10 Things Tuesday. Gathered quotes.


Like many, I am a gatherer of quotes.

Something about those few words saying so much.

This week I wanted to share 10 random quotes I pulled from scrap paper tucked inside a notebook. I hope they inspire you.

1. “Don’t think. It complicates things. Just feel. And if it feels like home then follow its path.” – M Drake

2. “do not disrespect your heart by hearing what it needs and giving it the opposite.” –Nayyirah Waheed

3. You have to find a mother inside yourself. We all do. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside.” -Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees 

4. “I understand just enough about life to understand that I do not understand much of anything.” -Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies 

5. “We have a duty to live every moment the best we can. I mean really live it. Even if it means getting hurt, cause otherwise what’s the point? …And we mustn’t let fear stop us.” –Call the Midwife, Cynthia Miller

6. “I am going to make everything around me beautiful – that will be my life.” -Elsie de Wolfe

7. “The reason people awaken is that they have finally stopped agreeing to things that insult their soul.” -Unknown

8. “Where you are now doesn’t have to be where you end up unless you give up.” –Chris Hogan

9. “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” -Anais Nin

10. “i love myself. the quietest. simplest. most powerful. revolution. ever.” – Nayyirah Waheed

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10 Things Tuesday. Wild creatures.


1. I am both fascinated and terrified of turning points in life. We all get them and the uncertainty of in which they will come is what sometimes makes me slow myself to a standstill.

2. I practiced yoga in the wet grass this morning, letting the sun and morning air penetrate me, begging me out of my sleepiness. My morning walk became a morning sit, under the painted leaves, too much on my mind to move.

3. I sometimes feel that my head has been inflated, simply for the purpose of holding me upright. I then have to deflate myself so I can lie down and release the pressure.

4. Sometimes I feel like I am constantly firing messages at myself. What if’s, what if-not’s, things that must be true because I haven’t been told otherwise.

5. Sometimes I feel like the most tender bean on the stalk, like if someone doesn’t taste my ripeness that I’ll simply fall and compost.

6. Everything can feel so precious, like life is made of crystal and that if I don’t hold it close it’ll shatter.

7. Music. Moves me to spirit.

8. Sometimes I don’t know what reveals strength. Not faltering in the face of fear & uncertainty OR derailing into the fullness of your feelings. I think both must.

9. Sometimes I feel like a mouse passed back-n-forth between the paws of a determined cat, battling my own strength and fragility.

10. There’s this quote “Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why are ribs are cages.” (Elalusz). I wonder if the cages are the reason our hearts struggle so much.


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10 Things Tuesday. All things Fall, please.

photo 5

Y’all! Fall is absolutely my very favorite season. I can.not. get enough of it.

For this weeks 10 things I wanted to share 10 simple autumnal inspirations to encourage you to soak up this goodness! (All my Southern Hemisphere readers – enjoy every second of Springtime!)

  1. Tire swing. Hammock. Picnic table/blankets. Rotate.
  2. Clothes on the line, blowing in the wind.
  3. Homemade apple cider. Apple everything.
  4. Early morning walks when the wind would be too cold without the sun to warm you.
  5. Bonfires. Paper lanterns released to the sky.
  6. Sleeping with the windows open.
  7. Open windows and doors. Cross breeze.
  8. Leg warmers and loose hair.
  9. Hot chocolate and card games with the family at the local coffee shop.
  10. Clean sheets and lovemaking in the morning.

Enjoy, enjoy this season!


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10 Things Tuesday. There’s a last time for everything.


1. I’m facing the open window while I write this. Facing the tulip poplar tree that boogies in the wind – me happy that Fall means being closer to the outside even when I’m inside.

2. There’s a last time for everything. The last time you dig your hands into the earth, the last time you make love, the last time your hands rest on the heart of someone you love or knead dough into yeasty nourishment. The last time you hear their voice, the last time the sun lights up your face, the last time your laugh births a fairy or your tears crack you open. There is a last time for everything.

3. There’s a lot of hype around ultra sensitive empaths. I think everyone is super sensitive underneath the masks we wear and the crutches we use to bury and hide our truths.

