2021 was many things, but dare I say it, I think it was kind of magical.

For me, the most magical thing was really embracing “self-love” and sort of returning to a more free version of myself and out of that space, something new has started to emerge ~ more confidence, more art, more songs, more fun, more gratitude, patience, and so much love.

For awhile there, I think I was a bit lost from myself ~ too afraid to be my fullest self, lost in imposter syndrome, worried about perception, fear of doing it wrong, taking up too much “space”, and just being afraid, afraid, afraid. I’ve struggled with fear in the past, but the past few years have been extra challenging and it’s been everything to just show up, but I did and things have been shifting in really amazing ways.

Fear and perception are funny things, or just things, or something… because the truth is everyone has their “stuff”, their “things”, issues, fears, dreams and so, so many feelings. I have been talking about feelings as a “connection space” for a long time, but I have really started practicing this in a different way.

I think one of the biggest feelings I have been working with is discomfort. Learning to be in discomfort of a moment ~ especially moments of disconnection. Learning to stay, to lean in and b r e a t h e

I’ve realized how much I need stillness, but I have also realized that I like celebrating small things (and really, every day there are so many things to celebrate).

I’m learning to listen to myself more and learning about plants. Although, in listening, I am realizing that the plants have always guided me, supported me and just waited for me to better understand their inner whispers.

Nettles have taught me about boundaries, burdock grounds me and linden and marshmallow root keep my heart open and encourage me to sing. Butterfly pea flower reminds me that magic IS real (actually, I believe all of the plants are magical, but I do love that hue transition).

Working with the flock and the land continues to humble me and remind me of reciprocity.

I am grateful for my health, connections, friendships, work and so much more. It has been a healthy season and I am starting to see the still’s disease as a strange gift because it was one of the main things that forced me to tend to my own being first, which I think has allowed me to be better at being t(here) for others.

And yet, things are still strange and hard and most days I still feel a deep melancholy for the future of the world.

I was recently in the desert, sitting with the massive stones and an incredible agave plant. There was a heaviness that I can’t quite explain, but I kept coming back to presence and gratitude ~ that NO MATTER WHAT, that presence is a portal and that I can return over and over and over again and choose joy, love, and continue dreaming of an equitable and kind world and that truly, the only way for me to experience the world I long for, is by just being it myself (insert all the clichés ever, but they are true!)

I’m sure there will be stumbling and hard days ahead, but I know that they are all just part of my path.

And so I will carry on, believing in goodness, shining my light and hopefully encouraging others to do the same.

I hope you enjoy this holiday greeting for 2021 and that you enjoy all of our wishes for you! We wrote this song together because we started learning accordion. I told B to think of silly wishes and I stitched them together into a melody-of-sorts and we added many layers upon layers.

May this song bring you joy, smiles and encourage a little silliness.

Snowflakes and eggnog and chestnuts and mittens
These are some things of winter songs
Ribbons and fairy lights and critters in hats
These are some things of our songs

Cookies and days off and laughter with friends
Are some things we wish for you
Abundance and adventures and hopefully no dentures
At least any time soon

So cherish your time together
Cozy up and look at the trees
Or go play in the snow or the sparkling beach
And go home desert and tv

Wishing you all of the love. ♥

from us and our gaggle of critters (Frenzy, Chester, Pipa, and Kirk)

~

This is actually the 10th year I have been making these silly videos. The first time I ever made a video was actually as a way to cheer up my own broken heart forever ago. It’s (actually-probably-not-that) surprising how little and how much I have changed at the exact same time through all of these years. :)

Previous greetings: (please note these open to different tabs)
__
2020 ~ a holiday medley of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and “The Christmas Song”
2019 ~ ”Krimgle Brells” ~ a rendition of “Jingle Bells”
2018 ~ gratitude
2017 ~ A little reflection and some holiday wishes
2016 ~ this might make George Michael roll in his grave
2015 ~ have a holly jolly christmas
2014 ~ a sparkle partner christmas
2013 ~ nature’s glitter
2012 ~ yay christmas!
2009 ~ christmas with lavi

p.s. please forgive the many broken links in the past entries of my diary :)

from the "archives" of last year’s writing club. Amy had the idea for us to write. We took turns creating a prompt and wrote for ten minutes. This was the beginning.

//

Tuesday, October 8 1:17 pm

By the time these ten minutes are over, many things will have shifted. The light is moving, the Earth is spinning, my fingers are typing on this keypad. My breath is steady and my stomach is churning this bitter coffee. 

Let me come to presence… to this space in between all of the moving change.

Presence at this moment is my eyes looking at this screen and seeing the green leaves of plants peaking over my computer. The plants themselves are changing, leaves are breathing and roots reach into the soil of the planters. 

Somewhere someone is waking, somewhere someone is dying.

The words of an article in Time disturbed me this morning, something about “throwing bodies into the Nile”. It dawned on me that those bodies were likely sisters, brothers, and friends of someone. Those bodies had eyes that witness life and change.

