I’ve spent time in the crisp air of the Rockies, and on eroding sandstone towers in the heart of the desert. I’ve slept under the midnight sun in Alaska, and wandered among other-earthly formations lit by a full moon in Joshua Tree. I kayaked surfaces of our vast oceans, and have felt a breeze among the pines inspire something within me.

I thought I understood the capacity of our earths energy, until I descended deep into history.

Each step into the canyon reveals something about self and geology. Offering alternative answers to what it means to be, really. An energy most charging, I’ve never felt so small and whole simultaneously. I never imagined looking up to the surface where our lives occur from below, questioning existence and our chosen deities. Ultimately gleaning the deepest respect for time and its ability to heal and reveal so naturally.

I feel the most fortunate to have the ability to ascend and descend our Earth’s formations gracefully. And to have a partner to guide me most knowledgeably. These photos are from our most recent trip the the Grand Canyon, where I felt entirely enamored by how gently it gambols with light, and its ability to relay the most complicated ideas of our becoming.

I only dream of one day descending completely. Meeting the Colorado that provides for us all intimately, and ascending to the other side changed and enchanted on a cellular level. Having gained a wider consciousness and appreciation for the intricacies of living. Having understood the geology that declares our history.

I hope my imagination keeps providing ideas of places and feelings I never thought of experiencing, for I now know our Earth will answer and provide most lovingly.

I moved to Arizona years later. Probably one or two after the boy I watched climbing videos with blindsided me. In retrospect, I understand it just wasn’t meant to be, but our split impelled me exponentially. Growing tired of Michigan gray, I once again craved open sky and red clay. A dear friend felt my uncertainty and desire, and invited me to stay in Phoenix with her mother. Not too long after, I packed my bags and left my childhood home the day after Thanksgiving. Once again, healing and revealing as I drove across the country.

It poured my entire drive through Arizona, beginning almost as soon as I crossed in from Utah. I gripped the wheel tightly, but the rest of me was breathing clearly. Smelling creosote for the first time, my chest and shoulders dropped immensely. My mother always had something to say about desert rain - that it was rare, loving, and a sign of blessing. This would come to make sense in many ways, eventually.

Driving down I-17, I missed a turn and circled Flagstaff accidentally. The rain turned to snow, and I released my grip on the wheel just slightly. Finding my way back to the interstate, I held my breath as I watched semis sway and prayed for a safe arrival in Phoenix, and eventually an arrival at exactly where I am suppose to be. Making a metaphor out of getting lost while driving.

…

Phoenix was a compactor for growth. Whether it was the desert energy, or finally feeling free, I experimented so genuinely and started to understand authenticity in being. I also hurt intensely, as experimenting led me to many hearts on equally confusing journeys. I tried too often to find myself, to place and home in men. Hoping they would tame me, give me a home, and stability. I was enjoying freedom, but also incredibly lonely.

When it comes to traveling, to living nomadically and chasing dreams in distant cities, I dont think many consider the aching that comes with uprooting and finding new community. For me, it almost felt easier to try and build a home with somebody, than to do so independently.

I continued with this pattern for far too long. I never thought of myself to be an endurance athlete, but let my heart run like I was. I moved to a new home with a roommate that too eerily, resembled the men I was dating and fell deeper into something other than me. Straying further from authenticity. I entertained a boy for even longer, who kept me around at his convenience only.

A winter full moon was all it took to expand courageously. I prayed persistently for the courage to make choices for me, for love to flow though me. For an ounce of confidence, and maybe for somebody to hold my heart kindly. My connection with the previously boy ended timely and divinely with this prayer and the exhausting job I was working and hanging onto to desperately, fired me. All as if I burst into the air, to be reassembled gracefully, finally.

…

It wasn’t long before I found work again. I had no choice but to keep going. I never had much of a safety net, and have had to work though everything. The day after I was released, I was hunting for a job tediously. Cold contacting while simultaneously trying to formulate a career plan. Something to fulfill me, something that felt true and valued me.

Up until that moment, I had too often felt used in many ways. Romantically, for how giving I was, and in work, for how willing I was to please, for I desperately needed money to stay floating and contribute to my dreams.

Through the loss of a boy and money, I was painfully learning how to stand on my own two feet. Building myself like a complex puzzle with each choice made and thought had. I came to believe that self is built in the choices we make.

…

I took a job as an assistant coach at another gym. I loved coaching, but was also tiring of working to support someone else’s dream when I had my own aspirations forming. In a matter of divine time again, the head coach was let go suddenly, and I was asked to step up bravely. Granting me an opportunity to build something unique and extend the most passionate parts of me. I was finally granted the chance to develop the goals I had forming.

The pieces of me gone airborne were gaining gravity and pulling towards a new version of me. I was making choices through the lens of authenticity, closer than ever to myself and to meeting somebody worthy.

…

It was raining steadily in Scottsdale, the kind of rain you never see in the Valley. Michael and I had interacted online, and I felt a sense of comfort when texting. His words landed peacefully, and without meeting him yet, I found him calming. We agreed to meet in Old Town, a place unusual for us both, and spoke over a single margarita each. I was pleased when he didn’t order another and suggested going for a walk after. From that moment on, we absorbed each other. Blending our lives as if we were always looking for the other.

Michael lived in Flagstaff and would go far out of his way to see me, driving often from working in the Grand Canyon down to the valley. Weekends quickly became routine. I’d leave work at 8pm on Friday evening, and head north to Flagstaff where he would be waiting patiently. Often with dinner or a sweet surprise ready.

This went on an entire summer, until my job became more demanding and aligned with his lease ending. He made the sacrifice to move in with me, leaving his behind beloved community and trees. Leaving us to navigate the heat, and eventually hurt in ways we never saw coming.

…

It seemed like every weekend there was something. Whether it had been traveling for a long day of competition with the team, the heat, or unwanted plans, we were always moving. Through the week, my job tired me and while there were certianly moments of enlightenment and positivity, I didn’t return home until the late evening. Spending the day more aware of others needs than my own.

My creative pull dissipated completely, and I too often sobbed uncontrollably. Leaving Michael in the dark, wondering. All the while, he was grieving deeply - the heat too intense to recreate outside, missing his community, his heart was breaking, and I didn’t have the capacity to hold it gracefully.

Together, we endured storms of exhaustion and emotion, somehow growing at the end of it all. I became more and more gray, while he held tight to his desire to be in the trees. I felt as if I was losing self and community, while he consistently reminded me of my worth, abilities, and that there is always good coming. All the while, Flagstaff kept ringing, the name started to gain meaning, and I began to see the town through his perspective of creativity, love, and community.

