Tenderly lit corners

This winter I've been spending a lot of time alone. I've been searching out quiet spaces, tenderly lit corners, tending to myself by going to bed way before the rest of my family and getting up hours before the earliest riser stirs. 

These moments I'm taking for myself are non negotiable, and when I don't get them, I feel a disconnect down to my deepest core. 

Not all seasons are like this, needing such a drastic return, or introduction, to self care. 

And I don't mean self care in the bubble bath, chocolate sweets, binge watching shows and movies sort of way. I mean self care in the most sincere sense, care of self which comes by way of turning inwards and collecting the parts of self that haven't been heard recently together in a gathering... where the only goal is to hear oneself. All of the parts of self, even the disgruntled and hidden ones. 

It's beyond easy to disassociate from ourselves, the core of our being. We're living in a time where everything is fast, instant, and noise is constant. Not just by way of sound, but the incessant information being thrown at us. The clattering of voices - read, seen, heard - that forever sells us things that we don't need. Ideas. Thoughts. Judgments. Comparisons. 

Currently I'm healing a leaky gut, but I'm also tending to a weary heart. Tired from years of disconnect, tired of trying to fit into a mold, tired of trying to be good and nice and not rock boats or make waves. In doing all those things, for years, I've lost touch with my inner voice, and worse, my intuition. So consumed with doing things the 'right way', there's a steep learning curve in learning what is my way. The right way for me may not be the right way for anyone else. And that is a tough pill to swallow. 

It means not caring so much about what others think, not worrying about judgement, it means trusting in something that women for lifetimes have been told not to trust: themselves. Ourselves. Me.

And so I've been stealing away here and there, on weekend afternoons and weekday mornings. For moments, and sometimes hours at a time. With my books, tarot cards, notebooks and pens, and sometimes just myself, whatever tools I need to go further, to dig deeper, to listen better. The benefit in the process of excavating myself is that when I come out from my cave of sorts, I'm able to be more present with my family, and more loving towards myself and others. The closer we become to our honest, true selves, the brighter our lights shine. 

I'm listening, and I can't un-hear. Can't un-see. Can't un-know. 

I'm listening, and finding a connection to my self that can't be forced or rushed. One that has needed an undoing in order to become. 

Are you walking this path as well? Have you come to find yourself at this stage of life in different ways than you were able to previously? Have you read Women Who Run With The Wolves? It's a conduit for depth and seeking, and an invitation to reclaim intuition. Are there other books along the same vein that you would recommend? 

November rambles

November is here, and it came with it's predictable moodiness. Overcast weather, drizzles for days, and a foreboding sense of winter. 

I love it. 

For those of us who love quiet, and a slower pace of life, November is something of a treat. Especially early November, where it's nearly too early to start focusing on the holidays, but they're still in sight as a balm for when the grey gets to be too much. And let's be real, there does come a time when it's too much. But to stave off the dreariness there's fairy lights and glowing candles and before long the next season of The Great British Bake Off drops in the US on Netflix (the 9th!). 

These early November days I'm thinking about what I'm interested in and want to write about in this space, aside from writing about writing. I keep coming back to the idea of slow living, and I want to expand on that. Slow, intentional, minimal... all buzz words, I know, but they resonate deeply for me. In slowing down, I always learn about myself, and notice more about the world around me, and how I want to exist in the world. 

At the same time, it's a choice that comes with privilege, to slow down. I find it increasingly painful to read about minimalism and anything remotely to do with self help and the wellness industry because of how glaringly obvious it is that there's misrepresentation happening, cultural appropriation right and left, and a lack of self awareness and privilege. 

I'm not sure where that leaves me, except to share my own experience, acknowledging the privileges I'm afforded. 

And my experience? It's about how my body does not do well in a hurried state. A rushed state. A loud and noisy and stressful state. And how I'm starting to think maybe it's our society and culture that is troubled, and not me. 