I think a lot about being “In” my body, in this form. A being that notices and experiences things, water on the lips, dry eyes, a runny nose, a soft tissue. Bodies hold so much. I wonder if we even really think about how much they hold. 

It is now 1:23… 

I am writing without even reading or thinking. Just writing.  

There’s so much to say and really nothing at all. 

Looking up, I noticed that one of my plants is thirsty. It’s leaves are drooping and it’s clear I haven’t watered it in awhile, but I will wait until these ten minutes are complete. 

Back to presence. Breath. This moment. Rest. Stillness. 

A body that is in the middle of all the chaos of change. The breath that can create the stillness to move between past, present and the future. 

Time is fluid. 

It is now 1:27. 

I will water the plant.

vignettes of farm mornings. in no particular order..

i walk westward, outside of the gate. the chicory greets me with it's cornflower blue hue. it is morning.
the wheelbarrow pushes against the ground, my chest heaves. gratitude for these legs that carry me forward.

a path of white lace on thin green stems ... queen anne's lace
cones of fuschia flowers reaching upwards ... purple loosestrife
yellow candy buttons with a sweet scent ... tansy
a gradient from light pink to green, colors of the heart chakra ... virginia pepperweed

when you look, everything seems green
but when you look closer you see that each leaf has it's own personality, it's own curl of a leaf,
alternating patterns, tiny hairs that breathe
diversity is beautiful.

the chicory reminds me of impermanence
it changes as the sun moves, even within one hour
the blooms welcome me, but as the sun rises the blooms close
within the week the stems have turned from green to maroon
small signs of autumn tease against the thick summer air
everything changes

IMG_9207

//My friend, Lauren, started a google community called, Creativity Hour, which has been a great way to stay held accountable for my own creativity through the inspiration of everyone's works. She suggested we all create Manifestos for 2016.

Honest to goodness, I started this in January, but managed to LOSE it twice. Once I left the brightly painted paper with "spaciousness" and notes about playing and kindness on the floor of my office and managed to lose it again while en route from the office to the art studio. So it's possible the manifesto is floating around the Lower East Side or melted in the snow. Hopefully it will provide inspiration wherever it ended up. Also, yes, you read that correctly ... I joined an art studio in January and it has been life-changing. I love being around other artists and ending my work day with painting.

The photo above is my (second!) painted mess of a manifesto which was written in my journal. I've been doing less online writing and more handwritten journaling. I highly recommend doing this first thing in the morning before the to-do lists and cell phone scrolling take over (which is fascinating to notice how strong the urge is).

In any case, below is the full manifesto in an easier-to-read fashion since the piece above is a mess and may be difficult to read online. Also, I purposely chose to use a piece of paper with a tear ... it became a way to remind myself to embrace the unknown.

... 2016 (and beyond!) ...

s   p   a   c   i   o   u   s   n   e   s   s ... because the in-between moments will allow for deep soul searching or just reveal themselves! Continued love for your relationship ❤, #sparklepartners forever! write down the magical stories of the operators of your heart strings ... more moments of playfulness, love, listening, and being open to others. Allow YOURself to see beyond the surface or judgements (esp. around social/political thoughts -- we can all be ourselves). Remember our interconnectedness especially in challenging moments ... challenge negative thinking and the inner critic. Be Yourself. Really Listen. Don't respond too quickly, let the stories and information land first. Put the phone down more! -- less random scrolling when people leave the table or whatever the situation is -- notice how strong the urge is to reach and then pay attention to the real moments. In fact, shut the phone OFF after a certain time and start the day with a quiet moment. Being overwhelmed leads to the random scrolling/need for distraction because you need to tune out, but really you just need to tune in. Call home more often. Call Diane too, find her another cat. Continued volunteering and community engagement. Keep doing work that makes a difference. Continued listening to your wisest self. Be MAGNANIMOUS. Be an architect of peace. Continue the loving kindness practice. Write more letters. More sincere compliments, notice people's goodness. Leave notes of kindness for strangers. Face fear directly - don't let it consume you. Continue tending and growing the garden of friends, wherever the home base lands ~ remember it's really in your heart. Explore creative movement or just make room for self time and care. Practice German. Pick up the guitar, play the piano. Keep singing. Embrace your voice. Handle issues and challenging moments when they appear instead of creating lists of things to fret over, you miss out on so many little details doing this. Wake up earlier, the morning light is worth it. Keep exploring nature. Remember gratitude. Trust your heart to navigate the overwhelming days and when the multiple, opposing feelings take over. Stay organized, but don't get lost in your lists or use "planning mind" as a distraction. Continue finding the balance of planning for the future, reflecting on the past, and staying present. Morning kitty snuggles, beach days, park days, lazy days. Grow the collections of feathers, flowers, shells, rocks, but give some away too -- leave them as little gifts. Paint the worlds in your mind. Believe in yourself and the innate goodness of all. Remember love, love, love. Drink more water. Be open to change, including the thoughts and scary things for 2016. When fear takes over, try to remember your breath and how you are connected to everything -- the scary moment won't last forever, none of them will. Don't be saddened by this, just try to be with it all. Feel it all. 