…

A conglomerate of breakdowns, financial insecurities, and fulfilling days visiting his friends in the pines led us to moving. Despite finally accepting that my job was exhausting me, I grieved leaving it intensely. I saw results and felt love from every athlete uniquely, something I was unable to feel while while squandering. But a large part of me was still missing, it had been so long since I expressed creatively that I once again had little sense of self and stability. Pieces of me that had gained gravity, were once again floating.

It was hard to believe a job could take such a great deal from me, lending me to feel so small and insecure. Only now do I see it clearly. Despite being supported, valued, and making a difference daily, the loudest part of me, my creative abilities, were being silenced relentlessly. Despite my tenacity to keep it close, it was being pushed away with no time to tend to its calling.

Michael promised Flagstaff would heal me.

…

We moved in late July on the hottest day of the year, and I still held bits of uncertainty. It wasn’t easy on my heart or conscious to leave my vision of leading a team and sense of financial security, after working and praying for both tirelessly. The more we loaded into the U-Haul and with each mile moving north, the more sure I felt. Rain began to fall, blowing our caravan of four across I-17, instilling a sense of love and belief that I did the right thing and that overdue expression was coming.

Our first morning in Flagstaff I woke to aspen leaves sparkling and Ravens chatting. Michael was lighter than I’d ever seen him, and my mind was quiet, finally. We visited the farmers market, where I finally had the capacity to talk to strangers, and spoke to a woman about writing - something I missed dearly. I watched Michael fill with emotion as he saw me become me. We had friends over, and I felt love and words flow through me. With each evening and outing, new inspiration came and I released tension I was hardly aware I was holding.

In speaking to a dear friend about my transition to Flagstaff, I expressed that I am not entirely sure if happiness is dependent on place. And while I’m positive I would not feel these sensations in any other town, I have also come to believe that happiness, like self, is built in the choices you make.

The choice to move to Flagstaff allows me to feel now, to write these words and once again make decisions authentically for my relationship and self. Since the first time Flagstaff vibrated in my heart to now, I have made a series of decisions to accelerate myself. Making my arrival in this moment all the sweeter. Giving me a newfound understanding of home, love, stability and what I require. While those could all exist in my heart in any town or city, Flagstaff and Michael have given me the long-awaited space to be me openly, to feel my gravity. I now understand why the name rang with such energy.

The woman of the partnership struggled to scramble up the granite terrain - Michael noticed this as we were approaching. Offering encouragement, telling her of a 75 year old man he took up to the summit on one of his guided trips. I chose to not be a coach in that moment, and climbed up the harder section for my own satisfaction, comfortably remembering what exposure and granite felt like.

Ordinary summit activities occurred. Michael and I enjoyed a quiet moment together before he began serenading me with his Yosemite familiarity - pointing out summits across the high country I had yet to see, and other regions of the Sierras we would explore not quite on this trip, but surely eventually. We passed a pair of binoculars back and fourth, and took a selfie just as the couple arrived. They offered to take a photo for us in its place, cueing connection.

I don’t remember much of the conversation, as Michael and I gained anxiety about descending timely, to further indulge in the trees, trails, and the rest of Yosemite. But what I do recall is detailing how achievement isn’t so much about physicality, but more importantly mentality, upon the woman expressing the challenge of her ascent. How one can begin to overcome physical limits by first harnessing the mind and interpersonal dialogue centered around the beliefs of their abilities.

It seemed they grasped, as they mentioned the feats of Alex Honnold and Marc Andre Leclerc - both athletes who worked endlessly to prepare mentally and have since gained notoriety. As Michael and I entered disassociation and sought our route down, they mentioned a female duo who they met earlier on the valley floor in pursuit of the Yosemite Triple Crown - three summits linked up by extensive hiking in between. Including El Cap, Half Dome, and Mt. Watkins. If successful, they would be the first female duo to do so in climbing history.

Goodbyes behind, we descended playfully with the news of those women singing in my mind - something to remember when looking for inspiration later, but to be forgotten in the moment.

Adventure commenced - from backpacking at May Lake, to other pursuits in the valley floor, we rambled and scrambled around the park. Making a trip to the base of El Cap per Michaels wish and promise, where I was reminded of a poem I wrote sometime in 2019 upon a trip to Eldorado Canyon, shortly after the delivery of my climbing and Yosemite dreams.

“to watch climbers climb for the first time  
a dream that will soon be mine”

Feeling peacefully exhilarated as I traced my eyes along iconic lines to the summit of the monolith. That stanza evolved and gained a new meaning in that moment, while my heart revived deferred dreams and my consciousness released limiting beliefs.

I thought about many things while we romped and roamed around - how I’ve too often believed I had to look a certain way physically, to be in pursuit of such athletic feats, and how carrying that paralyzed me from achieving. I thought about how much I’ve developed and grown since I first dreamed of climbing in Yosemite. And I thought about my love for Michael - how he so organically aligns with me, how he simultaneously ignites and grounds me.

We watched rockfall occur on a formation we had just scrambled in our matching Bedrock sandals, and traversed fallen down trees in search of giant sugar pinecones. All while it was slowly occurring to me, that because of this man and our divine sequencing, I was living my most massive dreams - to be loved by, and to love somebody who adores the land and my wild heart entirely. How through this man, I was releasing limitations and realizing the potency and potential of my truth, body, and abilities. How through this man I was understanding to a new degree, the power of honest love and refined mentality.

As we were driving though the high Sierras, heading home on highway 120 East he opened his phone to a title of “Laura and Katie first female duo to complete Yosemite Triple Crown”. Closing the trip gracefully, my first thought expressing “I want to push myself like that.” Bringing complete and circular meaning to all the revelations I had in the valley. About mind and body, adding depth to realization of my abilities. Sealing my heart with closure and comprehension of how with all the newfound love from Michael and for myself, I can make my Yosemite dreams of climbing El Cap - and anything that calls, a reality.

Somewhere in the waves of transition I lost that sense. Judgement and question from those close to me stifled my open heart and flowing hands. I started to think it was silly to express poetically and in stories, the matters of my mind and heart, and in turn, internalized most everything. I would reread old entries, my book, old poetry - and cower at what I was so willingly voicing publicly. I probably started to care too much about what others were thinking and weighted their thoughts too heavily. Rather than trusting myself most intuitively. For I have always struggled with tuning out noise, and listening to the quiet, nudging voices within me.

I have felt the constraints of time too - the issue of being able to sit still and express myself for an undefined amount of time. The issue of leaving my damn phone alone, and of not worrying about what I will do in the evening. And somewhere along the way, I began to concern myself with perfection - pondering if I am composing sentiments exactly how they feel, in a way that translates seamlessly from my heart, to another. I found myself thinking too much - simply not doing. Analysis paralysis, as we would say in weightlifting.

