Winter

I am drawn to contrasts. To the desert and the desolate. To the cold, frozen tundra. For even in the desert, brilliant species of cacti thrive. Even in an Icelandic winter, emerald moss sprawls itself on the rugged terrain and grass emerges beneath the snow and ice. Waves crash on the frozen, rocky shores, and the mountains sparkle with dustings of powdered sugar snow against periwinkle skies.

Winter can be harsh, but life emerges despite its harshness. If things were always warm and pleasant and easy, I would never know what it’s like to be challenged. To die and be reborn. To face my utter weaknesses and yet be surprised by my secret strengths.

So I embrace you, winter. I embrace you — understanding that you, my dear familiar winter, may not always give way to spring. But I will try to hold on to the little things. How the crispness of your air reminds me that blood flows through my veins. How you welcome the sun’s warmth, just as summer does. And how you show me over and over again that life not only persists, but thrives, under your brilliantly bright cloak of white.

Perspective

As I looked at a sunset panorama I captured tonight with my phone, I began to analyze how some of the lines were crooked --- how I didn’t hold the phone steady enough, how imperfect it was. But I’m reminded now that often times the world is full of beauty – astounding beauty; and yet, we can’t see it because our perspective is skewed. We focus on what is flawed, what we’re doing wrong, what we could be doing better. But in that tendency to overanalyze, to think purely with a critic’s mind, we miss it.

Life. Beauty. Stillness. Love.

Perfection is pointless. Love cannot exist without first knowing pain. Beauty and peace and hope cannot thrive without us first feeling broken and lost and despondent. So I’d rather capture something in all its imperfections – in all its raw authenticity. Because that is the definition of beauty – in nature, in life, and in ourselves. Nothing else compares. Nothing else is worth our time.

Unexpected Rainstorms

When caught in an unexpected rain storm, how often do we slow down and let the rain wash over us? Even if it drenches us. Ruins our makeup. Reveals our tired, un-shiny selves that aren’t always so put together. The beauty of life is in those quiet, random, seemingly chaotic moments, but too often we run from them – these moments that weren’t part of the plan. Moments that are scary. Moments that make us vulnerable. But we are meant to feel things. To experience things. To approach life with wonder and reckless abandon. So next time it rains and you find yourself running for cover, slow down. Wait. Be still. And remember that the beauty and magic we so often search for in the mundaneness of our routines are often found in those small moments – trickling down into our souls, like raindrops on our cheeks.

Unsaid

People can recover from harsh words
However long it may take,
But people can never recover
From things left
Unsaid.
 

Too Much

You feel too much.
You share too much.
You think in sharing maybe understanding will come.
But it's too much to put that on anyone.
Your best friend says, "Maybe try being less open -
I hate saying that to you because that's not what you should be,
But maybe you should be."
It's hard to bare your soul, eyes swollen.
It's hard to name your flaws, and then have others name them back to you,
As if you didn't just name them.
As if you don't beat yourself up already a million times over a million different moments
For those very same flaws.
You want to care. You want to be let in to someone else's pain.
But they have to let you in.
You can't just break in.
Just like you can't expect someone else to break into yours.
You deserve to be walked with. But not because you're broken. Because you're worth it.
And walked with means different things.
Talks in rooms about all the what could be's, if you could just be better.
Or sitting with you in your dark and just being.
Breathing.
Accepting.
Fighting.
Together.
Losing the things that bring you joy leave you questioning
Where is the meaning?
Where are the silver linings when clouds are darkest?
If the purpose in your gifts is to give them away,
And you're not able to give,
What then?
Are your passions less potent when you're weak? Less valid when you're vulnerable?
Must you be perfectly whole first?
You are too much.
But somehow you are never enough.
I guess "normalcy" falls somewhere in the middle,
And you seem to miss the mark every time.
This weight you carry is overwhelming.
And words and hugs and talks will not lessen it.
We all carry our own great sadness.
I wish I knew yours, and you knew mine.
It would not be too much.
Perhaps some of us are just meant to be creatures of the shadows.
That is why when the light shines in us,
It shines so brilliantly.
Maybe you feel too much.
Or maybe, you just feel.
But to feel means to be alive.
And that is something worth feeling too much for.