One of the best days of my life, my wedding day ... 4.24.15 Thank you for all being part of it. ❤ Music by: "Violin Music" by Henry Chapin "Coastal Cities" by Summer Reign "Distopian Dream Girl" by Built to Spill "Sweet Thing" by Van Morrison "I Just Can't Get Enough" by Depeche Mode "Compliment Your Soul" by Dan Croll "Thunder Clatter" by Wild Cub

//

I still remember the cold spring day when I met Brendan. The wind was strong when I noticed him -- deep brown curls blowing in the wind. There was something about him that took my breath away. When I saw him walking towards me (because he was with our mutual friend), fireworks started in my stomach and out of my mouth in the form of a million, rapid-fire questions.

*yes, he was overwhelmed at first*

But then we met a few weeks later and I was a little calmer -- or at least appeared to be on the outside -- but I'm sure my stomach was in knots. It's hard to describe the feeling -- nothing has ever made me as nervous as he had, but at the same time I also felt a certain surety. When I finally worked up the courage to ask for his number, I remember running home and singing to the cats. Hayden laughed.

You see, he was a little quieter than me and I never felt like I could get the words right. I found myself with one-word answers with a certain spaciousness around them.

Me: So what do you like to do?
Him: Walk.
Me: Um, where do you like to walk?
Him: Around.
Me: Well, maybe we could 'walk around' together someday. (inner dialogue: hand-to-head, did that sound stupid!?)

Being the person I am, spaciousness seemed (is) scary, but I learned that it's exactly what I needed. Over the past year, he has given me nothing but *s p a c e* to be myself -- this has been very healing.//

I’ve been wanting to write about the wedding for the past few months, but the other day experienced something to frame it. It was a really rough day for a lot of silly reasons and I spent the better part of it in tears. The mental hamster wheel was spinning. In the past, this self-depreciating, self-worth spiral to hell would last a lot longer and I would be *even* harder on myself -- forget the second arrow, it was more like ten. But this time, there was something different.

I didn't ignore the negative feelings that were coming up, but I didn't let them take over me like they so often do. There was a small, half-fingernail size part of me that fought back. It reminded me of my own self-worth.

Later that night, I caught his eye while he was looking at me. He had just been telling me how pretty I looked and I felt his gaze. It was vulnerable and I felt that nervous-feeling again from those early days.

It was then that I realized that he really does SEE me. Yes, he sees my hair and smile, but he easily sees straight through to that half-fingernail sized part of myself that understands and fights back for my own self-worth. You hear about love at first sight, but to me, meeting Brendan was more of a coming home. Because his seeing me, really allows ME to see and love myself even more. The more this happens, the more *space* there is for playfulness and adventure (which we both happened to mention in our vows ❤).

//

The above are some of my favorite wedding photos, taken by the lovely ladies at BAM Weddings.

Also, here's a little video I made, full of lots of hugs. Making this video was so much fun, because it allowed me to experience the wedding. The actual day itself was a blur, but this let me feel into it all again.

Thank you to everyone who made it and for all of the well-wishes. Big love! ❤ 

There are certain things we can't prepare for, no matter how hard we try.

I was on the F train on my way to volunteer when I got an email with no message, but an alarming subject line."This is an emergency about Lavi - call ## - EOM." I really wanted to continue with my evening and ignore the message because I knew it couldn't be good. Not to mention, I had plans with friends to celebrate my recent engagement.

But I knew better. My heart was heavy and fingers were shaking as I called the number. I stood against a wall at the Rockefeller Center subway station and tried to ignore reality as I watched hurried commuters pass by.

Lavi-cat was in critical condition.

Tears started pouring down my face and I found myself walking towards the hospital.I called a friend and started sobbing, "Lavi is going to die. Lavi is going to die and I am a terrible cat mother."

You see, Lavi and I moved to New York City almost 8 years ago. I still remember stopping in Illinois to get her a cat tranquilizer because she would not. stop. meowing. At the time, I was newly in love and the world was my oyster. I thought that my life was going to be perfect. That my move was an "arrival point" to never-ending happiness.

How quickly I learned.

We lived with a 65-year old woman who made the cat her new best friend. She would leave letters on the door with stories about kitty. How they "filed taxes together" and how cute it was when kitty hid her toys. The stories were endless and wonderful.You can imagine how painful it was for her when I told her that I was moving out because my first love and I were breaking up.

Moving three times in a month did not bode well for my Lavi-cat and she did not like her new roommates. She was clear about her feelings by pissing all over the place in every apartment."It's behavioral," the vet would tell me after many expensive (and unaffordable) bills.

After 6 months I decided to return Lavi where she belonged. With her friend to file taxes and hide toys. She immediately stopped pissing and lived like a Queen.

I would visit regularly for "kitty spa" (nail-trimmings) and a catch up.

During that time, I also moved in with my best friend and we got two new cats. Life was good, but life was also busy. The visits became less frequent and it took me months to get there again.

