Absent to be Present

One of my students recently remarked at how open I am. She meant it as a compliment, and was asking for advice on how to be more this way, but for whatever reason, the word stopped me in my tracks. 

I think as a writer and artist you have to be able to show what lives beneath simply to survive. I don't argue with that. A lot of my most recent and current creative exploration exists much like so many of my childhood days: lifting up the rocks just to see what's living and squirming in the dark rich soil below. I love the real, the raw, the palpitating and visceral. I love the evidence that even in this sterilized technology soaked world, the muddy human condition still ives on.  I love to feel less alone in my own imperfections, collecting the slivers of beautiful humanity and humility I find along the way, like scant breadcrumbs leading toward Home. And I share what I love with the world through my art and my words. And so, yes, I am somewhat of an emotional exhibitionist, I suppose. 

But that word. Open. It made me so uncomfortable. I think mostly because I don't really want to be open. I don't really want to have a come-and-go-as-you-please policy when it comes to my life. That's never really been my thing. I married my second boyfriend ever. I've eaten the same breakfast every single day for five years. I know my mailman's first and last name and got him personalized dish towels for Christmas this year. I've always been a girl who'd rather dig deep wells than sow long, shallow fields. 

So yes, I need to be who I was born to be, and share what I was born to share. But I'm now exploring ways of doing so without feeling so one dimensional. 

One of those ways was changing my relationship with social media. 

I wasn't going to say anything. And then I was. And then I wasn't again. But then I keep getting emails and the most fascinating part about them is that they all seem to ask, "Did something happen? Are you OK?" As if disallowing the public an open ticket to my personal life could only happen under dire circumstances. Why else would someone choose not to have 10K followers? Why else would someone not care about hashtags?

I have drawn the conclusion that I am 99. I knit, I sew, I cook soups all day. I watch QVC, pinch kid's cheeks and for the life of me, no matter how hard I have tried, I just cannot feel fulfilled by the overflow of technology these days. 

But at the same time, I refuse to hide completely. 

So here is my plan. And I grant myself full and unconditional permission to change my mind at any time. But for today, my plan is to be absent from some forms of public sharing, so that I can be more present in others. My plan is to focus on being honest, but not necessarily wide open. I don't really want to show you every single sacred corner of my world. Some things are just for us. Just for my children. They deserve that, and I think I do, too. 

So, I promise. Nothing is wrong. Nothing happened. It's just that I'm trying my best to remain true to who I am, and not fall into the shoes of someone I am not. 

I hope you'll continue to enjoy the work and musings I do share. Because now I am putting these out there with deep reverence and intention. I am mindful, and that's the big shift.

I also really and truly hope that if you feel extra connected to me or my work, you'll come visit the rivers with me and become a real life friend.

I hope that you can understand. 

Maybe I'm not 100% exposed, but I am stubborn, and I'm determined to honor the voice in my heart that fights incessantly for the preservation of deep and meaningful well digging, even in the online world. And the art of holding the hands of a few really incredible friends, extra tight. 

I am grateful. Always. For all of it. And I am finding my way. One breadcrumb, at a time. 

 

 

Megan / A River Story

Truth: usually I spend a lot of time on my blog posts making sure the story is cohesive and tidy and just-so. But this River Story™ session taught me so much about finding the beauty in the chaos. About having the chaos be the beauty. 

The waters were flooded and dark and angry. My stress level was much of the same. I got stung by a bee on my left toe, after my boots got flooded, and before I stepped in a pile of spiky burs with just my soaking wet socks on. Nothing went as planned. Lily was there and was feeling sick and snappy. ANNNNND, there was belly laughter, and best friends, and bear hugs, and making it work moments that left me breathless. There was cooperating and team work, and swapping shirts and clothes to get the shot. There were holding hands and deer watching from tall hills and jack rabbits chasing invisible mice. 

The chaos is the beauty. All of it. 

Tommie / A River Story Next Day Preview

I don't know what it's like to be a single mother, and I won't even pretend to. But, all I have ever heard is how hard and brutal and challenging it is. And I have zero doubt it is, in fact, all of those things times a hundred thousand. 

However. Last night at the river showed me another side to single motherhood that broke my heart completely open. The bond between these three humans is like nothing I have ever, EVER, seen before in my life. The three of them are like three parts of one whole, in a way that is gentle and supportive and hilarious and loving and affectionate and loyal. 

Throughout the session, while I was watching these three move through the currents together, I felt pangs of deep admiration for the bond that only single mother families really know about. Sure there is the struggle, but my goodness, there is also a force there that nothing can touch.

Every single move made declared, with grace and without words, "We've made it through really hard things, we survived, and we did it together. Nothing will ever take that away. Nothing."

Over and over, it was all I heard reverberating in my heart. 

I didn't know about this side of raising children alone before, and my goodness am I one of the lucky ones for getting to feel the incredible and powerful warmth of it all, even if just for one afternoon by the river. 

I kid you not, as we were walking up the dark forrest trail back to our cars, right before us were three deer: One mama, one younger female, and one younger male, just growing his antlers. One by one they leapt across the trail, and we could feel the rumble of power under our feet. (I obviously cried on the way home!) 

You guys, I am not kidding. These River Stories are no joke. Sure, they are portrait sessions and sure the images are important, (and sure people copy the look of them) but after all of these magical and profound occurrences that happen time after time after time with me and these waters, I am fully aware that there is so much more going on than even I fully comprehend.

I just have to keep listening. Keep showing up. Keep unzipping my heart and letting it all out. 

 No matter what.

Last night I showed up wearing leggings with black and white designs only to realize, after getting in the water, that HELLO! the white parts are completely see-through. Also, I slipped on ten rocks and swore eleven times. And someone dropped a cell phone. But then the deer. And we felt them moving in our own bones when they jumped. And then to hold these images as proof of what really happens when you walk through fire and come out strong as steel. 

It's not perfect, life never is, but it is so damn gorgeous. 

And my reverence is unending.