writing

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Coastal Language of Ambiguous Loss & Disenfranchised Grief

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

I can sense the relief in my interactions with others these days. It is FINALLY light after 5:30pm! Yes! Folks are smiling again. Hope in the form of longer days in the Northern Hemisphere has arrived. We passed the midpoint of winter February 1st and “suddenly” first light crests the horizon well before 7am and daylight lingers longer. Last Tuesday at 6pm when I set out on my Mazama Street Ramble, there was still a vague hint of light in the west as stars started to bud. A clear night blossoming after a day of steady rain.

Nature takes the seasonal shifts in stride. If I look back through my camera roll, there are photos of daffodil tips poking through the soil in February from years past. Already the hellebore are blooming and if I draw a dogwood twig close to my eyes I can see the beginnings of budding. From a distance the deciduous trees appear to still be slumbering, but beneath their exterior they are awakening. It all feels predictable…or at least variations on a theme. And humans, for the most part, we like predictable.

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Lessons from the Pandemic: Have You Taken Time to Be Still? Invitation to a Workshop: Recognizing & Honoring Life Transitions

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Cricket songs offer me a nightly symphony, a sure sign autumn has arrived even as we are set for a hot spell the next week in my Pacific NW neighborhood. Being awash in their chirps grounds me. Brings me back into my body as I sit and breath in and out their consistent thrum, listening for other night noises. It is usually the hum of cars passing by or a drift of conversation from a neighbor, but, occasionally I can hear a tree branch yawing upward toward the moon or flapping wings of a bird out past curfew.

, ,

Lessons From My Mentor, Grief: Crossing Thresholds, Honoring the Pause

, ,

I rise these days with the sun. The alarm has been set aside. I walk instead of swim. I’ve become reacquainted with my neighborhood. The pulse of spring rife with birdsong flows around me like the water of the pool used to. Daffodils are leaving the main stage and tulips have made their entrance. Two weeks ago, an apple tree with furled cocoon-like leaves and tight, cream colored buds is now a riotous white and green harbinger of late summer delight. Last week I walked to the highest point in our neighborhood to see the pink moon grazing tree tops. No sense of hurry—the moon or I.

, , , , , , ,

Grief: On Keening, Honesty, Healing, and even a bit of Whimsy

, , , , , , ,

The rain has settled in for the day as I settle into the beige velvet chair of my hotel room—laptop open, journals in piles, scattered papers, and iPhone camera roll close at hand. I have returned to my favorite retreat during the winter months—the Oregon Coast. Cannon Beach. I have come to write. Take time to focus on what is becoming a persistent poke at my heart. Actually, it is more akin to having several toddlers gathered around my ankles all vying for my attention. “Write me!” “No, work on me!” Poems. Non-fiction prose. Blog posts. That book about my spiritual sojourn and weaving it into the journey through my mother’s Alzheimer’s. How grief became my mentor through that journey. That area where from my training and experience I am an expert, so I have something to offer, right? They are all clamoring for my attention.

, , , ,

Gestation, Grief, and Gratitude

, , , ,

The air has been crisp as a tree-fresh apple this week. My cheeks slipping into redness as my hands dive into my pockets and the morning moon lingers high in the west. The waning moon holding onto night even as the sun rises low in the late autumn sky. I want to hold onto night, too. Want to snuggle under covers and discard the list of “shoulds” that I composed. Want to wane into the new moon of me and hide in the shadow of winter dark. To take a small candle and explore my interior landscape one, small step at a time. Take midday naps. Engage with my dreams. Listen deep for what is next. Hit pause on my commitments. Does this resonate with you? This desire to go inward as days shorten.

, , ,

Abundance, Milestones, and Loss-Rounding a Corner on the Journey

, , ,

I invite you to visit a farmers’ market this time of year. The abundance flows from the stalls. I fill my bags with local produce even though I know, I mean I KNOW, I won’t get through everything. I am only feeding one person after all. But the fruits and veggies looked so delicious and autumn is underfoot as the first leaves begin to fall. It won’t be much longer and Sweet Sue peaches, Brandywine tomatoes, and Brooks prunes (reminiscent of my childhood) will disappear until next year.

Fierce Freedom

Most of my friends and co-workers have bid “good riddance" to 2016, even amidst births, memorable vacations, graduations, and other life milestones. Maybe that extra leap day tipped the scales. Maybe it was the election and other turmoil around the globe. I know I felt heaviness both personally and in a community context. My divorce was finalized in February after 33 years of marriage, my mother’s unfolding Alzheimer’s disease increased use of blackout curtains to conceal her memories, and on the 29th of December my pug companion of 15 1/2 years took his last breath.

Follow @nurtureyourjourney on Instagram

after a pause, my latest Substack, “teachers come in many forms,” is available. it is a reflection on how my children have been my teachers and the value of amazement, as well a few other tidbits including a couple of thoughts from my ret
a Substack reflection on failure, falling, letting go of certainty and how that allows for awe and wonder. and also the need to Slow Down. i hope in a world that demands your attention 24/7, you are finding time to Slow Down and be tender with your h
this week’s Substack reflects on national poetry month and the importance of poetry in our lives from childhood to our elder years. how poetry can deepen conversations around difficult conversations. and can be playful too. i hope you take time
this week’s Substack (link in bio) delves into a difficult subject, deepfakes and the use of AI technology and how it harms “women and girls.” (i use more expansive language) and yes, i weave the natural world in there, because that
this week has been an emotional roller coaster and my latest Substack explores the journey through time spent with Birds and Water. Grief, loss, compassion…and gratitude. (it involves news I have to move again.) i hope you will take a few minu