And I have had some big life changes too. I moved over a year ago, and it just now feels like I am settling. I left a job that was raping me of all the precious things I need to function genuinely. I began finding my voice and heart, and connecting the two in ways that sometimes hurt, but ultimately liberated me. I wore a pair of cowgirl boots, and a hat and went out line dancing. I started to howl from my chest when I summited mountains, and I let myself wholly embrace every hug and compliment that was given to me. I’ve found new love for pushing my body - breathing in to fill myself with strength and grace, and breathing out to execute and release. I started to savor early quiet mornings accompanied by the sunrise and iced coffee. I started to close my eyes, and connect with my physical body and flowering mind.

In the most compressing transition of recent years, I’ve somehow managed to brightly burst into the air, and have found new connections, friends, and abilities. I’ve ascended to a new level of me. Stepping into a new chapter, quite literately, as I begin a new job soon, and am in pursuit of a career that little me, would be so excited to know is unfolding.

I’ve started to comprehend vulnerability in new ways too. For the things I share, do mean something - and not just to me. Maybe, what it really is, is that I have stopped caring about the external and what may be perceived as silly - and instead have started embracing all the challenges, glimmers, pains, and blessings that occur for me. Maybe, I have finally realized that sharing and expressing, that speaking and writing with such rawness and vulnerability, is not an act of weakness or immaturity, but possibly the purest form of strength; for I now trust myself to tune in instead of out, to heal my hurt, and to be me most passionately.

~SMW

I do not have much
and came from even less
it’s been just my heart and I
navigating this mess
friends swear i’m too empathetic
for when someone disrupts my heart
i hear them first
then react
for love has taught me
everyone has something
and were all navigating our experiences differently
some healing, some feeling, some in complete uncertainty
i have no reason to harbor ill feeling
when there is more unknown
than knowing
and sometimes I wonder if this heart is a curse
for I have tried living with less sensibility
offering less empathy and space for understanding
navigating things logically
but it only leaves me feeling empty
for isn’t the point of living

to feel wholly?
to love radically?

I go to yoga when I forget how to breathe. I am always amazed at how much of my existence is spent moving senselessly - even when I remind myself to remain present and disconnect, the horrors of responsibility still possess me. I can’t turn my phone off without feeling guilty.

And as always, I have been feeling lots of feelings. Recently learning that sometimes the intense buzzing in my chest is not me, or my past arising - it is someone else’s energy. It is beautiful in a way, to release such responsibility. To make space for others and their feelings. To understand that I am sensitive and susceptible to others energies, and am also constantly growing, yet more healed than I ever thought I would be.

I recently connected with someone romantically who is still on their healing journey - and although the downfall of our connection saddened me, their hurt resonated deeply. For I have felt such discomfort too, and it reminded me of the process of healing - and how it is never truly over, but rather becomes an easier choice to make. To remain present and let what ails go when it inevitably persists on being relevant and all consuming.

And I have recently heard many stories of friends’ and strangers’ heartbreaks. All tragic in their own unique ways. Affirming my belief that life is messy and forever means nothing. For the only constant we have, is love for ourselves, and our tenacity to keep going. Then maybe, we can offer part of that to somebody.

I have been living in the desert for eight months now too, and while I miss my friends and family dearly, everything still feels right - like I am exactly where I am suppose to be, even in the heat and occasional hurt. As if this move was an essential step in my own healing, and another one into my truest becoming. I am thankful more than ever, for my tenacity, my heart, and ability to keep going. And for those who supported me in my own healing. And despite this season of “too busy”, I have come to learn that just like healing, this moment will soon be just a memory, as long as I make the choice to be present, breathe, and keep going.

A single girls manifesto:

wake alone in the morning
and resist the urge to check your phone
lay in silence and absorb the potential of a new day
text your mother
no one, aside from yourself
in the way
the notifications from strangers dont matter anyways
respond to your friends first
they miss you dearly
wash your body
cleanse your face
then take yourself out for coffee
it’ll make you a little jittery
but enhances your clarity
a ritual for creative prosperity
go about your day most naturally
follow feelings
and feel them entirely
sadness and everything
the discomfort of just being
and the fulfillment of little things
remember you've never been lonely
you have love all over the country
flirt genuinely
but make space for your intuition always
and forgive yourself when you bypass it
and for when life inevitably gets a little messy
just be, breathe, sip your coffee
what is for you will arise when its ready.

If you want to leave, then leave

dont worry about my heart, feelings, or sanity
dont worry about
what i’ll think of you
or a future possibility
it will only get worse
if you linger
or try to 
let me down easy.


If you want to leave, then leave
pack your things away
tell your mother you love her
and back out of the driveway
head anywhere 
thats radiating.


If you want to leave
do it with maturity
be vulnerable
even if its messy
we will both understand
in retrospect
maybe.


If you want to leave
make sure your friends know
their place in your heart
how they helped you grow
and that you’ll visit 
when it feels right
and will call them always.


If you want to leave
dont hold still
wish away
or bury the feeling.


If you want to leave
then make a mess
embrace discomfort and stress
it will make sense
with each whole breath,


you will
expand and contract
in measure equal to
your faith and bravery
in measure equal to
your ability to keep going.

However, I have started to glean joy and wisdom in the micro-moments of living with a full agenda, and am finding little moments of enrichment, connection, and blessing. Things worth sharing, celebrating, and holding closely. Like curating the perfect 20 minute playlist for my commute; a moment of meditation and absorbing, usually to something twangy. A sort of soundtrack to carry me though the workday too. All while noting the differences in conditions on Four Peaks and the McDowell Mountains as I drive up the 101. Observing way something so still and prominent transmutes seems to elicit many metaphors that I can not seem to complete yet. And not to forget all the conversations and connections that happen in between waking and resting that instill a sense of community.

In the midst of pushing through this recent extended week, someone opened up to me about the depths and mess of their turbulent relationship that began to deteriorate in the COVID days, and has since continued to play out like a sort psychological thriller. A long time lover turned stray, their closest person for nearly two decades now estranged. Her foundation shattered. Making me realize in a different capacity that nothing is truly safe nor secure, aside from internal worth, faith, and strength. Reminding me how my mother would express vehemently “you never know”, when I would pray for security and eternal comfort from somebody else long before I ever found such within me. I would resist her expression in the moment, certain that there was someone out there that would complete and secure me. I searched endlessly, but everyone was empty of the protection I craved. For I later learned the hard way, that only exists within me.

Now these revelations occur to me during the rather mundane traverse of the work week. As I drive home under the moonlit mountains and exist without intrusion, or as my mom would say “the bitch speaking”. I am reminded of life’s complexities, my strength and worth, and my abilities. I feel peace despite life’s unavoidable happenings. Content finally, in my ability to navigate most anything, with a newfound sense of internal trust and security - I feel I have found within, what I previously looked for externally. Although tiring at times most certianly, I feel these are the moments that affirm heart and tenacity.

