I really don’t want to introduce her this way. After all, who wants to be defined by what holds them back? But, I think it’s important in understanding her story; how her weaknesses were made strengths. Read more…
Blog Posts
*photo is my beautiful best friend, reveling in a very human moment with her little Superman
Birth and death have so much in common. There is a sort of melancholy magic in the process of the formless spirit becoming flesh, then becoming spirit once again. I think that our time here on earth is a short window in the timeline of our souls – and what exquisite joy and pain it is to be human.
I want to feel this human-ness.
I don’t want to miss out on a single moment of the divinity of existence. Read more…
I stand, locked, in front of the Van Gogh. I feel dizzy, lightheaded as it draws me into itself. My feet are planted, but I feel my body being pulled into the scene. My eyes break away for a second and I glance around, wondering if anyone else feels what I feel – the energy and joy and anger and consciousness emanating from that painting…I reel backward, tearing my eyes away. Next, the Picasso. Hours later, I leave the museum in an exhausted sweat. Read more…
The fit was impressive to watch, really. And, since I was watching from between his ears and on his back, it was a little frightening as well. Sitting on 1200lbs of pissed-off muscle that has the ability to run record-breaking speeds and throw your ass a dozen yards across the arena is not exactly where you want to be as a rider. Read more…
She’s diving. Sweating. Throwing herself to the floor. Her skin scrapes across the mats. Her hips and knees are bruised. She hits the ball down, and girls on the other side of the court duck as it flies millimeters away from their faces. A few of them aren’t quite so lucky and have the ball marks on their foreheads to show for it. They walk away rubbing and shaking the parts of their bodies she has nailed. She stands up and turns around, grins, throws her head back and yells…YEAHHH!! The points rack up; there’s a monster on the court.
She’s a natural.
Or is she? Read more…
After growing up in a wildly Conservative church and watching it attempt to destroy my family in the wake of my sisters’ coming-outs, I determined to have nothing to do with organized religion again.
If one were to measure my belief in “the Divine”, it would definitely have to be on a sliding scale. The sliding scale would look something like this:
Good day: “Spiritual” in the “new-agey,” search for greater meaning sense.
Medium day: Agnostic – I really don’t know what to believe. I don’t have proof either way.
Bad day (aka, I watched the news): I don’t think there is a God. And if there is, he/she’s flipped us the bird and walked away. Read more…
I sat there in the child therapist’s office, wondering how I got there. Read more…
I am so cranky this morning that I’m getting on my OWN nerves. I’m taking a lesson from my woman crush: Jill Scott. I mean, really. How can you not love her?
With her love of fashion, fun, handsome men and humanitarianism, I’ve often wondered if I could have been Audrey Hepburn in another life. But what most endears me to her is her quote: “I was born with an enormous need for affection and a terrible need to give it.” What is so apparent to me in these words is a quiet desperation, desperation with which most naturally affectionate people immediately relate.
People who know me would describe me as very warm and affectionate, bordering on mushy. I’m a hugger. A kisser. A lover. A giver of warm words and gifts. It bubbles out of me almost constantly, like a well with a deep-seeded spring of passion. I don’t have to try; it just happens, and I adore when all of those things are given to me in return.
I step out of the shower, surrounded by mirrors. Every day, I revisit the stretch marks from pregnancy. Check. The sagging skin from my weight loss. Check. My miniscule chest. Check. I look away.
“I have gone marking the atlas of your body
with crosses of fire…”