~

It was a cold run/walk to the animal hospital on East End while I sobbed on the phone. I felt horrible for not getting to her sooner, for not taking her to the vet more often."Upstairs to the emergency room", the receptionist pointed. My tears must have been an instant giveaway.

We ended up sitting with kitty for a couple of hours. She was on an IV and did her best to walk around to each of our laps, but she could hardly stand. We had a lot of back and forth on what to do, but I made the decision to put her to sleep. The actual procedure took about 3 minutes and it was horrible to watch. We were sobbing.

There was a moment when I thought I saw a flash of fear in Lavi's eyes, and I briefly second guessed the whole thing. But deep down, I knew it was the right thing to do.

It's been a little over a month since this happened, but it was one of those "life moments" worthy of reflection.

Lavi's death was sad, but it also symbolized closing a chapter in my life. I've grown so much over the past 8 years. While I still struggle with loss and change, I realize it can't be avoided.Because these things happen - life and loss and change.

Losing my mother at a young age made death just a thing. I would talk about it like it were a smallthing - a regular growing pain.But losing a parent/loved one is a traumatic thing, no matter the age.

The older I get, the more I realize the weight of loss. Death happens, but life doesn't stop. Even though it may feel like it.

We can't prepare for these things.You just have to trust that you'll know what to do and how to cope. That all your experiences make you wiser and stronger than you realize.

And you'll surprise yourself with your ability to carry on. 

//

I was working on something else when Brendan said the sky was a pretty color. Little did he know (or perhaps he did; since he knows me so well), that this small comment would turn into one of those "keepers" moments. As soon as I saw the moon I grabbed my camera and his hand and we ran (carefully) to the roof to catch the last bits. I don't remember what we talked about, but I know we laughed. This happened sometime in September or October - I have no idea - time has just been going . so . quickly.

Lately, we've been walking the bridge. The first night was magical. I remember the shakiness of the bridge and the warmth of our two hands squeezed in one pocket. It was foggy that evening and there was a full moon. The sky was nearly the same color as the bridge making it seem like we were walking towards a looming monster. Halfway on the bridge, I stopped and gave Brendan a giant bear hug - the kind where you almost knock someone over. I explained that my hug was "squeezing that moment into my memory"; meaning it was something I never wanted to forget.

The thing is, I might.

Because these new experiences and these magical moments continue in a way where they become routine. I do not mean this in a negative way, but I'm really feeling into the fact that change is the only constant -- and that it doesn't always equal loss.

**pictured: That sunset | an awesome dance party with two of my favorite people that ended with sparklers! | morning rays | a boat-ride upstate to Oktoberfest where the food was, unfortunately, unforgettably horrible. | friends, friends, friends.

**

There’s a thing about listening to yourself – the deep-to-the-core kind of listening that helps you follow your heart. You realize that you’re a lot stronger and smarter than you ever gave yourself credit for. That the answers you were looking for, were always with you.

Over a year ago I told myself that I needed three months – a brief period of time to wear the “sorting hat” – to figure out things out.In the colder months, I finally took that time.

This wasn’t always easy and there were moments of blue. Honest and difficult conversations were had with myself. I learned to appreciate the nicety in feeling attractive, but learned to hold my eager heart.Love is a wonderful feeling, but finding the person that moves your core is different - it shakes your soul.

My heart stopped the day I saw a tall, dark-haired boy with amazing curls and it started skipping when I saw him walking towards me. My crush was obvious to our mutual friends and, eventually, I worked up the courage to share it with him. There were a bunch of firsts and just like that it started to fall into place.

I am beyond grateful – for my friends, the sunshine, and my curiosity and imagination for this life. My heart smiles knowing that I’ve found my true sparkle partner.

It just took me finding myself first.♥

These days... things seem a little simpler. I stand a little straighter. My shoulders pull back and down and my gaze is forward.
Sometimes when walking I have to squeeze my hands into tiny fists to contain this excitement.
These days... time does that thing where it moves too quick and passes too slow. I feel like I can't get enough of it and that I have nothing but time ahead of me -- at the same time.

Foggy evenings on piers are like hanging out in a cloud. Tips are shared for letting eyes open in such a way that it makes light reflections look like millions of sparkles in rapid conversation with one another.
Lazy days with no plans turn into long walks around curvy streets and laying in the grass identifying shapes out of clouds.
Swing dancing happens surrounded by trees to the soundtrack of a rushing stream and little hums of familiar tunes. A lost feather found a perfect home in the room of whimsy, where the heart swelled in such a way that the only place for it to go was in tears of joy.

These days...eyes say more than words ever could and hands always find each other while walking down the streets or just before drifting to sleep.
There's a sense of knowing and just a great appreciation for another open heart.
There's a bit of fear, for this is new and terrifying and oh-so-wonderful, but I am more myself than I've ever been.

These days...happiness seems boundless and falling seems right. There's room to let time do its thing. Wrap itself around this and allow everything to just be. 