A few poems below too.

There is no sweet treat

that will ease my craving

a bed other than my own

but close to home

so I can 

get in my car

roll the windows down

breathe in, exhale

return to my space

to sort my feelings

eat ice cream out of the carton

alone

would it be better

with you? with company? with somebody?

to split the calories? to make vanilla taste like strawberry?

would your pillow feel just as sweet?

or would I wake and want to run to the consistent pleasure

that is my own set of sheets?

that is solitude and ease?

i’ll keep indulging

every sweet treat

until this craving is at ease.

The reason(s) she’s not texting you:


She is sitting on her couch, alone

listening to something indie, maybe country

the sounds reflect her internal silence and certainty

she just got off the phone with her best friend

and before that, her mother

both hour long conversations

they assure her, nothing is wrong with her

and she is not crazy

they state, in their own graceful ways

that she should worry less about boys

and embrace her power, her grace

she should have faith. 


And you, you sit in the midst of that

she doesn't quite know you

but has too much empathy

and doesn't want to hurt you

but she truly knows

what is best for her

is not you.

~smw

I used to put a lot of pressure on these phases and would resist the silence between them. When words were not forming and my hands did nothing, I’d spiral into wondering if I was living truthfully. If I was honoring the artist within me, or if I was starving and hindering her unconsciously. I’d fight to create, only to erase what marked the page. Realizing maybe that day wasn't the day to express such things, or anything at all, really.

I have always resisted rest and have had a hard time just being. If I sat for too long, you could probably find me heading to the gym or out walking aimlessly. While this is still mostly true in physicality, mentally I have learned to stop pursuing and pushing when inspiration is not flowing. And instead have began to allow myself the grace to just be. I have began to trust that what is mine, will come to me.

In such cycles of awareness and silence, what does come is usually short and floral. A sort of potent thought or phrase detailing feelings in such a way that resembles a garden blooming in spring - growing, but not yet complete. And if not tended to, will fleet.

This is where poetry serves me. Offering play with words and feelings, granting me the ability to nurture creativity and express freely. I have to admit that most of the time when I am composing such pieces, I have no true idea what I am doing - but it feels right, like a sort of childhood romp through the woods, discovering. Where upon finishing a piece, I come home a little more inspired and complete.

Through this most recent phase of just existing, I have found myself expelling some rather melancholy feelings. I promise I am much more content and spirited than the prose makes me seem, and am firmly enjoying frolicking in this phase with these feelings!

Below you will find such musings…

Today would be the perfect day
to meet someone
for the first time

a memory above
all memories
enhanced by

the subtle intensity of the sunshine
warm with a cool breeze
graced with bluebird skies

is this what is meant
when they say
love is in the air?

it must be
i’ve felt no greater feeling
i’ll forever remember

this breeze.

Oh dear, i am sorry
i have to go
i’m heading somewhere, i think
where i dont know
i want this, i want you
but this is for me, i feel i have to choose.

oh dear, i get it through and through
my heart winces, but beats for you
i want you to see this through
reticent i’ll remain
go pursue.

oh dear, please stay close
we’ll talk, i miss you too…
reach out always
i feel the same pain as you.

oh dear, this hurts so
i miss you entirely
but cant bring myself to reach out to you
even though you said to
hold still, hold close
reticent still, i dont know what to do.

oh dear,
go forth, run along, your dream calls
mine does too
this makes complete sense
and none at all
i want this for you.

oh dear,
i’ve come to accept that i know nothing
aside from how much i miss you
so i give this journey to you
give you all my thoughts too
the way you receive and reflect them
only deepens my affection for you
i’ll remain true, it’s all i can do.

oh dear,

i miss you still,
do you miss me still, too?

You’re to pretty to be blue
she says
i took a selfie in the mirror
and smiled anyways
i see a glimpse of beauty
my eyes are still sparkling
but everything else feels so melancholy
i want to go lay in the hay
maybe the barn cats will follow me
i’ll light one up
and doze away contently
wake to a cool breeze
that graces my skin
better than any mans hand would
ease my worries
i’ll hear the cows calling
and the chickens singing
then i’ll feel something
then if only
for that moment
i wont feel so lonely.

~smw

I wasn't a rebellious child, but also never content; I wanted to try new things and push boundaries. I didn't acknowledge gender roles, and wanted to get dirty. Most of my childhood memories either take place in my bedroom, making art, writing, and watching action sport competitions on TV, or outside playing. Keeping up with the boys as we built ramps with bricks, rusty nails, and plywood scraps that we stole from the developing cul-de-sac down the street. Somehow my parents kept up with my evolving interests, providing what they could to keep me engaged. A skateboard, a bike, bandaids, and enough grace to not let their worries stall me. To let me develop perseverance and grit after every nasty fall. And my dad telling me stories of his Kerouac-like travels before he met my mother and had me. I dont think he realized how much those subconsciously formed me.

When considering my youth it seems natural that I later found climbing. Although there was a period of time in early adulthood where I tended to the more relaxed side of my being, debatably settling. Working hard as an artist and chasing dreams of curating and writing, all while competing in olympic weightlifting. Despite intense training, I lived my days believing life was complete. I lived with a partner and most things were simply easy. Aside from the natural turbulence of living, I had a routine and was loved genuinely. I could've stayed there and watched my future unfold somewhat predictably. But something started to vibrate inside me, and I couldn’t source the feeling.

It wasn't until I stumbled upon a short film about climbing in Yosemite Valley that it occurred to me, I already had so much, but it was my deferred dreams that were rattling and building. For I had forged a life based on the ideas of what I thought that I should be doing as a young woman. Which was tending to a relationship and building a future with someone before I even really knew myself most intimately. I wanted to explore the world inside me and the places my dad told me about in his stories. I wanted to return to my childhood curiosities. I was enamored by climbings’ embodiment of all the things I sought as a child and still seek; creativity, community, and awareness of the smallest muscles in my body. As well as others beyond physicality - a sturdy mindset, steadfast confidence, and trust for myself through all of life’s intricacies.

…

It took all the courage within me to uproot and transform everything, and it didn't happen instantly. More so a series of tiny little deaths and births that propelled me. In moments of uncertainty, I sometimes still question if I did the right thing. I left the relationship I was in, and maybe could have done so more gracefully, but I was young and learning. I moved out, and cried myself to sleep most nights. But would always dry my tears thinking of the freedom of my future, the people I would meet, and the unknown with all it’s possibilities. I researched climbing and started to visualize myself instead of dreaming, with this it messily became reality.

A series of unfortunate events led me to a life on the road. In the midst of healing and forging a life post-university, the global pandemic took my job and little sense of stability I had recently built. Having always been stubborn in my belief that there is a positive side to everything, I took another risk and moved to Denver alone. With a single suitcase of clothes and new climbing gear packed in my Kia Soul.