4. I could make love to Fall.

5. “So, what if, instead of thinking about solving your whole life, you just think about adding additional good things. One at a time. Just let your pile of good things grow.” -Rainbow Rowell

6. For my homeschooling friends and readers…I am currently loving Julie Bogart’s work.

7. I feel that I just went through a patch of cleansing. A period of washing away the calcification that had formed in usage of this body – that endures so much in the name of spiritual growth. I feel motivated and clear (with that ever present side of uncertainty).

8. I said no more books about death for awhile. Then I picked up Lily and the Octopus. I’m only two chapters in, but I think it has a lot to do with death. Not sure how far I’ll go. I’m also reading Love Warrior.

9. I feel so much more calm, trusting and content when I am making time for what I want to make time for.

10. “I’ve been afraid of changing because I built my life around you…” – Stevie Nicks

I adore you, thank you for being here. And, as always, tell me something about you on this fine Tuesday.


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10 Things Tuesday. Move toward the light.


I think that sometimes we can find a flowing creek of feelings and it can take a lot of effort and energy to not fall in and ride the current, without ever stopping to dry off on a sunlit hot rock.

I would never suggest not feeling our feelings, but sometimes we need a little nudge to shift the energy associated with them.

For this round of 10 Things Tuesday I wanted to share 10 things I’ve used to help me move toward the light when I feel like I’m living in a shadow.

  1. Act even when you don’t feel like it. I am all for honoring all the feelings, but I also understand that sometimes we must consciously pivot ourselves away from the dark by turning our face toward the light. Even when it’s hard. Even when we don’t feel like it.
  2. Do something creative. Whatever creative endeavor brings you joy partake in it. Cooking, baking, writing, gardening, painting… immerse yourself in creation and out of your head a bit.
  3. Feed yourself well. Body nourishment is so necessary when our spirit is feeling a bit malnourished. Also – move your body to move your energy.
  4. Dress yourself happy. Who doesn’t feel better when they shower and spruce up a bit in an outfit that most feels like you.
  5. Snuggle your pup or your favorite person. Be still and simply feel the love.
  6. Tell the truth. Telling the truth to someone – or even to yourself – makes it much harder to hide in the dark.
  7. Clean up, organize, get rid of some crap. Shift the energy around you and you will shift the energy within you.
  8. Laugh. Best.thing.ever.
  9. Go somewhere. Change the scenery and get your mind off your funk-ti-fied feelings.
  10. Trust the message. Trust that all symptoms are a message from spirit. Journaling is my favorite way to the message, but yours may be a shower or a hike or a nap.


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10 Things Tuesday. It is not happening right now.


1.On my walk this morning I found the shady spot beneath the trees where the view meets the mountains and felt the wind on my skin till it formed goosebumps.

2. I am taking a break from reading death books – for now. I am alive now and I feel that my focus on death does indeed bring me alive in many regards; however, I also sense that it is paralyzing me from moving forward because I am over questioning what is worth my time.

3. Go deep so that you rise with no depth not met. Many feelings are symptoms of a truth your spirit is revealing. It’s okay to not fix your emotions but to live alongside of them. Others will want you to fix them because it makes them uncomfortable. Make space for all feelings and then they won’t take up so much room.

4. I am opening the door to new inspiration.

5. Excuses. I’m shining a light on you.

6. Life is but a mix of our perspective and our projections. You can change them.

7. Many things we think matter don’t really matter, and many things we don’t think about much matter a whole lot.

8. Ask yourself, “is this a need, a want, or an obligation?” Sometimes it’s all three because it’s an obligation to yourself. That’s when you know it really matters.

9. Worrying about being selfish is actually being selfish. It is your duty to meet your own needs. It is not selfish.

10. New mantra – It is NOT happening right now and so I will not allow myself to feel the feelings as if it were happening. Attempting to feel them ahead of time does not prepare me.

…Do tell me something in the comments, sweet lady!…I love connecting with you there.


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10 things Tuesday. Craving beauty.