When you can’t bear something but it goes on anyway, the person who survives isn’t you anymore; you’ve changed and become someone else, a new person, the one who did bear it after all. | Austin Grossman

 **

When I was 20, I saw a girl dye herself blue. She really looked like a smurf. She was taking over my spot in the dorm and decided to move in early, basically forcing me to move out. When she came in shrieking of her accident, I told her the blue was very becoming and had to hide my laughter when I found out the dye was permanent. When coloring your hair blue, don't take a shower to wash it out.

The best thing that came from that tiny college was my friendship with this talented gem.

There was a brief stint at a community college where I took only art classes and met an adorable couple that made me believe in love. I also went on a road trip to Arizona with a girl I met on a bus to a Christian convention in Idaho. "Can I help you?" were her first words to me after chirpily greeting her. A boy I met while working at a kiosk selling cell phone covers also joined the trip. He made me a mix-tape introducing me to "Indie" music. I enjoyed the not-so-secret messages of his crush. We kissed on a mountain in Colorado.

I didn't see the Grand Canyon, but I did hit a deer on the way back less than 30 miles from home.

Moments before hitting the deer, I got a speeding ticket that tipped me over into the "you-need-to-attend-driving-school" category. So the summer before I went to U of Iowa, I spent a week sharing stories of speeding tickets in "driving school".

Friends were made during music theory in the Voxman music building. I asked the same questions at every football game and we tailgated with spiked coffee. 21 was a shit show (in the best way), Facebook started, and I got hit by a car while riding a bike and talking on the phone. I found my love for volunteering and drunk dialed my sick roommate with John McCrea after The 10,000 Hours Show (10K3). We were sad she missed the show.

At 22 I shared an apartment with 6 roommates. I compared us to the sides of a Rubix cube picking colors for three of them, leaving only white, red, and yellow. It was unintentionally perfect given that the remaining roommates were Caucasian, Hispanic, and me.

Around Christmastime, I brought a wreathe from home to decorate our apartment. I didn't notice the dried cat vomit, but my roommate did. It was this awkward moment that started our friendship. Many adventures were spent together, including a road trip to Texas when we forgot to bring blankets (in February!) and another to Canada where we ran over a trash bag and carried it with us all the way back to New Jersey. On both trips we opted to save money by sleeping in the car. We are now roommates in Brooklyn.

There were shitty jobs and a few months of being really poor. Days were spent alternating giving plasma and going to Labor Ready. Hope was held in strange places, like the time I held a dying deer in my lap on the Coralville Strip or finding a piano on State Street in Dysart and having it fork-lift to my house. I called these my "red skittle" moments.

There were loves and losses, which at the time seemed grand and defining. But it wasn't until the timing was just right for me to date a boy I'd noticed throughout the years at our college radio station, that I would really understand heartbreak and love.

The summer before I left Iowa, a night was spent walking around Iowa City drinking whiskey and sharing stories with a close girlfriend. That was one of the beginnings of my heart learning the lesson that sometimes things can't be fixed and all we can do is listen.

New York welcomed me at 23. I will never forget driving into the sunrise. I was certain that life was going to be perfect from that moment on. The pit stop at a random town in Illinois for cat tranquilizer should have been a reminder otherwise.

24 was full of live music, some crazy nights, living with a 65-year old woman*, and finally learning the difference between the East Village and the Lower East Side—one is above Houston, the other is below.It rained for 10 days straight, which was timely for my first real broken heart. I got really good at crying - release was overwhelming at 25.

But the heart was moved again on a gray day in October and did cartwheels while carrying a microwave through Peter Cooper Village on a cool spring evening. I learned to love freely, even when it was not fully returned.

The garden of friends continued to grow and the tiniest roots of self-love started. I learned that lazy days were my favorite (especially at the beach), along with late nights of painting and singing to myself after sunsets of gold. June became my favorite month. Two lucky children on the 6 train received bicycles after the 4th of July midnight train to Montauk. I blame the heat for my poor judgement on taking the bike in the first place.

At 26, I received a look that made me feel absolutely beautiful and special and all of the things a girl wants to feel. Although it wasn't sustainable for many reasons, I have still to feel that way again.

27 and 28 were some of the most difficult years I've experienced, despite all of the moments of being surrounded by love. Lessons were learned in circles, but each lap taught something different. I learned to navigate extremes and that self-love is really important but really, fucking hard to practice.

29 has taught me that the best way to deal with change, is to just ride the current. Loss is tough, really tough. But sometimes we have to let go because somewhere along the way—probably around lap 1,492—we already changed, despite the years of fighting it.

The lessons continue—I'm not sure that there is a stopping point. There will be moments of rest, but the grounding comes from within. It hasn't been easy, but I wouldn't change any of it.

If someone would have told my younger-self that I would be entering a new decade without any semblance of a romantic relationship and have two different cats*, I probably would have laughed or cried or both. Because while that version of myself was adventurous, I was also too afraid of loss; holding onto love for dear life and likely too tight. The lesson of change and loss is one that—in time—will show up again.

We are all walking books—I really believe this—made up of little stories, with big chapters. I'm embarking on a new one. I feel Ready. Capable. Accepting. A little less of certain things, a little more of others, but still the same all around. I'm learning to be less hard on myself and to treat my heart with more kindness.

