spurt last longer than cookies in our house.

 

8.)  Balloons just make me happy. Whether it’s the pale pink balloon, all alone, randomly floating along the curb of our street, or the slightly deflated ones lined up outside of McDonald’s. They try, balloons.

Even when they start to go flat. They keep bobbing up to the sky, doing their best. 

And you gotta love ‘em for that. I really do love them for that.

Even if I never, ever, can spell them right. 

 

9.)  Like balloons, bubbles are one of those things even cynical adults don’t outgrow.

You just can’t go wrong with bubbles. I wrote a whole post about the magic of bubbles a while back. (I should post that!) Also, there are really cool bubbles out now with all the Easter goodies at Walgreens. I may just have to invest.

 

10.) If you call it a cactus people will think of prickly mean things that hurt poor geckos in the dessert.

But if you call it a succulent hipsters (myself included) will shell out money for the world's most easy to care for flowers.

 

 

- Bonus Lessons -

If Monsters U is on I will watch it.

Parks & Rec is the greatest show ever!

It's always a good idea to start a blog with your friend
(especially if that friend is awesome and driven and an amazing cook).

Mint is the best. 

Stop at VFW garage sales.

What I Learned: The February Edition

And just like that, it’s March. And freezing.

 

Saturday Mikael and I took a blissfully long walk around the park.

And last night I went to sleep under four blankets and still woke up shivering.

Gotta love Texas weather. In like a lion, or a snow leopard, or something like that.

  

But the crazy nature of Texas weather is hardly newsworthy.

What is newsworthy? How ‘bout some super random stuff I learned in February?!

Yay! 

 

 
1.)  I really do love to read. I learned that last year when a friend inspired me to aim for 52 books in the year. I failed miserably at the challenge, but it rekindled a forgotten romance with the written word all the same.

And this year, I feel like I’m finally hitting a bit of a stride.

Instead of playing it safe with my book selections I’m stepping outside of my comfort zone. In February I read the super short, super crass, but still moving play August: Osage County, another classic by Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men, and a modern beast of a novel, Corrections by Jonathan Franzen. It was super long and emotionally intense, but a great foray out of my literary comfort zone and a very interesting read. More on those books later, I hope.

2.)  On a lighter note (pun intended) I will never outgrow my love for teal. But, I’m obsessed with mint this season. It’s like teal’s younger, preppier baby sister, and I love it. Clearly.

 

3.)  I absolutely hate to admit this, but making our bed each morning has made a huge difference in my mood and productivity throughout the day. I’m going on week two, now, of forcing myself to develop this habit. I hope I’ll keep it up. It really has been a positive change.

  4.)  I could not have meme’d this any better myself. This is completely my personal, beautiful, and wholly unsubstantiated view of heaven.

 

5.)  If you’re gonna bother to invest in new tennis shoes (for the first time in six years!) you might want to invest in some good socks too. I killed both my ankles at the start of this month thanks to the “cool looking” ankle socks I just had to have. Blister Bandaids were a God-send, that helped them heal fairly quickly. Still, it’d have been better to save the trouble, and just buy some sensible socks to start with.

 

6.)  Parks and Rec is, literally, the greatest show ever. At least, I love it, and I like it. And thankfully the husband does too.

We’ve been binging on it most nights, thanks to Netflix. Between Ron Swanson’s bacon-inspired prose and Leslie Knope’s unbreakable patriotism, not to mention her love of waffles, there’s a little bit of something for everybody. Mostly, I guess, we just like food humor.

 

7.)  A good friend will meet you downtown for lunch. A great friend will drive halfway across the state (or an hour at least), to catch up over sandwiches and not pass an ounce of judgement while you eat your weight in bread pudding. 

 

8.)  It turns out the girl that never knows where she wants to eat, or what to wear, and finishes half her sentences with question marks can totally take a stance!

That girl is me, by the way, and I discovered in February that I can be super bossy if need be.

