Posted on March 8, 2019
I have a dear friend, Carter, who is wiser than most. We have rock climbed together throughout the years, and a couple back we were discussing why we love it. What he said then I’ve leaned on in so many moments (his words paraphrased): “Some people climb for the crux, the hardest move in the sequence. Their goal is to conquer the most difficult part. But we climb for so many other reasons. To be in nature. To share a campfire and guitar strumming and good food with close friends. To be on the climbing route, moving our bodies, stretching and working and feeling the journey. In each climb we confront our fear, address it, keep moving, confront fear again, address it, keep moving. What I learn about myself from those routes is what keeps me climbing. Not just beating that crux.”
Yesterday I was climbing Red Mountain, on skis this time. A few hours in, we traversed a very steep, sketchy section on 8 inches of new powder, and a layer of ice underneath. With each tentative step I took, I heard circling in my head: “fear, address it, next step. Fear, address it, next step.” Then: “The more you do this, the less fearful you will be. You will have been here before.”
Once safe in a stand of trees, I said, “Let’s head down. I’m good.” Fear talking. I still had strength and power but didn’t feel the need to go on to be satisfied. But as an experiment, and a more stable way to continue, we then took off our skis and put them on our backs, something I had never done before. And we said “we’ll go maybe 10 steps, this is just to get used to it”. My highly experienced partner lead the way, doing a vast majority of the hard work, breaking trail. We walked to one set of trees as a stopping goal, then pushed on to another, then pushed on to yet another. We thought that we were 1000 feet from the summit and knew we weren’t going to make it to the top because of the time of day, but we kept on. We’ve come this far…just a bit more. As I hiked the last thirty steps to where my partner stopped in our committed finish spot, the blowing snow cleared. Like magic. After lunch, we looked behind us to see that the summit was just a few/five hundred feet above us. Within reach. But it was too late to continue, so we headed down. The steep slope giving us a whoop! inducing run, earned hard and well enjoyed.
When something induces fear, it can force us to either back off or keep going. There are only two choices. We don’t live in the middle. When we keep going, we lay down one more data point of possibility. And when we return to a similar situation, that data point reminds us that we are capable. We overcame fear and came out the other side one notch up, opening us up to the next challenge. Confront fear. Address it. Keep moving.
Posted on March 4, 2019
49. I know that it seems impossible. It always does in early March, when we’re in the last throes of winter, days still feel short and nights long (we spring forward in only 6 days!!) and there isn’t a sign of spring to be found. Not a bird chirping, a leaf forming, a crocus emerging. But we are almost there! Before long everyone in the checkout line will be complaining about the heat (sigh). So join me in ringing the bell for spring by registering for our 11th Annual Cherry Blossom Mini Sessions! Registration opens tomorrow, March 5th at 12pm EST. Mark your calendars and check back for the registration link, as we typically sell out in 24 hours. Can’t wait to see you all there!
Posted on March 3, 2019
48. Today I spent the morning on a long walk with my friend, talking politics and life and family dynamics. After that I went to the Co-op because I’m obsessed with making almond milk these days, so am, well, out of almonds. I was putting the almonds into jars in the pantry, and came across this kite that I had bought for my nephew for Christmas. Gifts were a shake uneven this year, so I hung back on giving it to him then. But, as he lives in Detroit and they are still in deep freeze territory, I decided to send him the kite as a signal to spring, and a paper snowflake as a reminder that winter is lovely and only lasts a short time.
I couldn’t remember offhand how to make a successful snowflake out of office paper. I tried and made a few cute, but square ones (and thought – hmmm, maybe I should dip that in natural dye of turmeric or beet, and frame it???) but returned to the task at hand. They didn’t look like the angular, diamond shaped snowflakes that I remember making in 3rd grade. So I headed to YouTube, and followed a diagram-based video created by a TEACHER OF PAPER SNOWFLAKE MAKING (anything is possible, kids). But when I opened them, they fell apart into four pieces instead of one. I had followed the written instructions directly, compensating for my left-handedness and reversing all of the steps, but still. Broken snowflakes. Pretty, but not what I was going for. So I went to the next YouTube video, this one an actual video, of hands and folding and cutting, and got it first try.
I could write now about how this relates to our experience in life – about how we learn, how we get our information, how we vet our information, balance it against other approaches, process the world around us, and much more. But instead, I’ll leave you with this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59dOIF3PMjY
A lovely way to spend a cold, sunny, Sunday afternoon.
Posted on February 28, 2019
47. I just had to turn off NPR mid-way through a story on eating disorders. It was killing my morning vibe. But it triggered a thought about self-perception and and fitting-in. Fitting in, what is that? Fitting into what? It’s a ridiculous trap. I know that it seems so simple to say, but at times in our lives it feels impossible to ignore.
To find true balance and happiness, is it possible that we can unlearn what is expected of us (perceived or real), and instead learn to tune in? Tune in to that quiet truth that knows what makes us feel whole. Tuning out the noise of “yes, that’s cool, but to be truly happy you have to do all of this other stuff first”.
I’m 5′ 1″. I blush easily. I’m a hard working space cadet. I don’t have children at 41. I uprooted my life and moved across the country and essentially started over. I am doing all of the things that I’m not supposed to do, I suppose. If I were 5’7″ and could fit into clothes designed for a 16-year-old high-fashion waif model, and had 1.5 children and a predictable career. Well, I don’t worry about any of those things any more. But I did. For a while there, I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be sure to DO THINGS RIGHT because that would prevent me pain. It would prevent the worst from happening, it would assure my safety, security, success and happiness. And it was all a lie. The only thing thing that came of not challenging what I was expected to do was frustration. Tuning into who you are and what you want and need is not dangerous. It’s not scary. It’s following a true path that will become easier once you commit to it. The whole world will open up if you let the whole world be. And focus instead on just on being you.