So here's to a new decade and continuing the adventure.

**

* The kitty that moved to NYC is still here, she's just with the woman I used to live with. I visit them both on a regular basis.

The actual ending of a thing can happen rather abruptly. Short, quick, cutting words that change the terms of the relationship.

Then there's the shit ton of space that appears after—suddenly the world is open and terrifying. Those fallen words signify that everything that was intertwined is now going to unravel.

I've been on both sides of the thing*, but it's only now that I truly understand the weight of being the one to let go.

It is fucking hard.

Letting go because something deep in the core says it's just not right.

No wrong, no fault. It just wasn't. Despite all of the ways it could have been...Being the one to let go doesn't make it easier. It didn't stop the night my body was taken over by this thing. This sad, sad thing. When I sobbed and fell to my floor. Just sobbing and reaching. Curling myself into a ball wishing I could curl myself into nothing.

*Oh this life.

The circles. The switching of places—being put where someone was, only to better understand the whole thing.

I remember being thrilled to get to the other side (in different matter of the heart), but now I think it's just about getting to another side.

Constant movement. Rotating spaces. Shifting. Forward, forward, on and through.*

I take comfort in believing that we are all connected.

That somehow.....it works itself out.

That we're all from the same thing—a gigantic love sparkle bubble that is life. An extraordinary thing that we can't really understand.

That we will all be together again. Those we've hurt, loved, disliked, envied, all of it.

Maybe the thing isn't meant to be understood. Only explored. Or something.--* though, as a friend pointed out - there are many sides to the thing. 

//

Change doesn't always happen overnight, it happens in small little circles and a shit ton of "back and forths". We have to remember patience and allow enough  s p a c e   to look honestly at patterns and then figure out what to do with them - if anything. I believe growth comes from recognizing patterns and finding ways to talk about them. Making sure the words coming out of someone's mouth are actually translated properly in the mind. For they are too easily distorted.

Lately, I've found it too difficult to actually BE with myself and whatever's coming up. I've felt disconnected from my body, as if I'm watching the experiences as a shadow. That's not to say I'm not enjoying things because I have had a freaking blast at this month's events (apparently, November was the month for all of my friends to throw parties), but there has been some blue lurking around. Actually, it's more of dull gray. I haven't painted in a few months and can't seem to find it in me to try. I'm too afraid that the paintings will look the same as others I've done, too many swirls and glitter. The inner voice reminding me to just paint is hard to find, it's too lost in a tangle of a bunch of crap.

It's always good to escape the city. To get away from the clusters of crowds, the hurried motion, and immerse yourself into a place where you feel a little more steadied. To feel inspired. I felt better the moment I got off the train in Coldspring. And the woods were filled with little bits of magic everywhere. Tree houses for fairies, a blanket of fallen leaves, and everything was golden. As the sun set, it burned so brightly on along another mountain. It looked electric. I've always felt held in these mountains, protected in a way.

Looking at the photos I am still inspired. When the time is right, I hope to try and capture some of the magic on canvas. Until then, here are my blurry photos (it was quite chilly!).

full set and trail info

The year has been rough. About this time last year the inner gut started to hurt in the worst of ways, but the difficult decision to preserve the heart wouldn't happen until weeks after the birthday(s). The summer heat brought about loneliness and a sadness that only comes from having enough distance to see finally see a situation for what-it-was, not what-was-hoped. Forgiveness persisted into the fall, and room was made for the kind of love that leaves one breathless. The first night you saw his shape standing on the corner, you knew you would not be able to look him straight in the eyes, for his deep blue would see straight through to your soul. They still would.

Winter came and revealed the darkest depression felt in years, if ever. The saddest lyrics on cold walks from the train couldn't bring the release of tears which were so desperately needed and often tried. It took everything to just-get-through-it. Frustrations began, conversations circled, and you landed head first in a dark rabbit hole. A hollow space full of too-much-of-this and not-enough-of-that which really just meant taking things for granted and dealing with things in the worst of ways. The space was muddy and unclear, and it took a gigantic mess to feel the release. Everything unraveled and the months of trying-to-cry poured out. The floodgates burst and it took weeks for the tears to stop—but they did. Walking home, feeling the spring in the air, golden light on the buildings, clumsily dropping the scratching post (which should have been purchased two years ago) to-just-get-that-picture; there was a moment of clarity and a realization of being on the other side. It might have been the weeks of internal conversations instead of sharing everything with everyone right away for this allowed the inner voice to figure things out, to embrace the s-p-a-c-e. Nights were spent surveying forgiveness and the heart landed in a space of acceptance.

The year has been rough, but the seeds of self-love were planted last spring through those difficult decisions. The seedlings flourished in a love that defied gravity in it's best, but were bridled in its worst. But plants can self-propagate, new roots can emerge, and everything can begin again.