I had the honor of shooting my sis-in-law’s engagement photos on Valentine’s Day, and thanks to advice from Mikael, I took charge of the shoot. We ended up getting some great shots. And even more importantly I learned there’s a time and place to speak up, like when you’re losing light fast and want to capture some sun flares.

9.)  While we’re revisiting V-Day, I learned this year that a laughter-filled lunch at Cheddar’s trumps a stuffy, fancy Valentine’s dinner every time. Who needs escargot or expensive wine when you can have spinach artichoke dip and sweet tea?

10.)  EOS not only makes great, egg-shaped chapstick, which is wonderful ‘cause it’s quirky shape makes it harder to lose, it also makes great hand lotion in equally adorable (odd) packaging. The scent is pretty, not overwhelming, and it really does moisturize well.

 

So there ya have it. A bunch of stuff you didn't need to know.

Hope you've enjoyed your ice day, local friends, and that your year's off to a great start.

 

And for the good folks playing along with Emily Freeman's linkup over at Chatting at the Sky, hello, and thanks for stopping by. What a fun writing prompt, and great group of (mostly) girls.

Five Minute Friday: Small

 

I am floating, weightless, in the Caribbean ocean.

I never dreamed I’d be here. I’m quite certain I’ll never be back in this exact spot.

 

The rocks are majestic. The water a perfect teal blue.

 

I am wonderfully small.

The weight of the world is lifted.

  

Time stops.

Eternity passes.

 

And I am here.

 

 

I am standing beside a lake, kicking rocks with my feet.

Looking for ones worth skipping. Looking for an escape, really.

 

I’m desperate for time to pause. To lock in this moment.

To keep life from moving forward.

To stay here, in this scene.

  

And for the tiniest portion of a second, while the smooth rock leaps across the surface of the water, it does.

The world stops.

 

For one beautiful moment it does exactly what I need it to.

It stops on its axis. 

The dizzying pace pauses.

 

I catch my breath. 

And still.

 

I am here.

 

 

I am crazed with emotion. Completely overwhelmed.

 

Directionless.

Scared.

Lost, in the worst kind of way.

 

 

So I drive the back roads, unsure where I’m going.

Till I find myself in a graveyard, completely empty in the waning afternoon light.

 

The slick, cold stones are my only company.

The wind is cold on my back, and billowing through the trees.

 

I’m standing at his tombstone, this guy, this boy I only barely knew.

 

Because he was young.

Because he was lost too soon.

 

Because I don’t understand.

And I long to.

But I don’t.

  

I want answers. 

I want the questions to go away.

 

I want. 

 

 

Death.

This great equalizer.

It's a shadowy presence all around me.

  

All this time I thought it was the thing I most feared.

But in this moment, I know it’s not. 

Here, surrounded by it, I see more clearly.

 

 

The thing I’ve been afraid of isn’t being gone some day.

Or being laid in the ground.

 

It’s not the darkness.

The ceasing.

 

 

The fear.

The ultimate one.

Is never really being here at all.

 

It’s missing all those moments when time stands still.

Missing the magic that life, in all its breaths, so generously offers.

 

 

The fear is rushing through, instead of enjoying.

It’s worrying right up to the end.

 

It’s feeling weighted down. Instead of weightless.

Too big, instead of blessedly small. 

 

 

I’m laying on my back. Hands open. 

Heart beat slowing.

 

Essential oil is placed on my head.

A beanbag over my eyes.

The world goes quiet.

My mind clears.

 

My breathing is calm.

I am light.

 

And I realize in this moment, that I don’t want to live forever.

I just want to live.

 

I don’t need infinity. 

Just more moments that feel timeless.

 

I need to float on the ocean.

I need to feel small.

 

I need to be here.

Present.

Awake.

As life unfolds around me.

 

I need to accept its invitation.

As it invites me in.

  

I need to be here.

And I am here.

 

 

I am here. 

I am here.

 

I.

Am. 

