We are not lost after all

I saw a post online a while back that said, “If your growth isn’t Instagram-able, you’re probably doing it right.”

I've been trying to be a lot more present. A lot more focused on living & breathing in the moment rather than capturing the moment with a photo & a caption.

It's hard to know if you're doing the right thing in the moment. But all you can really do is listen to the voice that isn't quiet in your mind, the voice that when you've settled your heart & your breath is still saying the same thing, this time louder.

It's hard to walk away when what you want is closure but what you really need is to follow your gut so you can breathe again. It's difficult to do the right thing when the right thing causes pain. But, the important thing is to acknowledge the pain, to feel it & to not push it away. To acknowledge how you can be better & do better going forward. To see the pain of others & yourself rather than curating it away to maintain an image.

Heading into the final colors of 2019 and I'm glad my growth isn't Instagram-able or blog-able.
Because that would be defeating the purpose.

We are not lost after all.

some softening

These stunning peonies are close to my heart. A few weeks after Brynlee was born, my mom came to my house with three blush pink peonies from a local farm and then held my baby for a couple hours so Ryan and I could get out of the house together. Since then, every spring I've bought peonies from the same lovely peony lady who grows these beauties in her garden. The window for blooming peonies is really short here in Northern California, just a few weeks, so I'm always sure to get some every Tuesday farmer's market. 

Soft white and pink colors are very in right now, but I find myself drawn to these vivid burgundy and orange flowers. It's funny because the colors of my life feel very soft these days. There's something in my heart that's been gently, ever so gently, asking me to slow down, to soften up the edges. Something in my gut that's nudging me toward slowness, a new space. 

A two-year old who's going through an extra-attached-to-mama phase. Soften.

A friendship I knew I had to end. Soften. 

Two cancer diagnosis in my extended family with unknown prognoses. Soften.

A question mark in my career field where I used to know an exclamation point. Soften.

A tug on my heart toward a new venture, something I've wanted to do since my first Constitutional Government class in community college. Soften.

One of my favorite authors suddenly passed away, leaving behind two babies and so much beautiful work left to do. Time to soften. 

The blooming season of these beautiful flowers is very defined. A few weeks in April and May. They bring the most stunning beauty to my home for a short period of time and then they hide away until next year. Blooming is a season. Blooming isn't year-round. There are the times when I need to rest, to look inside, to soften those edges and take the expectations down a notch and I know those times will only make the next bloom more vibrant. 

For now, I'll leave the vibrant colors to these NorCal beauties. You can find me here.

more

more deep breaths, more stillness

less push & pull, more release

more space, more boundaries, more wisdom to know which is needed

more authenticity, less curation

more honesty, more vulnerability

more getting to know myself

more owning my shit, more self-compassion

more heart, more guts

more presence, more listening

more apologies

more taking in without posting

more gratefulness, less expectation

more to enjoy, less to prove

more softness

more sunsets