5:43 pm EST/4:43 pm CST

I am in Iowa. Right now I am sitting at Cup of Joe with reliable internet and alternating sips of hot cider and cold water. I feel the slight pulse of a headache in my temples....the most wonderful thing just happened. i realized i had more time than i thought! 5:43 was speeding towards 6:00 and I have dinner plans at 6:30, which meant leaving in 15 minutes for a 30 minute drive, but then the glorious thing happened while looking at my phone to see what things I hadn't finished from the list. I realized was actually 4:44 CST. Phew. More water. More breath. More of this. There's something about being home that always makes me slightly anxious - or something - I can't put my finger on it. In the past five years, I've probably spent a cumulative total of one week at my house. The childhood one. The one where you can probably find a dried pile of cat puke from 15 years ago (yes, really). The one with memories of a kitchen that are too hard to think about, but that always flash through the brain upon entering the door. Too many t-h-i-n-g-s from too many years passed. The thing about those approximate seven days is that whenever I've returned/return to the place I now call home (from 88th Street, 94 Street, 135 Street, to my favorite place with the two cats and the occasional fresh cat puke for they absolutely hate their lysine-mixed wet food) wishing I'd spent just a little longer at the childhood home. Coming home is an instant reminder of where you're from, and what you are from. What parts you decided to leave behind and what parts are still lingering in the tiniest bits of the soul? Or perhaps they aren't tiny at all, because this sudden collision of thoughts happens and you realize that these new thoughts and old memories are everything that define you and make you, well you. You are one with all of it. The small girl, who grew up way too fast and who was actually rather lonely despite being surrounded by cats is now a woman with the curious heart of a child, still loving cats and people, but still struggles with moments of loneliness despite being surrounded with loved ones and having cracked the tough nut that is self-love. But the shell has been cracked and it's constantly learning new things. I am learning new things; about myself, the world, and how I want to be. In this moment, with past and present colliding, I am thankful for all of it. I am thankful for friends, family, chaos, cats, art, expression, technology, other people's writing, and so much more. I am thankful and excited for future moments and new dreams. I am just thankful.....and on this trip home, I am spending justabit more time at the childhood house.

It was early. About an hour before the alarm meant to go off. I woke up and just hurt. My body felt heavy and I couldn't sink into it enough. Tears. Just a few. It was uncomfortable to feel that ache—an ache for him. I can't even remember what kissing or touching him feels like. I just remember how much I loved him. I loved him so. September. Our first trip together. The first time he let himself be. He would pull me in and rest his head on my shoulder in the airport. He was expressive in the ways I craved for nearly a year. I remember coming back. All forms of public transit transitioning us to the hectic city, each one more and more crowded. The subway in Penn Station was full of lines and commotion. We ran into one of my friends and didn't get a moment to really say goodbye. We took the train one stop and before I got off I held him tight and said, "I love you." I didn't apologize after, which I had done so many times before because those words were always "too much" and "he wasn't sure how he felt about me" and "he wasn't in a place to be a boyfriend" or "have a relationship". I pushed my way through the crowd and got off the train. I asked my friend for a hug and a joke to avoid tears. I just loved him so much and it hurt. I was embarrassed. I think I knew that the only time he could actually be was when he was away from the city, the distractions. In those moments, he was able to express his love for me. I do believe he loved me, even then. I am not sure he was ever "in love" with me, which is why those trips seemed so important - albeit unsustainable - because he let himself do the things someone does when they are "in love". We should have taken the full day, but he wanted to come back early so he could work. So telling. This was always met with regret on the few trips taken together, "we should have just taken the full day". I would always tell him we could on the next trip. We never did. At the office I fell back into the worry. The wondering if I should contact him first. The deciding to wait because he was honest. Which is why when I got an email from him an hour into being back that said, "I miss Key West", I knew that meant he missed me too. And so I stayed. I waited for each moment like that. That would let me feel what I really believe he felt, love, but couldn't express. And so I stayed, until "he couldn't do it anymore" and I did not fight it because I couldn't fight for him anymore. Time. Space. Time. The heartache of loving someone is just that. An ache. Heavy and dull. It lasts for a moment. Tears may fall. But it does go away. As I move ahead, the signs are clearer. The intuition is stronger. The self-love is a c t u a l l y there and being with moments of being uncomfortable - including that ache - help me to be patient, let go, and make room for more - including love.

i've been in new york for nearly five years. it's hard to believe. even after all of this time, i still have those moments of "i live in new york..." that moment often warrants an exclamation mark (or several!!!!) because it makes my heart race just a tiny bit and i experience something almost like time travel - i'll flash back and forth between my childhood home, to days with the college girls, to the wreath with cat vomit that made hayden and i friends (and how that friendship has changed me), to packing up that car and just driving east, to this city which i really knew nothing about. i had no idea how that move would change my life. how much i would grow. how i would mend in the best possible way from a broken heart and learn that time really does heal all. how i would explore the all of the parts of myself and how the lesson of self-love would be the most challenging (and important) lesson to date.i don't remember the exact day i moved here, but i do remember that feeling.time is passing and moving. seasons shift. i still love flowers and leaves and sky and furry little animals make my stop and say hello. these things will never change. but other things will. i'll become less of this and a little more of that -- what those things are, i'm not even sure -- but i just know that change is happening.five years ago, i would have hated this thought. and while i don't welcome it with open arms - just yet - i do acknowledge it. because i see that change is okay and that we have choice.i have no idea what the next five years will bring - let alone the next five months. as long as i continue to live each day with love and compassion, for myself and others, i'll be alright. i don't have to figure everything out rightthisminute (even though sometimes i wish i could). there are still so many adventures to be had, places to explore.and there will always be furry animals to make me smile.

