cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
There are facets of my being that love to stretch out and take up space. It feels real and raw. It feels free—I can be me. For most of my life, the bliss of this hasn’t lasted very long. Oftentimes, opportunities to stretch out to my full stature provoke internal conflict in the depth of…
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I want to be the sanctuary. I want to be Rivendell, where wanderers heal. I want to be Narnia, where everything sad comes untrue. I want to be the riverside, where you study war no more. I want to be the mirror, where you see yourself beloved. I am a human woman, and my latitude…
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“What if you try stretching your arms out in front of you to feel the walls of your space? Feel how much space you physically take up,” my therapist suggests as she demonstrates with her arms freely outstretched around her.
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It’s late. Amidst moving boxes, I’m trying to squeeze a bit of time in to tell you a story about how joy is an act of beautiful rebellion. But it turns out that writing about joy when it feels rebellious is really, really difficult. I’m tired, a little frightened, and sad. And tonight, writing about…
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I have a black-and-white photo of my grandmother from the 1940s that I treasure. She’s dressed in pants and a flannel, kneeling in the grasses of an Oklahoma prairie, focused on something ahead. Balanced on her shoulder is a rifle of some sort. Her hair is short and curled, messy from the breeze. And though…
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Yep, here I am. Rockin’ my routine within the cozy confines of my comfort zone. I am not adventurous. I have a deep appreciation for structure and the beauty of things remaining the same. Uniformity. Straight Lines. Symmetry. I’ve got everything lined up in perfect rows just like I like it. When everything is as…
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What felt like the bitter end was really the sweet beginning. The sweet beginning to a new life. The bitter end to oppression. The bitter end to patterned, repeated, intentional, and willful systematic oppression. The sweet beginning to freedom from suppression and systemic fear.
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I see a little girl, arms held tight around a strong neck.
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