  1. I’m craving beauty. In all things.
  2. Someday is elusive. Act today.
  3.  Love is the greatest act of bravery, the greatest expression of courage in a spirit, I believe. In the words of my hubby, “If love was a stock on Wall Street it’d be the best investment anyone could make. But you’d have to keep it for the rest of your life to see the return.”  (found in my journal notes from 1.10.16)
  4. I love Anne Lamott’s prayer (in Traveling Mercies) where she prays for help to figure out how to stop living in the problem and move into the solution. Simple. Brilliant. Beautiful.
  5. And her other point (also in Traveling Mercies), passed down from someone, that when a lot seems to be going wrong at once it is but a distraction in order to protect something big and lovely trying to be born.
  6. Sometimes I want to delete every word I’ve written here because more honest words are written in the pages of my journal, because when I don’t nurture this space I feel distant from it and scrutinize what I may have shared, because I’m shape-shifting and I concern myself with the way old me’s melt into new me’s.
  7. Finding the me in mothering (and wifing) feels tricky right now.
  8. Making real friends as adults is sticky territory. In search of fostering current and new friendships where we can bare deeper truths about ourselves.
  9. Growing pains are real.
  10. Josh will be backpacking for a week in the upcoming future and my Mom will be coming to visit for some of those days. This is a big deal. And one I am so grateful for.

Tell me, love, in the comments below, something that’s true for YOU. I’d love it.


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Beginning again// Now and later// Aloneness// Kairos// Hypocrite

I keep trying to rally myself to get back into the groove of blogging. I want to be here, but all my words seem to go and stay in my journal anymore.  I keep thinking I’ll edit one of the blog posts I’ve attempted to write since my sabbatical, but instead I re-read the long winded messy expressions of myself and feel exhausted.

What you’ll find below is blurbs from the eight blog posts I’ve started (since a few weeks ago) but haven’t finished. I’ve deleted thousands of words and distilled it down to some sort of point(s) I was aiming at, an unedited winded ramble on aloneness, and a few bits of this and that.

It’s ultimately a mess – one big emotional blogged diarrhea – but it’s a relief to share something after the blogging constipation I was experiencing 😉


8/1 Rentry begins.

Mostly what remains is a feeling of space and a desire for more summer dips in these mountain waters.

I spent a lot of time lingering in the thoughts that I typically spend some time in.

Pondering the duality of the here and now vs the then and later.

When I met Josh I was 18, an obsessive compulsive young woman with a lot of inner self respect that I was only learning I could give stage to.

He was 20, processing an adulthood he’d never been prepared for and an adamacy of self respect that needed fine tuning.

He was worried about the future to a fault and I was the butterfly that drew him back to the now over and over again, preaching that today was what we had and today was what mattered.

Somewhere along the way the future became woven into the past and the now and I became muddled in the merging of the two.

I still believe now is what matters most, but I see that the future matters too, because it is now that I am preparing for the future I hope to live in and ultimately leave behind.

I worry I’m failing or stalling or over analyzing life when I am living so many uncertainties, and I worry when I fall into it and think about it all too much.

But it’s what I do.

Life feels like the tightrope of giving all you have to what’s alive and in front of you in case it changes on a dime, and preparing as if you’ll have a future that opens to make room for all that you dream could be.

My Mom often tells me to stop counting.

As in to stop counting time.

But it’s the counting that keeps me honest.

It’s the counting – the limit on this particular life – that is dissolving the resentment and growth and sharp edges that come with growing up with your lover and counting on yourself and your husband for everything because you’ve never felt you could count on anyone else.

It’s the counting that makes me say yes, that makes me aware, that makes me choose what matters, that gives me patience for later and for now.

It’s the counting that tallies the small moments into wealth.

It’s the counting that keeps me from wishing my life away, as if something better than what I have now is up ahead. (Are you, too, floored when you look back on your life five years ago and compare it to now – all you’ve done and seen and lived and dreamed and made come true? I laugh because five years ago if I knew I’d have all I have now I’d have thought I nearly made it – and now I have to step into gratitude of it over and over again because I inevitably want more now that I am here.)

Because what is life if we aren’t living it as if our time is almost over and as if time will go on for decades more?

Sometimes it all slays me into a standstill.

The uncertainty.

Hibernating myself in so many choices.

That damn fine line that lives between so many things.

And what’s simultaneously frustrating and liberating is that living wholeheartedly in just one space never seems right. It seems we must live in both to live a full life.


-There is said to be two types of time (thanks to the Greeks). Chronos and kairos. Chronos time is sequential time – time that is measured by the clock, whereas kairos time is a moment of time – time that is measured by moments. Kairos time is those moments of utter awareness, aliveness and absorption – where time is not being measured, where time stands still. I like to believe that as long as you are experiencing many moments of kairos time then you are living life with heart.

