Not everyone is so lucky that have a mom in heaven who sends them prank YouTube videos.
Is it me, or does the world feel a little bit chaotic lately? Pretty sure that this week we moved up a notch from You Gotta be Kidding Me to This is Getting Pretty Bonkers.
At some point this past year I decided I wanted my life to be about pursuit of joy rather than reduction of suffering. And to paraphrase Frost, it has made all the difference.
This past week I was finding myself teetering between shutting down ("I'm going to ignore Facebook right now") and also automatically writing the story's ending. ("This is Nazi, Germany. This escalates from here. Next comes the [insert parade of horrors]"). But then I realized that when my mind creates that ending, that is the ending we get. So I decided to choose a different ending. This story will end with love of millions raising voices and declaring, we demand ferocious, expansive love that protects, lifts, reunites and heals.
Wanted: people willing to shine light into darkness.
Are you a fan of The Artist’s Way?
Can we talk about how hard April has been? Really hard. You would think I'd be prepared, knowing it's the cruellest month and all. But nope. There has been an endless onslaught of bad news for people I care about. Tragedy, loss, injustice. One after another. (I need to close my FB feed for real.)… Continue reading Where the rubber meets the road
I think it's time to forgive all the Sarahs. Heck, not just forgive them -- thank them! They were doing the best they could. They had lessons to learn! I couldn't be who I am today without them. Wait, this is sounding like an acceptance speech . . . "I'd like to thank the academy,… Continue reading I’d like to thank all the Sarahs . . .
Before there were synced calendars and day planners and even before there were trapper keepers, there was a little girl who sat in trees. She sat in the trees for what felt like hours, though it might have been mere minutes. She dreamed, journal-ed and sketched. She transported to a place of joy and bliss, cradled in the crooks of maples and oaks, conversing with imaginary beings.