more than okay

Today I decided to take a trip to some of my favorite places here. Nothing really in particular, just spaces that make Georgia really click into place for me.

Not that this should surprise anyone who knows us and our situation, but we are coming to a place of uncertainty.

You see, this all began almost 10 years ago. Mark and I decided to be a one-income family to support each other, going back to school. When you start a family at such a young age, without knowing much about yourself. Well, it does things to you. It forces you to question your place in this world.

We made the move to Georgia after years of contemplating, researching, and questioning. It all brought us here. To this moment.

In May, when Mark graduates, this will be a time for another possible monumental shift. We don't know where we will end up. Perhaps it is the type A, planner within us that demands to know. Demands to have control over a situation...

This is where we struggle.

We have to be open. Be open to the uncertainty. Be open to the questions. Be open to coming up short on answers. Open to what may or may not come.

I suppose this is why I needed today. To look at Georgia the same way I did when we first came. As wonderful as other places are, I needed to rediscover my love for this space. If we do stay here, I wanted to know that I could be okay with that too.

And I am.

More than okay.

Remember this. Remember these moments. As scary as the future can be, consider this: Life is an adventure.

You have two options: be numb to preserve yourself and sanity or feel the ever-living hell out of everything. I'll take latter, even if it means I'll hurt sometimes.



The kids wrapped up their soccer season tonight. We think they had fun...

Yeah, we got this.



Oh yeah, in case you hadn't heard, I was published on Mamalode's website this week. In case you missed it, check me out...all acting professional and everything ;-)

An Apology To My Body

Write Doe Bay: magic

My journey to Orcas Island started with a maroon van named Ozzy.

Ozzy didn't reveal his true magic to me until we were half way to the island and the pieces started to fit together....the band Motopony playing in the background, I casually read a  City Arts  magazine article about Motopony expertly written by Doe Bay teaching artist Jonathan Zwickel, whom I would later meet. Skimming the words within the article Motopony blazed down the West Coast in a maroon 15-seat Chevy with double-decker beds custom built into the back.  I look behind me at the slabs of wood... wait a minute.

And that was just the beginning.

Before I had the chance to get wrapped up with excitement and curiosity for what lay ahead, my nerves decided to take the wheel. Traveling all this way, I knew something big was on the horizon. Something that would change me forever.

I greeted my tribe that day. In that magical van, it started.

We set out to Anacortes, to catch the ferry that would take us to our island.

Perhaps I did not realize the walls that I had built. Ongoing construction throughout many years to protect myself from the world. Suddenly, the walls had vanished. Something about that island, that water out there, it made me realize they were too heavy to keep around.

I found that all I had to do was decide. To put fear out of my weary body. Stop clinging to the identity of pride and let go of the fight. It didn't have a chance. I was too strong for it after all.

She stepped out and made herself known: this girl I knew. I had always known her.

The room with big wide windows, sunlight that beamed in giving warmth like nothing I had ever felt. It became my cocoon. My thoughts, my words-- normally linger within the filter and security lines of my reasoning brain-- were spilled out openly and sincerely in a way that can only be honest and unguarded. I was protected. Held and cradled. Loved unconditionally. The eyes of my tribe, they held mine and smiled the sincerest of smiles.

Encouragement took hold. Suddenly we all felt it. The words flooded in. Stories woven together with careful but steady movement. We held them close. These are precious...each one of us.

We bleed it out in our wounds, our words...our cuts they may be deep or shallow. But we all heal the same way, make room for the fragile flesh to bleed. When we allow ourselves to heal like this, our body knows what to do. Our soul connects the dots.

I was protected and nurtured by the hearts of those surrounding me. As a writer, an artist, a creator of things...this act is reverent. A type of spiritual practice that opens us to our core. Unleashing it all, we are freed.

I feel forever freed. I feel forever loved.

When I got home, I carefully unpacked each one...the stories, the laughter, the tears. The artifacts of my heart.  There was room for it all.

Since my return, my dreams are gently embraced by Doe Bay's presence. I feel at peace. I feel that wide open room. The sunlight is warm.

I want to especially thank our hosts for the retreat, the kindred people who make this place possible for dreamers like me. Jenn, Kerry, Casey, Rebecca...I felt your unwavering support and continue to embrace the magic. All of you, in your own simple way, made me feel like I was home even when home seemed so far. Joe, your resort is nothing short of life changing. Thank you.

Our teaching artists: Jenny thank you for your smile, your kind heart, advice and friendship. Jonathan thank you for your bravery, honesty and laugh. Nikki thank you for your conversation, your beautiful art, and the nature walk that helped me listen. And Kris, new brother of mine, thank you for your sense of humor, your outdoor concert, and these songs which have brought me back time and time again to Doe Bay even though I'm sitting right here in my Georgia living room.

Much love to all of my new Write Doe Bay family. You haven't gone far...I've kept each one of you tucked in close within the warmth of my heart, and I'm not letting go.

once in a lifetime

Being the "writer" that I am, I have a pretty active imagination. One that dreams up characters, plots, and the like while everyone else probably uses their creative space to make something more tangible...like a well-cooked meal. Call it a curse. Sometimes I do.

I mean who goes to the gym to work out and leaves with backstories on the guy who used the elliptical or the girl who went for a drink at the water fountain? Sometimes I wonder what else I could be doing that would obviously be much more productive. Like for instance, actually getting a quality calorie burn...c'mon you're at the gym.