Here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I cheated and used way more than 5 minutes, and I edited some too. 

Still I don't think I ever would have gotten these whirling thoughts out of my head had it not been for the freedom I find in Five Minute Friday.

Thanks ladies for the prompt, and for encouraging each of us to embrace our innermost truth.

 

 

Project Life: Take Two

 

 

Last year I decided to tackle Project Life for the first time.

I’ve been scrapbooking seriously since 2002 (yes I’m that old, and that nerdy), but I inadvertently took a few years off to deal with moves, and planning a wedding, and then adjusting to life as a married woman (who could no longer live on cereal alone).

 

While I learned to cook, and work-from-home, and find my way around the metroplex my lovely (hoarded) scrapbooking supplies went mostly untouched. And as a result a lot of personal stories went untold.

 

It was no way to live my life.

 (Oh, you know what I mean.)

 

Enter #ProjectLife. It’s a so-called simplified scrapbooking system, in which people use page protectors to store photos and journaling. It’s mean to be a quick way to preserve memories.

 

I was super excited to give it a try.

And then I got started.

 

The first few weeks I overthought every little thing, confused at the idea of mixing elements in divided page protectors.

 

Having gotten used to the gigantic canvas that is a 12x12 piece of cardstock, it felt unnatural and weird trying to limit my decorations and journaling to tiny 4x6 (or 3x4!) cards.

  

January and February from last year remain unfinished notes about what photos to print and put where. 

But, by March, I had started to get the hang of things. And actually completed several weeks worth of layouts.

 

 

Then things got busy, and my layouts starting getting less… completed.

I still have weeks and weeks of partially filled pages from 2013.

 And do not get me started on the “ephemera.” Oh. The. Ephemera.

 

 

Business cards and grocery lists. Band stickers and folded shopping bags. Things saved with the intention of placing them neatly in my album.

They’re now a mess of unsorted, unused “junk” to most people. But to me they represent stories still waiting to be told.

 Memories I intended to capture, before my overly-ambitious plans got the better of me.

 
What a mess. What an unfinished mess.

 

 

Honestly, I’m a natural scrapbooker. (And hoarder, but that’s a story for another day.)

I love taking photos. I love writing, telling stories.

I love playing with stickers. And colors. And patterns. And glue dots.

 

That's precisely why scrapbooking was such a great creative outlet for me.

So it surprised me that I really struggled to find my groove with Project Life.

 

I just couldn’t find my scrapping mojo (it’s a real thing!). And it started to really get me down. 

When the new year started approaching that unfinished album of mine taunted me more and more.

 

And seeing it so disappointingly incomplete left me with a lot of questions to consider.

  

Do I even do Project Life again?

 

If so, do I change my approach?

 

Do I keep collecting stuff?

 

Do I go to a smaller album size?

 

Do I go back to traditional scrapbooking?

 

Do I try to do them both?

 

Or go digital?

 

Or do I give it up altogether?

 

 

Does this hobby I once loved have a place in my new life?

 

Is it worth the trouble?

 

Can it be fun again?

 

 

 

I think the decision I’ve come to is that it’s time to get back to the root of what I loved about this hobby in the first place.

 

I loved telling stories, through pictures and words (and stickers!).

I loved creating things with my hands, albums that I could treasure (and share with my family) for years to come.

 

 

It wasn’t about capturing every detail of every day, but telling the stories that should be retold.

It was about fully experiencing my life, with gratitude and awareness. Then preserving the highlights for future generations (or a forgetful, older version of me).

 

Mostly, though, it was about having fun doing it!!!

 

I loved scrapbooking.

And I really think I can love it again.

I just can't tackle this project - Project Life - like I did last year.

 

I can't have another year of jumbled receipts and clothing tags, and incomplete layouts.

I can't have hours of stressing over design ideas, instead of simply telling the stories I want to tell. 

 

Last year I spent so much time perusing Pinterest for ideas about how to tackle Project Life that I lost sight of what I was really trying to do.

