Category Archives: Poetry & Prose

Note to Self

I’ve got plenty of great pictures and adventures to catch you up on, dear reader, really I do, but right now, I have something important I’d like to get off my chest…

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Note to Self

It’s time to put down that rock you’ve been holding –
the one painted in self-deprecation,
the one that deflects any and all compliments
and shields you from accepting praise.

Your history is steeped in dysfunction.
Deal with it.
Own it.
Go tell it on a fucking mountain
so you never have to feel like it’s
some secret to keep hidden
ever again.

Don’t let the demons you face down
overshadow your pursuit of new happiness.
Keep moving forward.

You’ve crossed the chasm.
Accept it.
Own it.
You belong where you are
just as much as the next person.
You are no lesser a being than they
and you have no one to apologize to
waving from the rear-view mirror.

Stop pretending and cling tight
to that false confidence you muster.
The only one not already buying it
is you.

Throw off the bowlines.
Uncover the true colors.
Let the flag fly.
Whatever mantra gets you through.

No more competing, comparing and self-criticizing yourself
into a shallow echo of the person screaming to come out.

No more standing on the sands of insecurity.
The waves of confidence call.
So your cup runneth over?
It’s high-time you try swimming.

– – – – –

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a stone to deliver to the depths of Lake Michigan.

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“If You Could Have Anything You Wanted…” – A Post on Following Your Bliss

“I don’t even know what I’m so unhappy about. Something just feels off,” I told her through inexplicable tears as I gazed past the stunning 12th-floor skyline, back turned to my desk, phone pressed to my wet cheek.

What did I have to complain about?? I had a wonderful husband, a near-new beautiful baby boy, and a recent job promotion under my belt – well past the cringe-inducing misfortune that had riddled my extended family in recent years (stories for another time, referenced here only for perspective’s sake).

Looking back now, what she responded with seems so simple and entirely profound: “If you could have anything you wanted, right now, what would it be?”

Little did I know, that singular question, posed so organically, would lead me down a path that showed me what it means to actually “follow your bliss” – a phrase I’d discovered in my college days, but wouldn’t come to fully grasp for almost another year.

Truth was, over the course of visiting that wise friend, who’d recently climbed out on a limb of her own, I’d glimpsed a place that felt more like ‘home’ than anywhere I’d lived in a very long time, and I wouldn’t be content again until I got back to it.

You see, I never knew you could love a place the way you fall in love with a person – to find your geographic match, so to speak. Soon enough, though, Jim, Jackson and I jumped the chasm and moved to Traverse City.

Tonight, almost exactly two years after that 1,000 mile journey from Georgia, I stood outside the home we just purchased, just a few blocks from the water that our little family’s trio of opposing elements seems so drawn to, as two deer played just beyond our yard and a baby owl (the first I’ve ever personally witnessed) called for its Mama – a sweet, soft whirring sound. It might not sound like much, but it felt like complete contentment.

In the off chance that the other pages of this blog haven’t already sufficienly conveyed it, I fully acknowledge what a blessed woman I am. And what I really mean to say is this…

Like bliss pouring from a fountain,
I catch what I can in a humble cup.
I brag not, but implore you:
Find your tap and guzzle up.

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Would That It Might

elements take root, seed reaches forth;
downward radicals developing long before light of day,
groundwork manufactured by mother nature, father time.

Would that it might send it’s shoot upward, in confidence.
a patchwork plethora of floral options,
bouquets worth of fates

blue bell,
beautiful, intense,
and crestfallen.

wished on, purposefully surrendered,

holly bush,
tolerant, protective
and awkward.

above broken ground,
all that isn’t cut down
eventually blossoms.

does the fruit and flower bearer
not long for a vineyard’s fate,
as men mourn for longevity?

rather than wither up,
or be plucked –
one man’s final feast or adornment –

surely the fate of the grape is to be envied?
essence pressed, bottled and corked,
for broader consumption at some ‘later’ to speak of.

how man longs to live on;
life poured onto pages
like wine stored away;

hoping to be imbibed,
to affect change beyond the grave.

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