Ides of July

I am fortunate to have my summers “off.” Early June typically formulates a long, naively ambitious to do list. This year,was no different as I set out with my goals in hand, and now it’s July.

My writing has consisted of primarily incomplete drafts and ramblings. I have not yet established healthier routines. There are no meals prepped, cooked, and stored for busy school nights. Instead, I’ve rested. I’ve taken in sunsets with wine in hand. Trips to the ER for stitches and freshly painted bedrooms have taken up their fair share.  Mornings have been spent dozing and waking in and out sleep, one of my favorite things ever.  Coffee on the back porch and family dinners on the front porch bookend most days.  And let’s not forget the mountains of clothes and bedding that were eventually  laundered and put away a few evenings ago to the beats of current and past dance hits.

Now in the ides of July, I’m accutely aware of how much I have not accomplished. Thoughts of “could’ve,” and “should’ve” are relentless.  I try to remind myself that this is my season of pleasure and rest, and productivity will resume in due time. But as I wrote the last sentence, I realized that I have been productive. I’ve been productively living. The idea that success is only measured by a product, is dangerously unhealthy and inaccurate. Healing takes time. Loving takes times. Learning and growth take time. Creating takes time. The laws of time mirror the laws of matter. One moment can not occupy the same space as another moment.

I’d like to think that this composition will be a catalyst for me to correct my lackadaisical efforts, but realistically I know that this is not the case.  Instead, I’d rather find a balance between the chores, rest, and products.  I long for simplicity and connection, not necessarily checked off to-do’s, regardless of what they are.  I crave spontaneous moments that will age into fond memories.  The products can wait while I soak in whatever the summer brings me.  Keep bringing it Summer!


PS-This entry was inspired by Bekah Jane Pogue’s latest entry.  It touched my heart and prompted me to share, as I related so much to her words.  You may find her blog post here:



Tunnel Vision

What happens when you’re traveling through a tunnel? The beginning is dark and cold. Fear may set in as you anticipate what may unexpectedly come to you. You can’t see around you, or where you are going. You simply trust the forward momentum and keep traveling. Slowly the light at the end begins to shine through and illuminates your path.

Each of us in some degree, from time to time travel through our own tunnel. When we do, we are separate from the outside world. As dark as it maybe, the tunnel provides safety and secure shelter. We are in our own world, unaware to the happenings outside. Sometimes, this is exactly where we need to be. Other times, the shelter creates division and ignorance. We are then lost and trapped by our fears. In the tunnel we are blinded by our own selfishness. We are preoccupied by our own troubles, unaware of others’ trials and tribulations. We only know the walls that surround and hold us captive.

What happens we take those first steps out of our tunnels, into the light, to be with one another? Judgment fades, empathy grows, and connections deepen. We become present for one another, without shadows to hide in. We are fearlessly whole in the open light. We start to pick up our burdens, sharing the weight together. We shed the divisive boundaries that once held us apart in order to reunite.

Letting go is proving to be harder, more painful, and frightening than I ever previously assumed. I was lost in my own tunnel. Now, the light trickling in leads me to believe I’m nearing the end, but I still can’t see what lies ahead. My steps are still uncomfortable, but I continue. Taking the time and lessons I need and letting go of what I don’t, I move closer to the light.

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