…

I was 23 and didn’t know anyone in the city, let alone anywhere else in the country. My circle of friends was small, but earnestly supporting me. I had no plan, and had consulted a good friend for advice on beginning climbing. He assured me, and encouraged me to trust my instincts above anything. Reminding me of my innate intuitive abilities and strength before I truly understood my own capabilities. I posted on a forum dedicated to climbing that I was new to the area and seeking a sort of mentor, or at the least a patient partner willing to teach me essentials. Being totally transparent about my incredibly limited experience, I was greeted by many. Some were strange that warrant their own stories, and others everlasting that expand beyond the connection of the rope we both tied into.

This is where I feel my true connection with the sport began, as well as my relationship with myself - for I was leaning into instinct, and for the first time deciphering the difference between intuition and intrusion. Learning to listen to myself, I was starting to develop the confidence, trust, and the mindset I craved as I ascended walls, opened up, and made new friends. I was starting to absorb the rewards of all I went through in Michigan.

I spent the rest of that summer in Colorado before rent got too high and other things called. I chased climbing across the west, leading me deeper into the Rockies, and to strange places I had never imagined visiting, like Arco, Idaho and Spearfish, South Dakota. I climbed in other other more popular destinations like Utah, Nevada, and Wyoming and continued to make friends along the way, some ephemeral and others everlasting. My world expanded rapidly, and I was not who I was when I backed out of the driveway of my childhood home and set off across the country.

…

Climbing formations some only ever get to fantasize about within my first year, though fear and sometimes tears, I kept going through uncertainty. Sleeping in my car in strange places amongst unfamiliar faces, and sharing a rope with strangers mostly. Getting to know myself most intimately. In the midst of this all, I met a couple that I still credit to my formative understanding of communication and romantic relations. And after climbing together only a few times, I picked up their engagement ring on my way back to Denver from Moab, and carried it deep into Rocky Mountain National Park. Where I entered the alpine for the first time, and the three of us climbed a cathedral tower where he proposed on the summit. At their wedding a year later, I was asked to stand after she expressed her gratitude for the friends that surrounded and supported them, and especially the one who became an element of their story never to be forgotten. I didn't consider my place in their story to be so touching, but they surely admired me.

I took these lessons with me back to Detroit with me when the constant travel became weary. Eager to return what was bestowed upon me to the community, and empowered by confidence that one only gleams from trusting theirselves though severe uncertainty, I accepted a role as a youth coach at the only climbing gym in the city. Unknowingly entering a career of mentorship and coaching.

…

I worked this job for a few years and quickly expanded into other roles in the industry. Promoted from a camp coach to managing staff. I then transitioned into teaching advanced classes designed to help others move from the gym to the outdoors. I dabbled in other roles such as routesetting, before settling into a position as a competitive team coach. Where I finally felt that I had inspired and empowered others as wholly as my new friends from my travels had done for me.

Watching the community revolve and expand, I formed many connections. Too many to name, but there were always faces that I was delighted to see come though the door. From below on the gym floor, I watched others encounter the depths of their being and express themselves on the wall. And when back on the ground, I watched them glow and grow - making connections internally and within the community.

Entering a romantic relationship centered around climbing, my connection with the sport transformed completely. A detrimental break-up had me reconsidering if I genuinely still adored the sport, questioning what it meant to me. I left my job at the gym and entered in an accelerated graduate program. I didn't climb for a month or so and isolated deeply - that is until an acquaintance reached out and wanted to connect. Offering space for my shakes and depressed heart, she became my most influential and favorite partner as we climbed together consistently, sharing personal anecdotes, sympathy, and stoke. She healed me and rebuilt me, not only as a climber, but as a human being.

Unknowingly, and something I still have a hard time accepting, I became a pillar of the community. After completion of my degree and upon return from a trip to Colorado that reminded me of my innate abilities and passion for ascending, I began working at the gym again and stepped into a new chapter of flourishing. Eager to return west and connect to the land and sensations that initially inspired me, growing tired of the stimulation of being in a space that sometimes triggered me, I once again planned to uproot and leave.

…

A series of blessings granted though a dear friend brought me to Arizona. A land I once adored but had never visited before. I deferred my desert dreams somewhere in the survival of healing. Considering the freedom, abundant climbing, and new experiences that would be mine, the weight of leaving so many friends and family felt heavy but natural in the light of progression. A sort of breaking out of the comfortable bed of a place that was easy and routine, I was rested and ready. I packed just essentials and once again backed out of my parents driveway. Releasing a little grief with each state, welcoming in space for new occurrence.

…

Now I’m several months in, and settling in a more independent way. I’ve figured out the little bits, like which coffee shops have the best espresso and space for writing, and which local crags I want to try hard at. I’ve climbed in Joshua Tree, and visited other places I never imagined. Like Bisbee and Cochise. I’ve made new connections and friendships are forming. Perceiving everything as a possibility, I feel like I am flowing and breathing organically.

…

I have once again aligned with climbing, and am starting to feel it whirl in me. Through all the turbulence, it never left and remains with me. Between a trip to Joshua Tree with the friend that assured and encouraged me early on in this journey, and a recent attempt at Weaver’s Needle here in the Superstitions with a new friend, I am starting to embrace the fire and dreaming of what I can achieve with my new found clarity. I’m remembering my love for uncertainty and slight suffering - for it always produces a stronger me, or at the very least, a decent story.

Through all the healing in the comfort of my hometown, I seemed to have forgotten the little girl who dreamed so vividly. I think she would be proud of me.

…

There are so many, almost TOO many souls who I can cite and credit for my becoming. I hope you know who you are, and chances are if you’re reading this, you have inspirited me to some degree. There is so much more to this story as well, for this is just a brief exploration of my evolving relationship with climbing and those it has brought me.

I am still not sure what I am truly doing, or where climbing and living is taking me. But I do know that I am ignited by the what I’ve yet to experience, and am feeling inspired by the individuals and rocks I have already met, and those that are waiting. I’m sensing glory in the sometimes unpredictable, but open way of living - keeping my heart and mind aware of new opportunities. Even in the midst of suffering though an awful climb that drove me to tears, and when I am questioning myself in moments of loneliness, I am becoming more affirmed and assured in my initial decision to break tradition and choose me. My friend Scott would say that those are the moments that make life worth living.

Here’s to taking chances and forging a personal definition of stability and living. To trusting my intuition always, and my feet when ascending. To friendships that evolve and grow on the land below, and others that tie in with you in the skies above. Here’s to bravery, love, and climbing. Here’s to my dad for subconsciously inspiring me with his stories. And here’s to the little girl who dreamed of other cities and chose her own path over settling.

