Spring is Springing.

Oh, thank goodness! The gloomy days of The Pacific Northwest were not made for this sun-loving girl.  I am clearly much more productive when the sun is shining. However, the bright green buds, making their way out of those pokey branches sure does stir the soul. Every time I walk by the white crocus' on the corner, or the lilac tree out my window, I am reminded that even the sleepiest of seasons will end. Light will break forth, bulbs will shoot up from the ground and hope will abound, even in this dark heart. Over the last few years, I have been walking around with a suitcase full of hopelessness. Not sure why I insisted on dragging it along with me all of this time, but the new light of the season has helped me to put it down. I find hope in the longer days, the flowers and leaves defying gravity to push upward is very inspiring. To the Sun, I say, To the Sun!

Doorways

I haven't opened a lot of doors lately. To be honest, I have been afraid. I have been afraid to make friends, afraid to see old friends, lots of fear up in these parts. But, just as Spring is poking out her pretty little head, I think I am less afraid. Less afraid to remember that being happy belongs to me and while traumatic events have transpired, I still control my own actions. It doesn't mean that I am not afraid. Nor would I want to be, but I am walking through a new door, I can't wait to see where it leads. 

I just rented a space here. It was kind of out of the blue, I was hoping to sell some of the treasures I have happened upon. Instead, I was offered a small space to sell them myself. Thanks, Universe! I didn't even see that one coming. Xo.

Heart Forces

I am 45 and a half years old. It is funny how time passes and here we are. Ages that seemed so foreign when I was 10. 25, 30, 40, 70. Some of those ages seemed like different planets from my youthful vantage point. I remember calculating that I would be 32 in the year 2000. It seemed like a future I could not imagine. Would I even be alive? But 32 has come and gone. I was alive. I was living, raising young children, training to be a Waldorf teacher. It was pleasant and full, 32. The trouble I am having right now, at 45, is why has it taken me so long to love myself? Truly love myself for all of my shortcomings, my mistakes, my triumphs? My husband gets frustrated with me that I am never satisfied with my good work, that I seem surprised when I excel. Shit, you got me. I don't know. 

I just recently decided to speak more kindly to myself. Really sweetly, like you would speak to a pudgy handed toddler. Patient, full of love and fully honoring kind of speech. It feels good. It motivates me to do things I have been putting off. It inspires me to look more softly at my reflection in the mirror. It is easier than I thought it would be, I would dare say I wish I had not waited so long, but that wouldn't be very nice...Xo.