This is my favorite image from a few weeks back. I’m in the backseat of my sisters car, on our way to do a family session at the beach. Her stepson Kyle is scrolling through Twitter next to me, and I glance through his bent arm to see the precious cheeks of her daughter. Without an ounce of fitting in energy having yet invaded her little spirit.
Posted on February 26, 2019
46. I have written this blog for 46 mornings now, mainly about nature, beauty, and personal growth.
But this morning, yesterday, and for about 300 days before that, my accountant and I have been in a struggle with the DC Regulatory Affairs office over something so minor it is actually mind-numbing. Calling them again had to be the first task on my to-do list or I would not do it.
So sometimes you wake up to write. And that place in your brain that should be space and inspiration is instead filled with acronyms, forms and who you need to call next. There isn’t a creative drop available to lean on. In fact, creativity is taking a break while you get this junk sorted. But without her, my mind is a drag. My job is a drag. My days feel filled with mundane tasks that do not fill me.
So I’m making a commitment today to be my creative spirit’s best (and only, really) advocate. To give space and inspiration an actual place on the calendar. It now says “8 – 9am Space and Inspiration” and “2 – 3pm Space and Inspiration” and “5:00 – 5:30pm Space and Inspiration.” Who knows if I’ll use all of those slots. And what they’ll be filled with. I’ll let you know.
I think that this is what it’s all about. Whether your an artist, an entrepreneur, an accountant or a doctor – there is something that makes you see, makes you feel alive. How do we protect that very thing and give it priority seating throughout the day? Not when it’s convenient, but when we don’t seem to have anything left?
P.S. This is a photo from my solo cross country trip a few years back. Space and Inspiration every morning. Crawl out of tent, stretch, write, map the day on the road atlas. And repeat.
Posted on February 25, 2019
45. I was sitting on our sailboat, engine off, floating in the Puget Sound with some good friends, as we watched it rise. The moon rose like opportunity. As a surprise. A rebirth, powerful in its potential and its beauty.
Posted on February 22, 2019
44. I’ve been in Hawaii for the last week, with a best friend who I met on the street in D.C. a decade and a half ago. She and I were among the rare few in a city to make eye contact, talk with strangers, and follow up. We both showed the vulnerability of wanting (and needing) friends, opened ourselves up to the possibility that meeting someone new might be awkward, and took those risks regardless. And man, was that risk worth it. Erin is a soul sister, she has been an honest witness to my life, and has said the hard things that needed to be said in moments where I was at an impasse. We have put in thousands of miles in our well worn sneakers, training for marathons and breathing in the air of Rock Creek Park (and Port Angeles, California, New Mexico and K’auai), filled with gratitude for natural beauty, especially in the season of falling leaves and rushing waters. Her husband took vacation and cared for their three boys so that she and I could take this last week to run, hike, get muddy, snorkle, yoga, read and talk. A reset for the both of us. I couldn’t be more grateful to a couple who always says “yes” instead of “maybe”. Love you girl.
Posted on February 17, 2019
43. Bucket lists. I don’t have one. I’m of the belief that today is the one day that we have for sure, and so if there’s a desire to do or see something, now is the time. We can balance responsible living with living with passion and exploration. It just takes a bit of practice, flexibility and imagination. And often another who reminds you that anything is possible. But Yosemite in the winter time, that had been on my list. I had lived aside the Merced River just outside the park for a summer after college. Three students and I were hired by the Department of the Interior to perform energy audits of park buildings. We lived in a double-wide trailer with a coin operated laundry machine, bears invading our dumpster each evening, and a view of the wild Merced and surrounding mountains that was jaw dropping. Yosemite feels so familiar, after seeing it from the bowels of the operations: the facilities department, the backs of kitchens, the stockrooms. Having spent that time, I always wondered how it would feel to walk through that sacred land on skis, after the hundreds of thousands of tourists had gone home for the harsh winters, planning their return for the following July. So a couple of winter seasons ago, as my partner and I drove home from LA to Seattle, we passed through the park. Our back country skis had been in the car, but in a just in case fashion. We had no plan. We had work and life to attend to back in Seattle. But in true serendipity, we snagged two last minute openings in a back country cabin, and hiked 12 miles on skis to paradise. A little cabin in a bowl of snow welcomed us after a grueling day of up and down. We entered to a warming fire, twenty cots, a giant farm table, a cookstove to prepare our simple meals, and two dedicated days to ski and unplug. We made some fast friends, and experienced true connection with others, ourselves, the brilliant night sky and the tremendous power of nature. Yosemite in the winter. Check, check and check. And yet another reminder to put yourself in the way of magic. To say yes, when it’s far easier to say “nah, I gotta get home to do the laundry.”
Posted on February 16, 2019
42. This is Annie, checking me out….using her own lens as I work with mine. It took me a minute to see her, as just Joey and Jimmy were in the frame to begin with. I think many photographers go into a session with an expectation of what will come out of it, if we control the scene. But after all of these years, the images that I love the most are when I let the the subjects drive the train. There’s a risk there – the risk of not knowing what the result will be, but, like life, taking risks pays off.
Posted on February 14, 2019
41. Here, in Kaua’i. Working while looking out over the ocean, the crashing waves are waking my senses and reminding me that life is both ever changing and rhythmically the same. This contradiction lives within me, qualities I would prefer to change, the appreciation for who I am, the memory for who I was and the dream of who I want to be. All of this, and yet, it’s just life. It’s just today that I have tucked away for sure. It’s a pretty good day.