~smw

I’ve been feeling my feelings too, and am still not entirely sure how to express what that means. But I do know instead of analyzing them throughly in an attempt to catch them before they affect me, I’ve been honoring their presence and responding accordingly. Which I have come to understand sometimes means releasing control, carrying on, and letting them flow though me, regardless of any discomfort they may bring. And I can’t quite yet articulate the level of freedom this has bestowed upon me either, but for the first time I feel like I am living without resistance, flowing peacefully. Despite all I have experienced thus far pursuing dreams and uprooting accordingly, this newfound grace for life, emotion, and feeling - this release of expectation and control, has liberated and completed me. Even if just for the time being.

Not every day is as empowering as those words make it seem, even in my newfound acceptance I occasionally feel heavy and question things. But I always find reassurance in micro-moments and signs of life occurring naturally. In witnessing others growing and radiating, and in wildflowers blooming. And now, in feeling my feelings without pondering meaning. Reminding me that there is so much yet to be felt and realized if I keep flowing through the uncertain and weighty. That if I keep observing and absorbing, and align my dispositions accordingly, what is mine will come to me, and more inspiration will be revealed to me. Which transforms the otherwise mundane, to moving.

~smw

I always wish I was musically inclined; I often joke that gene skipped me. For my mother and sister sing beautifully. The closest thing I’ve found is poetry - something I’ve been distant from the past few years as I investigate other means of expressing. But I feel it’s returning.

I’m sure I’ll have lots more to say about my time in Joshua Tree, I already feel the rhythm of words forming and can not wait to share what comes to me. But for now I offer a piece I wrote recently and have held closely - a poem about a dear friend before he entered sobriety. I am delighted to see where this resurgence takes me.

(trigger warning: the following poem mentions alcoholism and suicide.)

a friend called and confided in me

the narrative of his attempted suicide

after days of drinking something cheap

blackout drunk, pancreatitis

in his new apartment

alone

too humiliated to reach out on the phone

he grasped a pen and wrote a letter

trembling hands

either to drunk to hold steady

or unstable from his cells brawling to preserve his wellbeing

gripping a knife and heading to the bath

with hopes to let the blood flow

like the ink from his quill pen

he laid, knife in hand

where his penmanship haunted him

he couldn't leave behind a note like that

illegible and mediocre glyphs at best

that wasn't like him - he was perfect

at least that’s how i saw him

contemplation, he resurrected

delayed his attempt until tomorrow

so he could compose another without quivering

i never saw him as vain

nor have been grateful for perfectionist traits

with the exception of death delayed

of him calling me to tell me healthier stories to this day.

I exist for occasions like this; solitary but in tune with everything around me.

Cars are passing quietly on a street below me. Where some would probably have things to say about traffic in such a precious place, I enjoy meditating on what the passengers are experiencing amongst such scenery. Pure awe maybe? Or life changing revelations? Affirming realizations? Or are they just existing and being? I truly believe such spaces can impact us beyond our eyes and memory if we allow them to speak; by opening our heart to the sounds and energy they release.

A passing truck was playing Feathered Indians just now, windows down. A woman singing from her gut it seemed. I do not know her personally, but I wish I could join her while we belt Tyler Childers writing. And I dont know what the melody is evoking within her, but I do know from experience that one does not sing along so loudly without feeling something so surely. A moment of connection, comforting, and release.

I remember the first time I heard that song. The twang transported me to childhood memories of my mother singing in the kitchen to something country. I attached it to the new romance I was experiencing. I never thought then, that I would be here now, and I especially never thought that it’s title would be etched into my notebook amongst a setlist from a musician I was recently dating.

As hard as it can be to live in complete unknowing - of where I will be, what the future holds, of romance, and other comforting things. I am starting to embrace that as one of the joys of living. I’m strengthening my faith in the unknown, and my ability to navigate anything. It’s moments like this that affirm my struggles and sacrifices were not for nothing, and assure me of my connection to all living things. It’s moments like this that make me feel rich and sanguine in my journey.

Romance, at this point doesn’t seem to be aligning. And I know many say to not worry about it and thats when it’ll find you. But quite frankly, I feel (for now) I have paused pursuing. I could change my mind about that when I wake tomorrow. Mornings seem to be a decisive moment for me when I awake after occasional dreams of loss, love, and longing - but I always wake with priority to preserve my heart and live genuinely.

It’s no secret that I’ve wandered all over the country. Some time here, some time there - of course there was romance between cities. Which is arguably the least sustainable form, especially when one party is chasing a calling unsure of where it’s leading. Sometimes it feels like I have left a trail of could have’s behind me. My heart loves to give, and when I find someone I enjoy, I love to let them know. A friend recently reminded me that this is likely why I experience hurt with such intensity. “I know you are a unique beautiful person with a lot of love to give” he said. “I know that being that kind of person makes you susceptible to heartbreak. That can defeat a person.” Which was honestly the first time my upset had made digestible sense - for I have spent too much time wondering what could be wrong with me, as if I had some sort of ailment or disease that I couldn't see - something that drove lovers away from me. But really, maybe, its because I have a powerful presence and emit big feelings, and occasionally give too much to those who are not entirely worthy. Especially in places where we are only temporary.

…

There are so many stories I can recall that align with this feeling, some too personal that I will spare. But I vividly remember one hazy Colorado day. Climbing with two new friends that I would soon help get engaged. Some 1500 feet off the ground, anchored into a mountain above I-70. They were a well established couple and had been dating for a while. They seemed rooted together, the way two trees that grow in close proximity seem to eventually grow branches around the other. I recently had to say goodbye to someone in Idaho that I was enjoying, and not willingly. Being around a couple silently triggered me. Things were going well with the boy in Idaho, but the distance and timing was unfavorable and challenging. And although I loosely saw it coming, it rattled me deeply. I felt big feelings.

I expressed this as we rested for a moment, in the way that personal stories tend to leak from the cracks of composure while climbing. They listened empathetically, and the air seemed unusually still for 1500 feet. I still feel the texture of vulnerability on my skin, which perhaps was heightened by the cold air of the alpine. And I know her response was half amusing, for its hard to be so serious when focusing on the intense act of ascending. But I still wonder if there is any truth to her statement of “you seem to have bad luck with men.” As someone who identifies with being spiritual, and maybe slightly witchy, such things ruminate in me.

…

More stories of connection and loss have been collected since then, again details I will spare. I assisted in their engagement on a stunning summit in Rocky Mountain National Park later that summer, and attended their wedding in the Adirondacks with someone dear to me the next year. Only to be severely hurt by said person a short time later. Which was a catalyst for healing and practicing radical self honesty. I believe that breakup transformed me cellularly. I spent too long blaming myself for others’ shortcomings and things misaligning, and had yet to forgive myself for genuinely trying to find whats for me. You see, when I am hurt I tend to play everything back obsessively - considering all the “what ifs” and scenarios where I could've maybe done something differently. All for the sake of hypothetically having someone to call mine in this moment, when I am feeling lonely, even though I wasn't the problem, or it just wasn't meant to be.

