Dalia + West

Sometimes when wedding clients, who you love, move to Austin, you meet for BBQ at the gas station up the street and have a photo shoot just for fun. Because I think I take Texas for granted sometimes, and I don't know a better way to slow down and find gratitude than from behind my camera. Last night I fell in love with roadside home-cooked collard greens and chicken and pecan pie made from nuts fallen from the tree in the backyard. Wildflower fields next to highways and  warm Spring nights begging for laughter. Y'all there is always, always, goodness to be found. 

How I Balance It All (I DON'T)

I live a life that always has conflicting commitments and priorities that are tied for first. It's not always easy to choose between a soccer game or a dance recital; or a hot shower or lunch with a dear friend. I keep seeing these inspirational blog posts and memes that say, "Remember what really matters," and I'm over here like, OK, cool, I get that. But what happens when everything that matters most happens at the same time? Which is every damn day. The answer is: I fail. I cannot be the best at everything all the time. In order to live the life that I am dedicated to living (filled with financial self sufficiency and family memories and writing and, and, and...) I let people down once in awhile. I look disheveled and a mess sometimes. I am exhausted and not able to be totally chipper and upbeat at every after-school PTA meeting. And I've come to a place where I fully accept and embrace that. 

If we are going to be friends you need to know this: I am not perfect. 

Being a working Mama is no joke, and over the years I've learned that balance is a myth told to sell things and create guilt. The fact of the matter is, for me, the secret is not finding a way to have it all figured out, but surrounding myself with supportive and nonjudgemental women who get it. Creating a network of other hardworking Mothers who won't fault me for not texting back right away because they know what it's like to fall asleep in your clothes on top of the sheets in the middle of reading Elephant and Piggie for the third time. We understand when we show up to the school potluck with a bag of gluten-free pretzels and 5 juice boxes that were just grabbed from the back of the pantry. We think our unwashed hair looks cute in topknots and we kidnap one another for gentle yoga classes when we haven't stopped working in 3 days. Or maybe we just let one another nap. Because, actually, unapologetic naps are really the best secret of all.  

Last week I went to pick Lily up from school and I forgot to put a bra back on before leaving the house. I was wearing a white totally see-through t-shirt, so I put on a giant sweatshirt I had in the back of my car. It was like 87 degrees out and I was pretty much getting heatstroke just to save all of the other parents and staff members from being forced to see my nipples. As I was waiting, one mom came over with her youngest in a stroller, wearing mismatched socks, and I told her my situation just for fun. She laughed and told me she always carries a small bag of extra underwear (and bras, and dry shampoo) in her trunk for everyone in her family, just in case. Because who wears bras at home or washes their hair everyday? Brilliant. There are Mother angels all around us. 

Whenever I get emails asking how I balance it all, I always want to say that I don't. Like, I don't even come close! I served my kids toasted frozen breakfast waffles for dinner last week! But I don't really let it get to me anymore because I have a little tribe of other Moms who are all in this together. No guilt or judging allowed. You forgot Easter was in two days? Cool. Let me overnight some Peeps and plastic eggs from Amazon Prime to your house. You haven't called in two weeks because you can barely see straight after traveling to Minnesota for a work training? Not an issue. I know you love me and we'll catch up once you can. 

Soooo, I guess this is all to say that rather than put your energy into trying to get it all right and find the illusive Land of Balance, which is impossible unless you have enough money to hire a small staff, find a few close friends who still love you even when you get it all wrong. They are out there, I promise. With bras hidden in their trunks. 

 

  

   

Our New Camper

It's a rainy Texas day, which brings with it exactly the kind of magic you'd think when water hits the desert. Rather than feeling gloomy or grouchy the way it did in Connecticut, it feels nourishing and awakening. The wildflowers that blanket the sides of the roads will burst open tomorrow thanks to all this water, and there's a certain appreciation for it all here. A shift. A difference I have come to love. 

And while I'm sitting on my couch in a blanket eating chocolate leftover from Lily's Easter basket, I am happy to be here. 

My adjustment to Texas has been tough. Like I never use the word hate, but I can honestly say I hated it here for a long time. And while I'd love to blame it on things outside of myself (the heat, the taxidermy shop across the street, the scorpions in our shoes) the truth is, I hated Texas because I felt stuck. This is a giant state with borders that feel years away. Once we sold the Airstream, and said goodbye to our full-time life on the run, I think my heart felt completely caged-in. I kept having these nightmares that I'd run for miles and miles until I was completely out of breath, and when I'd look around I'd only have gone a few feet.   

I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know if it even needed to be fixed. I just knew that a very beautiful and wild part of myself felt like it had died and I wasn't ready to grieve so I just did the best I could. 

Little by little, I began to appreciate the gifts that being a normal, civilized family can bring. Braedon has absolutely thrived in his school, earning the Leadership Award and making the best friends he's ever had in his life. He's somehow navigated early adolescence without one single door slammed in my face or one angsty meltdown. I didn't even know, until witnessing his journey, that it was possible for middle school to be some of the best years of your life. Lily has a confidence that can intimidate old weathered cattle ranchers, and her heart has seemed to grow to fit the expansiveness of the Texas sky. She wears cowgirl boots to the grocery store and sings songs about bluebonnets. In her school photos she is sitting on a bale of hay. Our kids play sports and take dance classes and have regular get togethers with their beloved pals. We have grown to know the first names of our neighborhood bank teller, gluten-free baker, handyman and gas station clerk. When we drop things off at the post office, they ask Braedon how his soccer games are, and notice when he's grown another inch. The familiarity of having friendly faces is something I so longed for on the road, and it warms my bones every time the lady who lives across from us hollers to Lily that she looks pretty in her new dress today, or asks with her deep Southern drawl, "Isn't the sunshine just wonderful this afternoon?" Thomas' computer science job feels like we've won the lottery, and I never even knew how much I loved a predictable and hearty paycheck until it landed in our bank account the second week in Austin. If I could have hugged that automatic deposit, I swear I would have.

Our routines are set. We make scrambled eggs each morning and tie shoes and brush teeth. We walk out the door at exactly 7:05 to beat the traffic at the second stop light. I get dressed and brush my hair and try to fit in as best I can. Dinner is on the table by 6:15 each night. There is comfort in all of this, I won't deny that.  

My heart has softened to this place and this domestic way of life. And yet...

I cannot pretend that I don't feel most at home in the middle of a forest with my hair messy and my feet muddy. Sure I can fold laundry and bake cupcakes for the PTA like the best of 'em, but only if I know there's an adventure somewhere calling my name. I crave wild rivers up to my collarbone and naked sunrise swims all alone and skin that smells like campfire ash. I long for no cellphone service and sleeping under the stars bundled closely with the ones I love the most. Not seeing anyone else for days and days, except for deer and wild pigs. I need to know that somewhere, in the middle of all of the day-to-day rhythm, there's a space to escape. 

I didn't have that when we first got here. But now, I do. 

Last week we picked out what is, perhaps, the ugliest camper in the world and yesterday we paid for it. Weekends and summer breaks will be spent being set free.

My friend texted me, "OMG you must be SO excited!" but honestly, I feel the opposite of excited. I feel relief. I feel an exhale. I feel the way the dry and cracked ground outside my window must feel today with all the cool rainwater bringing it back to life, turning dust into the loveliest mud.

And I share all of this to say, we don't have to choose one way or the other. I used to think I did, but it's simply not true. And while I certainly don't have it all figured out, I am so grateful to be in this new space of divine duality, and cannot wait to see what unfolds next.