So we can blame my imagination when I began reading and fantasizing about a writing retreat on Orcas Island, WA called Write Doe Bay. Several bloggers and writers that I follow have attended this dreamy escape and call it nothing shy of a miraculous experience. A place to open up and learn about your craft. A place to learn about yourself. I have always said to myself that I would love to attend someday, some year. Obviously not any time soon because we are in the middle of school, soccer games, scouts, and working two jobs. Schedule is a four letter word right now.

A few weeks ago I saw an Instagram post on Write Doe Bay's feed. It mentioned an opportunity for a scholarship to attend this fall's workshop. All you had to do was write an essay about why "Write was Right" for you. That imagination of mine heated up quickly before the water of reality extinguished its flame. I thought to myself that maybe, some other time. However, before I closed the opportunity for good I quickly glanced over the end of the paragraph that mentioned one of my favorite authors, Claire Bidwell Smith, would be reading over all of the submissions. This caught my eye. I mean, when in a thousand years, does one of your favorite writers read something that you wrote? I decided that this was something that I could not possibly pass up.

I quickly looked over the submission requirements and before I knew what was happening, I pushed send on an essay I wrote. There it went. Out into the universe. "This is crazy," I said. Later that night, I explained to Mark what I did, "I wanted to put it out there for her to read." No harm in that, right? We went on about our day.

A few days later I got a mysterious phone call from an out of area code. Thinking it was a telemarketer I let it go to voicemail. When the voicemail "ping" let out, I thought it was peculiar that a telemarketer would leave a message. I pushed "listen" and my heart rate started to rise.

"Hi this is Jenn from Write Doe Bay," the voice began. "I wanted to talk to you, please call me back soon."

Was this really happening? Perhaps my essay submission had been computer-hijacked and was only in 01110101 format. Yes, that must be it. They couldn't read it and were wanting clarification...

I took a few deep breaths and called the strange number back.

She answered.

The next few minutes were a blur...

They had read through my essay and Claire Bidwell Smith had been moved by my work. She had said that this writer (me?!) needed to come to the Write Doe Bay retreat. That they both had had this feeling that I needed to attend.

All that I could stammer out was that I needed to talk to Mark. I needed to process this...that I was moved beyond words by their "feeling" and had to take a moment to grasp what this meant.

Was this what worth felt like, as a writer? As a wannabe writer. Was this how it felt to leak into this realm of writing...am I really all that good? Did they read the right essay?

After a long talk with Mark, calls to my manager at work, as well as excited calls and texts to family and friends, we had an answer... I was going to this fall's Write Doe Bay workshop. Tickets bought, flights booked.

There, that happened.

And the countdown is on. One week from today I am headed out to the Northwest. To a place that I've never been. To a dream that has miraculously been made a reality. And I suppose I should walk out now from this fog of excitement and elatedness. But I cannot shake it...I cannot stop smiling about this insane opportunity that I've been given. Things like this just don't happen to me. At least that's what I thought...

Katelynn Turns Eight

Dear Katelynn,

Hello girl of my heart.
I feel like I knew you before I ever met you. Before they told me you were a girl from the black and white screen when a silhouette touched my heart in places unknown to me.

I had seen you in my dreams, in my visions of who would complete our family when there was just us three. I knew that your arrival would be a joy to my soul. To our souls...

When they placed you in my arms in a bundle of pink, my mind could not grasp that you were finally here. In ways, I felt that you knew that you had made it home. With us, you were always meant to be.

Sweet, sweet girl. What a wondrous presence you have had in our lives in just eight short years. The heart that you have melded into ours.

Your laugh, your smile, your wit, your intelligence, your creativity, your vision...

Katelynn, this world has been waiting for you.

You can do, and will do, whatever your heart desires.

We are so proud of the person that you are...and the person that you will be.

We love you, with everything that we are.

Happy Birthday, love.

nostalgia

Our fall has officially begun with the start of soccer season. We have two cleated kids this year...and many fun nights ahead under the soccer field lights.

She may be getting the hang of the rules, how to hold her foot with a pass, who to pass to...one thing we are certain: she is having fun. And these days, that is my measuring tool.

She even braved her mama's old soccer position.

Then there's Caleb. I've lost count on what season we are on with him and soccer. All that I know is that with each passing year he continues to work hard and improve.

He also entertains me with an occasional big thumbs up from the goal.

Mark and I are proud that they are participating in sports, as we both loved playing them in our childhood. Sometimes it's not about the technique, the agility or even the score. Sometime's it is about being a part of something, and how to be a reliable teammate. These are tiny life lessons intricately placed within the goals spread out on that field. It stretches and carries on with them, wherever they may go. 

It's been a while since the last phone dump...here's this week's

I always get a little nostalgic on Friday nights. This is when the rest of the working world is getting ready to relax and take it easy, as I am getting ready for my work week. This opposite world feeling reminds me of what it was like working on night shift. I actually like it in ways, because I feel like between all of us we are covering all the bases. There's a balance in some big way. And I'm just a different part of it. 

So how about this, you go enjoy your lovely time off because you have earned it. This long week deserves feet to be put up and glasses of wine to be sipped. I'll help keep up my end of the bargain. We'll meet back up on Sunday evening. High five till then. We got this.