…

I recently attended a Full Moon Ceremony (see the above statement about slightly witchy), where we were guided though an ancient sound bath and meditation lended to us from the Shaman of the Amazon. Laid out and surrounded by items of comfort - candles, wool blankets, incense, and pillows under a desert full moon, coddling us as we engaged in prayer. Calling for the celestial beings of Mother Earth to come forth - to be with us as we were guided back in time beyond the womb of our birth mothers, and into our inceptive womb of the Earth. The womb that held us long before our mothers’ even considered us a possibility. We were allured to remember our truest purpose, our core being. Who we were before jaded and faded by the influence of society, asking us to consider who are we really? What do you want sincerely? I let these thoughts sift though me as I peacefully envisaged my rawness and settled back into me. I continued to float though this space, in my womb of earthen jade, wildflowers, and stars, opening my pores and exposing my nerves to the possibilities, people, and paths abundantly available to me. When called back to the present space, we were asked to journal about what we need to release to live in alignment with what we dreamt of while meditating. Comparison is what came to me.

In that moment, it occurred to me that I often let the noise of others and their stories interfere with my understanding of, and ability to walk confidently on my own journey. How I often think I should have more, need more, and am not doing enough for me - how I often see couples and feel lonely. How I too often think that instead of being blessed with incredible gifts, empathy, and courage, I am lacking. I compare right over my blessings and disregard my personal odyssey.

…

This is all too easy to do when it comes to romance, especially as I am approaching my 30’s. Where it seems that surely by now, I should have somebody. Where it seems that I have attended countless weddings, everyone is having kids, and especially after bearing witness to, and assisting in countless others’ love stories. Usually while I am engaged with someone only temporary. I forget my strength - everything I have done alone. How much I’ve developed, and all the places I’ve taken myself solo. It’s a sort of third wheel feeling. Adjacent to the experience of playing back the movie to reconsider my actions, when it genuinely just wasn't meant to be. Utterly unhealthy and deflating of everything that makes me, me. It rapes the present of joy, and is blinding. I am now starting to wonder what I was missing when wallowing. How if I could just look at myself and my qualities the way all my friends do. Who would I see?

…

The same friend that helped me digest and put words to my sincere sense of hurt also reminded me that I am on “a path*.* The path*. My path*.” Something I tend to forget while in the wallows of wondering what could and should be, instead of what is available to me. While I have momentarily forgotten my courage, abilities, and grounded tendencies.

I disregard the seasons of chasing my dreams and all the moves across the country. With little in my car and bank account, but so much love and grace from friends and family. Possessed by wanting to challenge myself and learn more about me, I’ve made so much happen for myself without somebody. I overlook when I went to Bonnaroo alone, because I wanted to see if I could - and how that shaped my perspective of my abilities in the earliest of my twenties. I fail to recall the mountains I have climbed with sheer will and intuition. And most prominently, when mourning, feeling lonely, and comparing, I forget that I am radiant, and my path is eternal and always blooming.

And while I am still unsure what I will experience romantically, I have come to understand the intensity of my presence and that I love to give - and still yearn for someone to receive. But for now, I have to grant myself all the love I have misplaced while looking at the flowers growing along side trails that were not mine or meant for me. I am making the conscious effort to look down at my feet and take in what surrounds me, the path beyond that I have blazed and chosen for me. The excitement lies in not knowing, in being me genuinely, in loving me without comparison, entirely. With this I believe the right things will find me, and it will make an incredible story.

I dropped out of a pre-med program early in college when I reintroduced to my affection for art and art history. Prior to that I had graduated artist of the year in high school, and had a decent scholarship to one of the best art schools in the country, that I turned down for more promising things. I was so young then, I chose what I thought would fulfill me - I listened to the wrong influences who said art wont make money, and I thought money alone would satisfy me.

I remember the decisive moment. Crying over math homework after hours of it just not clicking. Recalling the delight I experienced in the printing in the darkroom and while uncovering the hidden messages of Baroque paintings. I had recently felt so much stimulation in Intro to Art History - the only art class I could take on a premed track. I stalled and asked myself sternly, “why are you denying your abilities?” It came to me in clarity, “it wont be easy by any means, but it will be worth it entirely.”

That decision led to a series of complete transformation and upheaval. I filed my paper work to change my major to Fine Arts and Art History the next day, and since it was early in the semester, my classes were changed within the week. That same month I left a relationship that was deflating, abusive, and utterly confusing - the relationship that negatively influenced me and led me to believe I wasn't capable of anything. I got as far away as I could and transferred universities the next spring. I moved back home and evolved painfully. It took me six years and an ocean of tears to complete undergrad, and although I did earn two degrees - not once was it easy.

…

That was nearly five years ago, and since then I have followed the same patterns of remaining in transcendental motion and living with my heart forward. And although I am the most content in my decisions and self than ever before, I can’t say it’s gotten easier. But what really is? Every now and then I assume things would be different if I had ignored my feelings and made a decision based off logic for once. If I entered a career that promised me more financial certainty, but would probably numb me. Every now and then, usually when in the depths of a Facebook doom scroll, I wonder briefly if I should've settled for someone who wasn't everything, but was easy - for the sake of “stability”. The only thing thats truly become better with time, easier - is honoring me, being me unconditionally.

I think of the life I’ve lived and the sacrifices I’ve made - Ive never truly had a home to myself, and relationships tend to ebb and flow just as I do across the country. But I have gleaned the intensity and value behind my courage and feelings. Its easy to sometimes think I’d be happier with more, but I learned early on, that happiness comes from within me, and that I am most vibrant when I am aligned with my creative abilities.

…

In the depths of suffering on a hiking trip with a dear friend, he (in much better spirits than I) coined us the “conquistadors of the useless.”* And although that made little sense in the moment, thats exactly what we were - we were selfish, doing nothing of true importance. Worrying our loved ones and parents. We were wandering in the fucking woods on a loosely marked trail, covered in mud from the creek we fell in a few miles back, freezing. On our way to our next primitive campsite that we would then turn back from, cross the same creek that we would likely fall into again, then go home and re-enter routine living where few, if anyone, would understand our experience as we did. We had no grand destination or sights to see, and we certianly had no good explanation for our mini-expedition along the North Country Trail other than we felt a strange pull to try, and see what it would illuminate.

It took a few years to understand his expression, and it has made more sense as I have spent more time wandering the country seeking stories and sacrificing normalcy - but it eventually made sense that my heart, much like the great mountaineers, explorers, artists, and other passionate and curious individuals, isn't satisfied with stability, settling, or the easy, but rather knowing, feeling, trying, and experiencing.

