(a compilation/slice conglomeration of our lives for the past nine months or so, with a smattering of thoughts on motherhood and creating in and around and through and because of it.)
your creative work can come back to support you, give voice to new experiences out of the dust—
But only if you muster the courage to make it in the first place.
Living the life of your dreams doesn’t mean it’s not hard or painful.
It’s all of it—beautiful and ugly, wonderful and terrible, so hard and the easiest thing in the world.
But it’s always the life of my dreams, no question.
You’re in there
Somewhere
Just because it’s not easy to find
Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth the look
We all sustain life—
Our own, someone else, little or big, for one sparkly AHA moment or tiny everythings spread across forever.
When you’re sure it doesn’t matter, you struggle to see your own ripple effect and want to flop into what’s-the-point:
Zoom in. The littlest points of intersection set off invisible chains of events.
Every effort matters—not always for some tangible result but for the mountains of love, character and growth we build not grandly, but in the beautiful vast quiet.
It’s not always perfect, but sometimes it is—
Like some days I wanna say, listen, I’m here and it’s hard. Impossible even.
But most of the time there’s this incredible beauty that’s so pungent and overpowering it feels impossible to miss and ridiculous not to bask in, gratitude that’s ours for the holding as soon as we turn our minds to it.
We have so many days ahead—
Or we don’t.
It’s not always amazing, but sometimes it really, really is.
I always come back to the ways we orbit around each other, bumping up against pieces of ourselves, all mirrors.
The paradoxes have been surfacing again
All the boxes I’ve built for myself longing to be busted
And I wonder where I am in all of it
Holding, releasing, taking on identifiers and shedding them
I am the one watching me decide about me
…
The schedule of family life has crunched me big, squashed me flat and filleted me lately. The familiar feeling of wanting to upend it all, the scratching at the corners that threatens to peel down the walls—I’m only slightly more mature in my handling of it.
The thing I always come back to—the response that doesn’t make me turn on myself—is the making. In creation we get to be new every single time, and even though the strongest pull is to repeat the past, reinvention is always an option.
Did ya hear that? Even if you don’t run away to Europe, even if it’s just art you escape to for a few minutes or hours, reinvention is always an option.
How much possibility I hold in these arms
From the belly that birthed you
Knew you then but has to get reacquainted now
We are both constantly changing
Surging toward the sun
Growth
And maybe my most sacred job is simply to lift your chin
to the light
