I was speeding down the freeway, headed to a go-kart driving, laser-tag shooting, pizza place explosion of preteen entertainment. I was late. I was ambivalent.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I was speeding down the freeway, headed to a go-kart driving, laser-tag shooting, pizza place explosion of preteen entertainment. I was late. I was ambivalent.
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I’ve been wearing the same yoga pants and t-shirt for 24 hours now.
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“We haven’t talked in a while.”
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It’s been three years now, almost to the day, and I still remember the fear, anxiety, and just plain dread that clouded that day.
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Our daughter Katie is graduating from high school in a few short weeks. I am already anticipating how quickly the summer will pass, a blur of “last moments” before leaving for college in the fall.
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The silence is profound as I walk quietly among the giant trees in the deep forest. Footsteps muffled in the thick moss.
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“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as the storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full…
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March is full of longing in Michigan.
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Around the middle of our years in graduate school at The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology—steeped in self-reflection, therapy, and the rehashing of our personal stories—my girlfriends and I were learning all about the importance of self-care.
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Here’s the truth: no one is harder on me than me.
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