Or at least, maybe our society could do a better job of accepting people who are not in it for the money, who aren't in it for the glory, who aren't in it to keep up with the Jones's, but who want to exist in a way that keeps them content and doesn't hurt anyone else in the process. 

I want to talk about living in a way that isn't exactly mainstream. About motherhood, but more so, about how someone who is extremely introverted feels about mothering growing children. About becoming more eco-friendly... in our kitchen and with our wardrobes. 

This season, there may be a shift in this space, and at this very moment I want to extend a preemptive olive branch: by speaking about any of these topics, I am not condemning your way of living. I will be sharing what works for me, in hopes that maybe a bit will resonate with you, or perhaps you could learn something new, or spark some interest. As with everything I write here, I write for myself, but I also write with the thought that maybe someone needs to hear what I have to say.. and that person might feel less alone after reading my words. 

That's what happened last week, when I shared about my roller coaster of emotions that comes with rejection. I'll tell you something, it helps me to hear that others are in the same boat. So it often comes full circle, and a bit of vulnerability can go a long way. 

Thank you for reading my ramblings, I wasn't sure what I was going to share today when I opened up a new blog post, sometimes my favorite bits of writing come spilling out without a plan or an outline, they flow as they see fit.

Noticing awe

A huge part of being a writer is awareness. Not necessarily of self, though that helps, but of awe inspiring things that go unnoticed to most. We're so busy, as a people and a society, that we hurry through our days and errands and hours and meetings and gatherings that often we don't hear what people are saying - or aren't saying - and we miss the glory of what surrounds us. The silly shapes of the clouds, the perfect climbing tree, the way someone winces when they think no one is looking, or the tender moment when a young man gently touches his mother's arm in the checkout line at the grocery store, and the look they share before moving forward. 

For me, it's a win win. I need to slow down and notice things to write, but then it becomes a practice and noticing, slowing down my mind and feet, ends up enhancing my daily life in ways that remind me of childhood. 

Giving myself the freedom to spend moments in awe, to allow my heart to expand and swell with wonder, makes me think back to those moments on walks with my children when they were toddlers and we would gently encourage them to keep moving, otherwise we'd stay in the same place for hours watching ants or picking dandelions (which we often did).

Now, they're the ones racing ahead as I lollygag on walks, taking pictures and daydreaming. 

Some of the things my jaw drops in awe over make it into a notebook, or more likely an Instagram post, but often they sit somewhere around my rib cage in a warm glow, waiting to be tapped into when I need a bit of warmth when the world feels cold, callous, and foreign. These small moments remind me of our shared humanity, but also of the natural world which will continue on well after my time on earth is over. The details of earth humble me, ground me, and I'm regularly overcome with awe.

Do you stop and smell the roses? Do stop in your tracks and marvel at nature? Do you notice details as you move through the day? Do you feel awe regularly? If your answer is no to any of these questions, what's stopping you?

shifts in spaces, and perspective

We live in a modest two family house. We think it was built around the time of the Civil War. The wide floor boards are creaky, and you can fit several types of Legos in the gaps between. The floors slant and the ceilings are low, there are no hallways - one room leads to the next on both floors. Privacy is at a minimum,  but with exposed brick in the dining room and a built in bookshelf in the living room, the house full of character and charm.

Technically, it's a two bedroom apartment. The kids have been sharing a room since we moved in, seven'ish years ago. They've rarely complained, and it has suited them well. But now they're 11 and almost 10, and their heights and collections are rapidly growing.

Every year or so we start to look at this place a little differently. Notice corners we've under utilized, shelves that lend themselves to dishes rather than canned goods, the perfect wall space for a picture previously stored in the attic. This house has grown with us, changed with our needs, and met us where we are every single time. Whenever I get frustrated with the space, or lack of, I only need reminding that furniture can be moved, pictures rehung.

