cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
On the wall in my yoga studio’s bathroom hangs a photo of Bob Dylan with his words: “All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” I smile every time I see it, feeling reaffirmed that after nearly four decades of life, I’m still figuring “me” out. It’s ironic that these words that resonate…
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I was in the kitchen while my two daughters—ages 2 and 4—sat in front of me eating breakfast. Always curious about what happens in their little minds, I stayed quiet to give space for them to share their thoughts, knowing something conversation-worthy would arise. My oldest soon spoke up. “Mom, do you love your face?”
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I have grown to love the significance of rituals that mark beginnings and endings with purpose and beauty. Sitting amongst a beautiful group of women recently, I eagerly anticipated our time together. I had high expectations of sharing stories and nurturing the new relationships that come with a well-orchestrated women’s retreat. I was especially looking…
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More grey splashes against dark curls. Cheeks sag and skin spots darken. Aging creeps in with Crow’s feet around my eyes.
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There is a photo I love that my daughter took on a southern beach several years ago. Brown curls float around my freckled face in the sea breeze. Sitting in the sand and gazing toward the horizon, I watch salmon and burgundy-colored clouds float to position for the sunset. Golden hour lights fine lines and…
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In my life I have often found that the thing I most desperately long for in others is the quality I am longing for within myself. I have wanted to feel safe. I have wanted friendships that I could trust. I have wanted friends that I could depend on. I have longed at times to…
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Release grandeur Embrace the unnoticed Release hurry Embrace now
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Sing it Kierra! “I don’t know if you have noticed, I’m doing me and I love it. I just ran through the fire. Please don’t judge me.” Piping in the background is my new theme song. The lyrics wrap around me like a veil.
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I stared at the number on the scale, then stepped off quickly so it would disappear before my husband made his way into the room. How could I have let it get this bad? I began to run the numbers in my head, each one a new accusation. I was scarily close to my self-defined…
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Standing in the living room of my parent’s house, my dad handed me his phone, showing me a picture he had taken while on vacation. The photo was of a bus billboard that read “The world needs you to be who you are.” “Isn’t that neat?!” he exclaimed with excitement. “You should write something about…
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