This year I don’t want to worry about trends, or techniques. I want to get back to the basics. 

I want to create a scrapbook I can be proud of, one that’s completed. That’s really important to me.

 

And I want it to accurately tell the story of our life. Notsomuch what we ate for lunch each day, but what passions we were pursuing, and what new adventures we were taking.

I want to celebrate the little things that make our life special, and document the daily things we’re doing to grow, and learn, and love each other more.

 

 

I also want to enjoy creating again.

And I know, to do that, whatever I make must come from the heart.

 

Inspiration is great, but it shouldn’t drive my every move.

 

Art is about trusting one’s own instincts.

And I’ve got to let mine have some say again.

 

  

This year I’m tackling Project Life again, but not because it's trending. Or supposedly simple. Or quick.

This year I'm trying it because I think it’s the best vehicle for telling the stories I want to tell.

 

Little ones. Big ones. 

Everyday. Extraordinary.

 

Stories that are ours. 

Stories that are us.

 

That’s what I thing scrapbooking is really about.

And that's what I want to pursue with this project. Take two.

 

Telling more of our stories, in the ways I deem fun, and good.

Being driven by passion, and fun, not fear (of lost memories, or imperfect pages).

 

 

This was a note I found tucked away with my Project Life "stuff" from last year.

 

"Doubt kills more dreams than fear ever will." 

 

I think it's a good motto moving forward, both for scrapbooking and life.

 

More than anything I want 2014 to be the year I tackle things without fear.

A year for stepping out of my comfort zone, trusting my instincts (instead of second guessing every move, or sticker placement).

 

A year for more doing, as The Home Depot would put it.

A year of conquering. Completing. Trying again, and if that fails, trying harder.

A year of less looking on from the sidelines, and more living.

 

Now wish me luck crafty friends!

And thanks, as always, for your sweet support!

Five Minute Friday: Reflect

 

 Reflect...

 

What else do you do when you’re iced in?

 

Reflect. Bake. Watch unholy amounts of HGTV.

 

Scrapbook your December, which thus far, has been mostly self-quarantined.

Repeat.

 

Think. So much thinking.

Too much thinking.

 

I never noticed until recently just how “don’t stop, won’t stop,” my OCD brain is.

Crunching budget numbers. Calculating calories. I hate math, but it haunts me at night, when all I want to do is count sheep.

 

It’s like I need some ridiculous puzzle to fix, in order to be at “peace.”

But it’s not that peaceful, always thinking, always overthinking.

It’s kind of exhausting actually. Kinda obnoxious really.

 

That’s why I’m so ready to retire, from the over-reflecting.

  

I read the other day that we should glance at the past, but not stop and stare.

While that flies in the face of everything One Republic taught me, I think it’s true.

 

We should learn from the past, but not live in it.

 

That is a balance that’s hard for people like me – the overthinkers, the undiagnosed OCD’s – the ones whose brains are never quiet, even in their dreams.

 

I don’t want to miss out on the beautiful present, because I’m lost burrowing through the past.

But it’s hard for me to let go.

It's hard for me to simply move forward.

 

 

What am I saying? Where is my head? 

Honestly, it’s on the vanilla scones I baked this morning, which are filling the house with a heavenly aroma.

 

I hoarded those vanilla beans for months, ‘cause they were so flippin’ expensive.

But then I thought, what good do they do me stashed in a cabinet?

Plus, how delicious would a scone be, with my coffee, on this frigid December morning?

 

Turns out, super delicious.

And that got me thinking about all the other things I’ve been hoarding.

 

Memories, photos, stories I’ve been sitting on, instead of sharing.

Like they’ll lose something in the telling. Or maybe that they’re not worth the light of day.

 

I’ve been clinging to them like they’re “my precious,” instead of realizing how much joy can be found in loosening my grasp.

How much freedom would be found if I would just let go?

 

  

The ice is slowly melting outside, which means the car’s defrost may finally get a rest.