The other week the kids and I were undertaking a huge spring clean. With vacuum in hand, I looked at their bedroom, how the two beds were so crowded, and the landing we used at the top of the stairs for a playroom was overrun with unused toys and clutter. We'd talked in the past about how maybe it could someday be used for a bedroom, sort of loft style.

"Would either of you want to take over this space for your bedroom?" I asked.

Paige said no right away.

Fynn pondered.

Then he said no.

"That's fine," I told him. I began picking up, preparing to sweep the floors and dust the light fixtures.

And then I caught him pondering some more.

Ultimately, he said yes with excitement in his eyes.

Within the next two hours we moved Fynn onto the landing, reorganized Paige's room, and sorted all the toys and hid them away neatly in the shared closet.

We created space where it looked like there was none. In a way, it felt like alchemy. Everyone is happy in their new spaces, they've shifted bits of furniture around, taking pleasure in the freedom they each have in making their rooms their own. The creative energy has shifted into other areas of the house, we moved around the living room furniture to create more of a conversational area, and the dining room feels more spacious after we moved most of Paige's craft supplies up to her bedroom. We're settling in, again. I'm not sure how long we'll be here, but these shifts remind me you can make a home wherever you are. With whatever space you have. Little or big. It's partly about creativity, but mostly about perspective.

When I was growing up, there were many days when my father would come home from work and find the house rearranged. Bookshelves moved (oh my word... my mother, brother, and I still joke about moving books... all the books...), bedrooms switched, furniture rearranged. He always laughed and said something to the affect of "Your mother is at it again..."

If nothing else, I learned from those experiences to take control of my surroundings, that you can make a big impact in a space without spending much money, and that moving a bookshelf can change an entire room. My hope is that my children will learn the same lesson, and we'll all be able to laugh when they're older as we remember the bruises on our thighs and arms from moving furniture, and the weight of carrying armful after armful of books from one shelf to another. Fond memories they'll be, I'm sure of it.

Growing

I haven't showed my face around here for a while, so... hello. This is me. The thirty something year old version of myself that is occasionally hard to recognize. Or rather, was hard to recognize. Not so much anymore. 

On our road trip I found myself squinting at the road signs on the highway, having headaches that weren't from dehydration or fatigue. Turns out, when you're driving around your own town and not really paying attention to signs - because you don't need to - you don't really realize when your glasses prescription changes... 

An eye exam showed that, low and behold my prescription changed enough to make a not so subtle difference... so I bought myself some new glasses. 

After wearing the same frames, give or take, for fifteen years, a change was in order. And a change it has been. 

My word of the year - I assume you've all heard about this concept by now - is grow. Meaning to grow into myself, to grow my writing, my yoga practice, my patience.... you get the idea. 

The most challenging of all of that, is growing into myself. 

Somehow, I've avoided it for the majority of my life, focusing instead on what I thought others would want me to be and do and dress and act.

So this growth thing, it's been kind of huge. 

And my new glasses are all part of it as I'm choosing to wear things, to adorn myself, with things that I like, instead of thinking about if other people would like how I look in them.  Like corduroy overalls, oversized glasses, flowy, shapeless dresses and clogs. All the clogs, please. I'm choosing to buy things and wear things that fit my body comfortably now, instead of someday. And to exercise because I love my body, not because I want it to change or become smaller. I'm a little softer around the edges than I used to be, but  no less strong. And frankly, I love how my curves play with my strength, how soft doesn't mean weak. 

I'm choosing to pause before saying yes, to honor when my gut tells me to say no, and to really look at what negative "obligations" I can eliminate and things I truly want to do because they add something positive to my life. 

The last few years I've known somewhere deep down what I wanted out of life, who I wanted to be and who I am. Sometimes I've had to squint to see that person, and the headache that caused... I'm done with. I don't want to squint to have to find myself. 

Growing into myself, and then staying close to my heart for the inevitable ebbs and flows of the inner journey, is the challenge. It's what life is all about. Growing into, and then loving, the self. It's only taken me thirty some odd years and a new pair of glasses to get here...