I'm not a terribly patient person. I hate lines and I walk by the cars to avoid the sidewalk traffic (mostly in Times Square after work). If someone grabs a cab after I've been waiting for a long time, they will certainly get an earful - "haven't you heard of cab etiquette!" I also can't stand getting in an elevator with the person that take it one floor or when the elevator stops and it's full of people - what's the point of stopping? It's awkward for both people on either side of the door! Don't we have the technology to make it to the next requested floor without stopping?B u t....I have also been the person that walks up to the street and hails a cab without a wait - sometimes the person waiting is halfway down the street and you don't always see them or your hurried because you're late for a reservation or you just want in the cab so hands can roam and kisses don't have to be shared on the street. I've also been the person that sees something and will stop dead in my tracks to take the photo stopping the flow of traffic. Lessons have been learned while waiting in line with females wiser than me. I hardly take the elevator one floor though because I prefer the stairs (although my vertigo would disagree).I suppose we can all be what we dislike at times and we should remember compassion. It's easy for me to forget this - especially with myself - and it's easier for me to be critical and harsh. I just may have been that girl that believed in love so much that she stayed far too long in something that wasn't working. That same belief in love may have made that same girl "overshare" and that eagerness may have been too much for some. But I'm also the girl really DOES believe in love, goodness, and light and I'm learning to be the girl with more patience. Sometimes loneliness can be overwhelmingly intense, but this time I am trying something different - I am really learning how to be. In some ways, I think I've craved this time to myself. This scary, exhilarating place of choice within myself. As more time passes, I really understand the idea that you have to love yourself before you can be in something. It doesn't mean you're selfish or egotistical, but it's about respect.I am okay. In fact, I am more than okay - I think I realized that when I jumped in Lake Michigan. The more okay with myself and all of my parts, the better off. So here's to patience and taking time. Somehow I know that the rest, really will fall into place.

it had been years since returning. at least five. since then, a storm removed the row of trees that provided a canopy for cars. now everything looked so desolate. so bare. it was windy. the door shut behind her in a startling way. it was so windy. so bare. one foot in front of the other through the dry grass. how it longed for rain, needed it. she sensed it would be coming. she sensed that relief. perhaps, she was trying to distract herself from her actual surrounding. her eyes found the space and she stared at the coarse granite. the wind wrapped her hair around her head. she closed her eyes, "so now what?"she wished for a sign. for the wind to stop, for the sky to open. she heard nothing, she saw no sign. so she just sat. no tears. just breath. and wind.

There was a time last summer when I felt full and free. I was full of life and there was a tiny bit of self-love. I felt free because despite my fears of change, I knew that I needed to accept the fact that change is inevitable.

But when the leaves turned and we had the abnormally warm winter, I felt lost. I couldn't find my footing. It was off. I was off. That seed of self-love from the summer was buried too deep and I couldn't grasp it. It was being around my friends that helped. Their logic and love helped - angry birds, charades, late-night pms wranglers, and endless laughing - even my loud laugh - they accepted it. Their acceptance helped me find my own again.

Last night I felt that peace from last summer, it happened when I emptied my purse on my bed and had to scrape the sand that fell onto my sheets onto the floor. Stepping on those tiny grains, I could only think of how grateful I was. The garden of my life is in full bloom. Friendships are like flowers, capable of growing, but only with nurturing and care.

I believe in appreciation and loving each moment as-it-happens. It's why I try so hard. It's what makes me teary-eyed at sushi when thanking friends for an amazing weekend. It's what makes me blurt out my love for moments (although, I realize the frequency of these words that can seem insincere, but I promise they aren't).

I remember a lot from five years ago, but I know I've lost a lot too. I'll remember a lot in five years from now, but I know I'll forget more. I know that some of these people from this chapter won't continue to the next. I know I've already lost people from previous chapters. This makes me sad, but I'll do my best to accept it because that's all I can do and I know that it will come back around. I know that despite lost friendships, many more have blossomed. The garden will never stop growing, and right now I'm just so, so grateful.

**p.s. the sketch is from last night, after I finished cleaning the sand off my floor.

*source*Maybe things were simpler...in another life. Perhaps we were rabbits, prancing lazily about an open meadow. Or flowers with deep roots. Or clouds.I'm fully aware that life as a rabbit might be hard (hello prey!) or that being a flower, you might experience an over or under-watering. And that clouds aren't always fluffy, like cotton candy - sometimes they are thunderous and frightening.I suppose it's understanding (well, trying to understand) this life, that makes us crave simplicity (especially in the moments that are so-damn-turbulent and well, trying).Ahh life...you are a beautiful mess and mystery.