And I think that my overthinking brain might finally get one too.

 

  

Today it’s time to get back outside, back to life among the living, outside my zombie state. 

And I think I’m ready for that, more than ready for that.

To be back out there, in the throws of it.

 

No longer hoarding ideas, and memories, but making new ones.

 

This is another post inspired by the Five Minute Friday series created by Lisa Jo Baker.

I know I sound like a broken record, but it's such a great exercise in freeing your mind (clearly, something I need!).

 

No worries, just writing, for five minutes solid (a little more if you cheat like me).

Even if you don't want to share your work, I really encourage you to give it a try.

You never know what you might have to say.

 

 

Happy Tuesday friends.

Hope you're staying warm.

Five Minute Friday: Tree

Tree

 

Tree, family tree.

 

Like the tiny sapling that lived in front of my childhood home.

 

By high school its branches had reached the roof, and my window. Scaring me some nights as they brushed up against the glass.

 

 

Now when I go home, what was once no more than a twig with a few leaves, is a mighty elm that greets me before the door.

 

It tells me my travels are over.

 

That tree tells me I’m home again.

 

I’ve really grown to love that tree.

 

 

 

Now I think of the large shade tree outside the house I share with my husband.

 

I think of how many generations have lived in this home, and how much that tree must have seen.

 

 

Kids climbing its strong limbs as they stretch up towards the sky.

 

Birds making their own homes in it.

 

They greet me some mornings when I remember to wake up slowly, and sip my coffee, instead of running into the day like a suicide bomber.

 

 

Tree makes me think of the woodgrain pattern I intended to hand-emboss on all 150 of our wedding invitations.

 

How, for weeks, I thought I could do it all myself.

 

And tried.

 

 

I made one invitation, beautifully embossed, before a good friend stepped in.

 

“You just can’t do it by yourself,” she told me. And I wanted to cry with relief ‘cause I knew she was right.

 

 

So I gave up the woodgrain, and was pleasantly surprised how beautiful the simpler version of our invitation was.

 

I wish I’d known then that sweet friend wasn’t just talking about the invitations.

 

 

 

It’s hard to live in a world where we’re dependent on one another.

 

Like vines, like branches, all connected.

 

All tied together.

 

 

 

Some days we want anything but to be linked at the root with these people we call family.

 

We want freedom. Complete independence.

 

We want to be shut off, and separate, from the world.

 

 

But trees remind us of the truth underlying our dysfunctions, and our difficulties with vulnerability, and our pride, which get in the way of being happy at home.

 

Happy in relationship with our significant others, our parents, our brothers, our friends, our siblings, all these people sharing this same planet, this same sod.

 

 

 

They remind us that the only way to be strong, and to weather this world, to survive the cold winters and bring refreshing shade in the spring, to let others enjoy us, and others support us, is to be in this thing.

 

Together.

 

Like all those beautiful trees.

  - 30 - 

 

 

I think the reason I love the fall so much now, is because the autumn air encourages us to live in community. 

Sharing cocoa, sharing blankets, sharing long walks around the park. The very essence of fall is our need to be together.

 

Like I’m mesmerized by how many colors can exist on one single branch of a tree, I’m amazed how much better it feels to go through life with company. 

Thank God for fall, and the seasons that are easy to love.

 

If you're sick of hearing about Five Minute Friday already then I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry. I can't stop singing its praises.

 

Basically a bunch of great ladies (and a few guys) get together every week in cyber world and spend five minutes free writing about a new subject.

The beauty of it is the freedom that comes in shutting up the inner critic and just letting ideas loose.

Some weeks it's the only thing that restores my sanity. 

 

So, as I've said before, even if you're not yet ready to join the community (and let the world see your work; which you really should!) you should still give this exercise a try sometime. 

You never know what you'll get when you do. It could be disgusting, or it could be delicious. (Isn't that what Forrest taught us?)

 

And just like that we're back to trees. :)

Have a blessed weekend friends.