-Letting something go doesn’t mean it disappears from the universe. It just means it disappears from your life.

-You have to be ruthless or you will spend your precious life hours on things that distract you from what truly matters to you.

-What’s interesting when you consume the internet is that it doesn’t always seem like much when you are absorbing it in smaller doses each day – 20 minutes here, 15 minutes there, half an hour…But when you give up the internet for a lengthy amount of time and then come back to it, and make attempts to catch up on all the things you usually do in nine days – in one day – the awareness is profound. You can see how much of your life is really spent maintaining an online world.

-Sometimes I feel like the ultimate hypocrite. A wild mix of sensitive and sassy, benevolent and bitchy, carefree and chaotic. At times I want to shame myself for this, but aren’t we all hypocritical?  “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes. “-Walt Whitman

-I spend too much time in wishy washy mode. Wasting precious energy of life on decision making – waiting, putting off, not acting. I’m learning to make decisions with greater ease. To act. To do the things that I need to do in order to receive and create the things I want to receive and create.


It’s painful how hard it can feel to find my alone,

sometimes I’m mad for a lengthy patch of time where no one speaks to me and I speak to no one, it feels near impossible in my home, but sometimes, some days, rarely but some, I need space and I flail around inside like a fish on land, desperate for breath that only comes with space that allows the air around me to be for only my own inhale,

I’ll hole up in the room, leaving Josh to man the house and home and each time the bedroom door gets opened or I reveal myself to pee or eat everyone flocks to me as if they were dehydrated and I was their liquid gold,

their temptation to turn the knob or knock their knuckles on the door overpowers them, though as they age they do it less and less, more fully understanding Mom is asking for something she obviously needs,

Josh like someone in an awkward social situation, unsure what to do when I am unavailable to him, pacing back and forth between trying to leave me be and wanting to curl up in my space,

all because of love,

the same love for myself that asks me to give myself the alone I crave,

over the years I have learned to weave bits of alone into my day, mostly my morning journaling time and a walk alone,

sometimes my day comes to an end and brings with it a deep desire to crawl to my side of the bed and stare into a book or hold close pen and paper,

Josh sitting next to me, willing me to look at him,

he just wants my glance, my attention, he’s not asking me to straddle him or spread my legs or talk for endless minutes, usually he just wants me to put down whatever is in front of me and bring our eyes to meet, just a wisp of my undivided attention and sometimes I am so bitter to give it, because I just want myself,

and then I am racked with guilt because I, who spends much of my life energy questioning the snatch of time and life, wish to make all moments meaningful,

despite if our eyes and bodies already met a dozen times during the day,

and yet I find myself so human,

so withdrawn, so achingly willing myself into a corner of aloneness that feels naughty and like a betrayal of those who love me,

forgetting that sometimes – oftentimes- I’m so available to those who love me that it’s ok to need only myself,

yesterday I sit talking to someone in all her alone glory, gloating in her freedom and lack of interruption,

and I thought you have no idea, none,

I prefer this life shared in love, but a little alone is certainly something I have to remember how to do over and over again.


I wrap my legs around his waist and set my head against his heart. I just want to hear his heartbeat. To hear the pulse of his being alive.

I cry as I move the clothes from the washer to dryer, as I lower my panties to pee, as I turn on my side to stillness.

I look around the house and feel submerging grief that not all of this will last. That it cant last.

Craving changes and sameness in the same breath.

A life so full of so much love and ridiculous amounts of laughter that I could collapse under it all and call it a life well lived if it ended today.


I sometimes wonder how and why I need to have these lengthy confusing rambles (within and written) of dealing with all the intricacies of life, how I can feel like the most tender creation questioning all the pain of life and loss and time and meaning and whys and why nots.

But I do and I will continue to…

Because certainly all we really can do is to tell our own truth, not only so we live in truth, but so that others can find themselves sharing this human experience of complexities, in hopes that that we all feel a little less messy.



love to you ladies who share in these words,

falan sig



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A Sabbatical of Sorts

moonI’ve got a handful of things to tend to here within this screen staring back at me and then I’m closing up my laptop and putting pause on the internet for a 9 day sabbatical of sorts.

