So I finally self-published my first book (not my last, I promised myself). The initial proof wasn’t what I wanted it to be. The size and feel: something was off. And the cover art was less than professional-looking. And so I tweaked. With the second proof, things felt better but there was something funky happening on one of the pages. A minor detail that, to this day, I can’t seem to ‘fix’. It finally went live on Amazon and with the cover image still not uploaded to the listing, I sat here thinking that I couldn’t let the world know about it until that little detail was fixed – until it was all just right. I was waiting for perfection. And that’s when I reminded myself that waiting for perfection often means we’ll be waiting forever.
So here it goes. I made you something. And it’s ready for you. It’s flawed. It’s raw. It’s extremely uncomfortable to put out in the world because it’s so close to my tender heart. And that’s precisely why I want to share it with you. Now.
Grab a copy. And if you love it, share it with others who can relate to it. And if you love it, I would be eternally grateful if you could leave a comment and rating on Amazon to get it out there some more. Because I truly believe that the more we share ourselves with others – the more we’re vulnerable, open, real, and raw – the more we encourage others to open up and share. And sharing is healing.
Do things need to be difficult to be worth it?
Do we have to claim our greatest achievements by their corresponding weight and struggle?
Do blood, sweat, and tears have to be the elements by which we define the importance of our actions?
And does pain have to equal gain?
What ever happened to ease?
To focusing on the moments, people, places, and things that make us feel connected, inspired, and whole?
What happened to flow?
To working, living, and breathing in spaces where we feel in sync, settled, understood, seen, and heard?
To finding gratitude for the souls who get us and support our movement in this world?
What happened to being real and not competing with each other about who’s busier, more tired, most drained and most anxious?
Gratitude for the good that falls into our laps without us having to control things.
Cheers to the people who find their way into our lives to lift us up and drag us out of routine, the hustle, and the grind.
Knowing that the more we appreciate the good, simplicity, and a natural unfolding of events – we invite more of the same. The more we grow. The more we settle into a solid sense of self and a sense of calm that can only lead to more ease. Oh. And more love.
xoxo Happy New Moon.
It’s been a month since I sat down at my laptop to write and two weeks since you passed.
My journal is full of handwritten scribbles and reflections, punctuated with the roller coaster of emotions I’ve been experiencing as I sort through my thoughts.
I faced every day knowing this wouldn’t be easy. I faced every moment knowing it could all end without notice. I faced every minute hoping it would all move through me.
And somehow, I feel like I should be over it all. That the thought of seeing you slowly slip away before us would be healed quickly because ‘it was time’. It was like I gave myself the permission to grieve for, like, a week. Because, you know – as they say – life goes on.
But I’ve dreamt of you for the past two nights and I struggle with the contrasting feelings that come along with losing a parent – someone tied to me by blood – and at the same time, someone I barely knew. Someone I only became reacquainted with at the end.
Because it was only at the end that I was able to see you again for what we all are – souls traveling in human bodies craving connection, acceptance, worthiness, purpose, and love.
I asked you at one point if you were scared and I could tell you meant it when you said you weren’t. I could tell you knew it was time. I could tell you were ready to go.
And so for now, I live with the slowly receding memories of the smell of your hospital room, of us listening to The Beatles while I feed you vanilla pudding, of you leaning in to ask me when you would be leaving, and your face the morning you took your last breaths. Knowing that time heals. Knowing that time is all we have. Knowing that time flies. Knowing that it’s our job to make the most of this life.
Until I see you again, xoxo
I believe the world will feed us a hundred ways in which to frame ourselves as inadequate.
Only to turn around and sell us on a person, place, or thing to make us whole again.
And fill that void.
I believe our job is to weed through the muck and the lies to find our own truth.
Our own place in this world.
Our own voice.
And to find a space to dwell where we are complete within and of ourselves.
Where we see that those external things are merely extras in the big picture.
I believe the world is waking up.
That the deep chasm we see in the collective conscious will bring us to a tipping point.
A tipping point marking a shift in perspective. A tipping point sparking change.
A tipping point inciting destruction.
A tipping point initiating rebirth.
I believe that
we self-sabotage by inviting complexity where we crave simplicity.
I believe this simplicity lives in our breath.
In our conscious movement.
In slowing the fuck down.
I believe we hang tight to our chests, some of the very things that would be best let go of.
Because sometimes we know no other way.
Because, sometimes – when we try something new – we can surprise ourselves.
And find the wholeness we were searching for all along.
I believe that forgiveness is healing.
And that forgiveness takes many forms.
But when we’re ready.
And the weight lifts.
And we breathe easier.
We’re reminded of our true essence.
I believe that opportunities to heal come in the most obscure forms.
Through conversations that shift our perspective.
Through relationships that create safe spaces.
And that healing occurs when we shut off our brains and open our hearts.
Post image from Instagram. Source unknown.