…

I think doing such things makes me a better human being - I only ever really know what I am doing when I am climbing anyways, the way my body and the earth blend grounds me. When I am chasing an idea or dream, despite any hardship or uncertainty, I am as vulnerable and open as I will ever be. I am learning and gathering kindling for growth and being. I am collecting inspiration and empowerment to share my creative abilities, in hopes that someone will find something everlasting in its presence, in my quest for the useless nothing.

I still can’t say I know what I am doing, and certianly have a wavering definition of stability. But I do know as long as I am following my curiosities and feelings, and as long as I am trying and treating others with loving energy, that I will be content enough to keep seeking.

*I later learned that “Conquistadors of the Useless” was first expressed by Lionel Terry, as he titled his autobiography such after his personal quests. He is known for his first ascents in the Alps, Himalayas, Alaska, and the Andes.

Among the list of seemingly micro-moments that have turned to macro-memories is the time a friend exclaimed “I’ll be a cowboy if you let me!”, and the gist of a hearty conversation with a friend who expressed her immense pride in me and her motherhood journey. There’s also some Pinegrove lyrics too, for they seem to enamor me - their line “because my bones wont align that way” offers endless meanings upon swallowing, and eternally inspires me.

I recently visited some friends in Salt Lake City on my way to Arizona. I hustled across the country, 1-80 had never felt so fucking tiring. The sun stayed in the same place in the Iowa and Wyoming sky the whole time and my eyes remained dry. In the past this drive had inspired me and driven me to tears, probably because it was so raw and new and I was likely shedding something. But I lost count how many times I had traversed the country by now, and had yet to uncover the mico-moments that would be etched into my journal, for I am a little more experienced now, and inspiration comes in more complex forms.

I had plans to meet with several friends, one in particular who I had first met years ago when I began climbing. I dont quite remember, but he was likely there the first time I went to the gym. It’s one of those friendships where we rarely text, but the potency is still there. Just like I did in that moment when I left Detroit, I knew I could reach out and if the stars allowed, we’d meet again. And thats just what we did. And it wasn't anything too divine - we had plans to climb. Which was all I anticipated, and maybe a couch to crash on too.

I hadn't seen this friend since 2020, and was pleased to learn he had been dating. I always felt he deserved someone who adored him, but was saddened to learn he had been hurting, and things were less than exciting. And in that moment as we were flaking our rope between the others turn on the wall, the story started to unfold and I was reminded of all the time on Sundays when a dear friend and I would partake in a sort of psuedo-therapy between leads and trying the hardest things we could muster the energy for. Expressing ourselves physically and mentally.

He went on as I tied in, expressing his fears, frustrations, the complexities that simultaneously stalled and ignited him. When the severity of his vulnerability occurred to me, I untied and sat attentively. In the years of our friendship we had had many moments where he could've opened up - we once sat for two hours in traffic on I-70 trying to get back to Denver from Leadville where I nearly died trail running - instead he chose this moment, as I was about to hang from my fingertips, to share his feelings.

It occurred to me then, that this was a return of turn and energy. For I had spend so many Sunday sessions venting and letting my heart bleed, feeling strong in my movement, but so raw in my presence. Trusting my partner not only with my life, but healing and well-being.

I firmly believe that we simply can not tell others how to react, respond, or feel - I firmly believe that we have to let them decide for themselves, to clean up their own mess if made, and uncover their abilities along the way. I firmly believe that growth and healing starts with empowering. As he vented to me, it became clear that he knew what he had to do, and simply needed a heart to hear him. A soul to help him feel sound in his position and decision, to break him out of internal isolation. Not someone to express discontent or upset with the mess surrounding him, or let alone tell him how to navigate his experience. He needed a friend to lift and empower him in his ability to feel what he is feeling and make his own decision. Just as my friends did when I was healing.

I hold that moment so close, and although he was hurting, it has become one of my favorite memories. For it illustrates the power of vulnerability and genuinely listening, the power of energy and karmic recycling, and the gift of love and friendships that develop organically.

I can’t say all the entries in that little journal are as potent as this, I usually write them down in fear of forgetting them in the abyss of daily living. But memories like such tend to transcend into personal philosophy and form how I experience the world around me and how I treat others entirely. That and Pinegrove lyrics, those seem to inspire me too.

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I had grown tired of the same gym, the long commute, and albeit amazing people, the same drama and conversations, the same observations. I had a hard time using my imagination and feeling inspired - I just didn't feel right. In years pervious I lived out of my car, chasing climbing destinations and coffee shops - pushing myself while simultaneously learning about my mental and physical abilities. Journaling, being wholly me, although there were certianly worries, I trusted myself to handle them wholeheartedly. I seemed to lose that in a place that tired me, a sort of lack of excitement and confidence, a settling. I was ready for something new, and felt I had to go soon. So I once again drove solo across the country - something that always seems to clear the air on what means the most to me.

And here I am, nearly two months in. Finding words again, feeling the fuel of my goals, and finding the kindling to burn them - to achieve them. In a place where nothing is really familiar, yet I am so inspired, and look forward to solitude in the mountains and training in the gym. I look forward to quiet moments like this, where I can genuinely respond to texts, write, and reflect. For I am reminded of my passions of writing and climbing, and my strong intuitive abilities. For its no secret that in back in Detroit, I let the noise of others and daily life dampen me, I lost sight in my goals and forgot my creative insights.

I was recently inspired by someone new and dear to me, to pursue these things relentlessly. Like I once did before, but I am now refreshed and feeling the need to share these things - to put the creative energy back out there, to receive more. To practice more. To simply write more. For now is such a good time to honor me. I still crave the Grand Teton, I yearn for Yosemite, and I dont believe I will feel complete until I at least try to achieve such things. Until I try to write more and tell my stories. And I am fortunately in a place to do so right now.

Watching said friend play in a bar a few weeks ago, I was struck by all my amazing experiences and thought of how they deserve to be told - the painful ones and the whole. How I crave to share them and gain more, and how my ability to craft words into stories, although once covered by monotony and debris from the uninspiring city, is still within me. And now is the time to uncover and make something of my gifts and abilities - to share my love, understandings, and stories with those around me.

I am not sure what stories I will tell, for I am still living many. But theres a reserve that runs deep, and stories richer than the blood that formed me, that deserve to live outside me. Here’s to aligning with my passions and abilities - to opening my heart once again in full vulnerability, and sharing with the world what I am feeling. To hopefully inspiring someone, somebody. Here’s to a new project, and one day making it to Yosemite. Here’s to a new project, hopefully another story weekly!

And a hearty yeehaw, for what a life we’re all living.

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Follow along as I discover more and share my stories.

~Shelbie

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