It’s quite common for me to step away from the internet for a lengthyish period of time and I typically incorporate a couple breaks into the year; however, it’s been a good while since I withdrew in its entirety.

I don’t do this because the internet is a bad place and I need to abstain from it. I do it because it feels right to step away from it and step more fully into myself.


Sometimes all the consumption the internet offers creates confusion with my instincts.

I’ve just spent weeks facilitating She Cycles and I’d like to pull back and clarify what’s next.

My birthday is happening during this sabbatical and so I’m looking forward to freshening my spirit as I begin a new orbit around the sun. I plan to do all my normal self care-ish tasks with more presence, journal more, spend a lot of time in the kitchen meal prepping/jam making/tomato preserving, hike, enjoy some fun spontaneous outings, spruce up the garden, finish a painting project, read extra chapters aloud to the kiddos, read myself for long passages of time, take my daily walks without a podcast in my ears, declutter (because, well, that’s who I am), gather some clarity on the many ideas of my blog, hash out August’s budget and meal plan, and generally have a distraction free nine days with my people.

Basically all my normal things, but without the lure of the world wide web.


Essentially I’m withdrawing to regroup and recalibrate this precious being of mine.

I share to encourage you to do the same sometime soon. I know it seems impossible to walk away from the internet. I’ve spent the past few days (and today) preparing in different ways so that I can do this and I understand for many people this isn’t possible for work reasons.

However, perhaps you can consider breaking from the internet in all ways but the critical ways…work only. No social media (gasp!), no browsing, no aimlessly clicking or using your phone as an easy distraction from something that’d be much more richer. Consider a day or a weekend if you feel that’s all you can make happen currently.

In today’s world, one of being always and forever connected, I truly believe that withdrawing into yourself and the things around you with a greater presence can spiffy our spirits in a powerful way.

Do consider, lovely lady, and I’ll see you on the other side!


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Talking About Death

talking about death

Death moves me. Staying close to the reality of it is one of the ways I truly feel the aliveness of my breath. To remember that breath leaves our bodies, in traumatic ways, in shocking ways, in slow ways, reminds me that I am alive now.

We will all face the loss of those we love and the loss of our life as we currently know it. This fills me with so many feelings I misplace and massage my way through, but mostly it fills me with a truth.

It’s something I must think about and make space for because I’m leery of a life lived in denial or detachment of it – waiting until it’s staring me down with no way out. It’s a path I feel like I must walk toward so it doesn’t sneak up on me like an unfathomable cavity that I fall into.

This book felt like it was written for that pulsating and persistent longing in me that simply must remain close to the reality of death. Reading it has been a mix of can’t-read-it-fast-enough and a very tearful, tender and slow digestion of such soul written words. Highly, highly recommended for everyone, but definitely for the kindred spirits that are drawn to death.

“Unlike our ancestors, who knew death intimately and were reminded of it regularly, we are so insulated from death that we sometimes forget it even occurs and are stunned when confronted with it. But we need this knowledge, that death is real and unavoidable. Futile battles and the awkward silences often occur simply because something in us refuses to believe that death can happen, that we don’t control it, and we can’t stop it. We have to accept, in whatever way we can, the reality and randomness of death, before we can change the way in which it occurs.

There is no need to obsess about death or sit in constant dread of it. We simply need to be aware of it. Not just as some biological fact, but as a deeply felt truth, as a part of our lives and who we are. We need to be aware that we will die and that all the people who are important to us will die. Aware that even as we color our hair and tone our bodies and try to smooth out our wrinkles, that this is a game, a pretense. We are mortal. All of us.

This awareness, present in the background of our lives, will enable us to think and speak more easily about death. It will help us to be a little more prepared, a little less surprised by it when we are confronted with it. And it will help us to change the way we die because it will change the way we live. It will affect all that we are, and all that we bring to the experience.

This is the bonus of this work, the magic we never expected; for studying the art of dying teaches us a second lesson, ars vivendi, the art of living. The reality of death – if we can see it, if we can resist the temptation to shut it out, close our eyes, and plug our ears – awakens us. It reminds us, loud and clear: This is your life. Whatever you are going to make of it, do with it, get out of it, is happening right now.”



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