Not the place… the person…

The girl who existed before the world had opinions about her… before the noise, before the narratives, before the years of becoming things for other people… and slowly, quietly, losing the thread back to herself…

I took so many turns…

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I was so brave and had no idea…

That little girl (now inner child)… carrying everything she carried, smiling the way she smiled, walking into rooms that were not always kind to her… and still opening… still believing… still reaching toward people and moments and life with both hands… blooming in spite of…

I think about her often… I picture her head to toe—and I communicate with her… with such tenderness, wiping the hair from her grey green eyes…

Lots of hugs and high fives.

There are things I wish I could have whispered to her… not to change anything… I believe everything happened exactly as it needed to…

She deserved so much… that she still is grasping with… asking for...

But here is what I know now that she didn’t know then…

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A curious life is a full life… not because it has more answers… but because it holds more questions… and questions are where all the aliveness lives…

I have been most unhappy when I stopped asking… when I assumed I already knew… when I let the familiar become invisible… to be full of doubt is a wise choice… it’s more interesting than thinking you know everything…

A magical space of wonder.

And I have been most alive when something small cracked me open again…

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It’s not the consolation prize… It is not passivity dressed up as virtue… It is not naive or simple or small…

To remain open when the world has given you reasons to close… to choose warmth over armor, generosity over guardedness—that takes a strength many people never find…

The gentle ones… 
The quietly kind ones… 
They are the most powerful people in any room...

I've seen what it does…

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Not naively… not with the lights off and the truth locked outside… but with the conscious, courageous choice to lead with beauty… to look at this world, with all its complexity and noise and uncertainty, and still find a vision worth keeping…

When I look through windows or doorways… 
I see picture frames… 
vignettes…

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I don’t think I fully understood healing until I had a garden… it’s a messy job at times… not always pretty…

There is something that happens when you put your hands in the soil…something ancient and immediate and miraculous all at the same time… The noise inside your head softens.. The weight you have been carrying shifts slightly…

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There is something an island does to you that nowhere else can.

… magic lives here.

It holds you… quietly, completely… The water on all sides is an embrace… a reminder that you are exactly where you are, and nowhere else… trust worthy.

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More than peace, actually… I have come to believe that the pursuit of perfection is one of the great thefts of our time… It steals joy, it steals presence, it steals the ability to look at your own life and see it clearly for what it is… genuinely, beautifully, imperfectly enough…

Somehow, somewhere, perfection became a goal… A standard… Almost a moral obligation… And I want to gently, firmly, lovingly push back on that…

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All of it… the romantic kind that makes you feel impossibly alive… the maternal kind that cracks you open in ways you never anticipated… the love of a morning, a garden, a life that is yours and no one else’s…

What interests me most…

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Because the truth is, life moves so fast… habits, schedules, conversations, obligations… all of it accumulating like layers over the thing that is actually happening inside you…

… and before long you can lose track of yourself entirely without even noticing…

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… the provocateurs, the ones who taunt and needle and push…

When someone tries to diminish you, destabilize you, drag you into their chaos… what they are really doing is asking for attention… In any form… at any cost…

And here is the thing I keep coming back to…

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What is percolating inside you right now…

Something you want to share, something you want to say, something you want to make or become… but haven’t yet… because of shyness, or fear…

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- Audrey Hepburn

Think about it… you press a tiny seed into the earth… something so small, so seemingly insignificant… and in doing so you are making a declaration…

You are saying…

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The good, the bad, and the ugly…

I mean that with everything I have… because I know what it feels like to be on the verge of collapse…to be so tired, humiliated… so lost in the noise of everything life throws at you—that the idea of your own becoming feels like too much to hold…

But here is what I keep coming back to…

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Spend the day as a wildflower…

I’m not seeking the dramatic kind of magic… but the small , humming, barely-visible kind…

I felt it this morning…

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I thought I’d share a few favorites floating in my basket on rough linen paper…

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Not in the performance of it… not in the calculated entrance or the curated image… or the art of being seen… those things do exist… and there is a world that rewards them… but that is not real magnetism… it is only a game.

Real magnetism is something else entirely… the gentle pull… of being truly seen…

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“Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky.”

- Thich Naht Hahn

Feeling deeply is not a weakness… it is a form of strength…

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