I cant stop pointing to the beauty….rumi.
I’ve always had a pointing problem. When I see something beautiful, I reach for it. I point. I’ve run into a thousand sunsets, I’ve high-tailed it across curves because I know something beautiful is there. I’ve jumped in pools fully clothed. I’ve ran to the ocean totally naked. I’ve been 5 feet from a lion in the most beautiful land. I’ve driven 5 hours away on a fall day in NY, when I meant to get some bread…and ended up on a farm watching a gentle old man with wrinkled hands drive a tractor with ease. I’ve gotten bread from the corner store, and driven 5 hours back. I’ve pulled over to the side of the road so many times, just to see. The beauty.
I’ve been a passionate lover. A cold enemy. A creator. and a critic. I’ve been high, and oh so low…I will ask you to leave again and again. I will ask you to stay when I get sad at the sound of saying the words leave, and in the morning, I will look at your gentle face as you sleep in on a sunday, and wonder all about you. I’ll ask you questions as we walk to the grocery store, as we wonder and wander, and you’ll say something beautiful. My hand, that is loosely folded into yours, will reach, and point and I’ll say yes. How beautiful. I will remember this about you, so I can surprise you at the right time, about the memory that reminds you of being 8-years old and full of freedom, and I will kiss your cheek right then, because I remember things better when I can feel something too. Like your cheek, the one with the dimple, on my lips…and how it was warm out because it is summer, and how we would get basil from the grocery store because we were almost out.
The look on your face shows me you understand me, and you will try so hard to share again with me what you think I want to hear…because, I am a little bit impossible to please. In the meantime we are taking the long way around, so I can walk by my favorite lavender bush and point to it. That, and I could walk forever. How beautiful, and you’ll agree. The next morning when we wake up, there is fresh lavender on the kitchen table for me, from you.
It will remind me to write down about how you went fishing with your uncle at that lake up north, and one weekend when you don’t expect it, that’s where we’ll go.
I cant stop pointing to the beauty.
In the past 30-days or so since I’ve written last. Since I turned off social media. Since I kept my on-line explorations pretty limited to work email, favorite blogs that I follow, and the occasional google search (I’m only human). I’ve been able to point to so many beautiful things.
It started on a Sunday night around my sweet friend Leah’s kitchen table. Me. Leah. And Jen. Tickets to a show for the wildfeathers. And so there we are, catching up like girlfriends do, and as show-time is almost here, we hem and haw about wether or not we should go. I think of my bed, and I decide that’s where I want to go most of all.
But we rallied.
I am reminded in moments like this, dancing with 2 friends who I adore, in the front row of a small club, with the sound of drums and guitars and beautiful men with beards and flannel singing their hearts out, drinking Budweiser out of the bottle, and stomping their feet…that it’s just a matter of showing up.
Just show up.
I almost did that thing that I do which is leave right in the middle of it. Cause I started thinking about my bed again and how little time I had spent in it the past week from a bit of a hectic work week…but I looked around and I remembered. This moment will never repeat itself, and your bed surely isn’t going anywhere.
As if on cue, this absolutely beautiful radiant woman who had totally caught my eye all night with the way she moved with such freedom and joy, in a loose tank top, cut-off shorts, and long wavy hair just past her shoulder blades (way California) makes her way over to me, takes my pint glass out of my hands, sets it down, takes both my hands and begins to dance with me, with a rhythm of drums and guitar in the background, and I said oh why not, and danced and threw my head back, and danced with a beautiful stranger who reminded me of the spontaneity and freedom that is, not giving a fuck.
And then he sang this line, and my god, did he sing it with soul…. ‘and a little girl learning to sing’ — and it hit me right in the heart and it will be a long time before I forget what that felt like. For all the ways we learn to sing. For every little girl finding her voice, for every woman remembering hers….learning to sing. Learning to sing.
I cant stop pointing to the beauty.
I went home that night so happy and grateful for girlfriends that show up. For dances with strangers. For not leaving. For men with beards. And for Budweiser.
As I moved through the month, and had coffee with sweet friends, long walks with moose, long runs alone, lots of time on my yoga mat, lots and lots of music in the background, lots of conversations about growth, hearing no, hearing yes, breaking down breaking through.
If there was a 4-day favorite stretch it was for sure the weekend that involved a road trip with my partner in crime Amy, a wild, fantastic night with new and old friends in San Francisco (that again ended in an all-out dance party/sing-along) where we did Michael Jackson’s man in the mirror so proud at 1am (no seriously, so so proud). A day in the SF bay with my favorite girl Linds that involved screen printing and photo booths, multiple juices and cups of coffee, a 400-person yoga class, deep convos from the coffee house to the park bench, and of course, lots of belly laughs. Epic hugs from friends from Kenya I have not seen since I left and who I think about everyday. And going the wrong way, and eventually the right way on the BART en route to LA for an impromptu trip to see some of my very favorite people.
A whirlwind 2.5 days in Venice CA where I can only explain is where my heart gets filled up, like standing room only kind-of-full. Sweet friends, new friends, the ocean, laughing till you cry, crying cause you really freaking need to cry, yoga, and Rosy the bulldog.
A room to stay with a couple that I just love their love, and being handed over a cup of coffee in the morning and the sweet words you miss hearing when you live alone…’good morning (big smile) hope you slept fantastic’ My two nights there I slept better than I had in so long…because that’s what love does.
As MB and I are walking to yoga in the morning, and I hugged her sweet hubs who I could hang out with all day, goodbye, I made it about 100 feet from the door and there it went, the tears. Even as am writing this, it’s the same thing. Crying and typing. And I cant say it’s a sadness, like that’s it exactly. It’s part of it. But not all of it.
I know I’m on the cusp of something, and it all feels beautiful, and I’m scared and I’m pretty sure that’s the source of the tears. Because when you are an adventurer in life, you must commit to not looking back. When you are a human being in life. You must commit to not looking back.
I spent my last day in LA with some yoga, then lunch, then sitting on a blanket for a few hours in Malibu with my buddy Jen, who I met in a van in Kenya (true story) she was there supporting a 10-day project that africa yoga project was also a part of, and it was instant connection me and her. We spent every day till she left together, laughing, dreaming, sharing. And man do I love her.
I hopped on the last flight back to Sacramento. Slept for a few hours and woke up to teach some Tuesday morning yoga at 6am. There was sand on my yoga mat when I rolled it out.
Here’s what that trip did for me, sent me the message so loud and so clear.
Go live in a city.
Live among people who are creating big beautiful projects and are not afraid to fail.
Have brunch with tons of ideas and forces of nature connecting to each other.
Create a home. Invite people over all the time. Hand them mugs of coffee in the morning and give them a hug.
Invest in a camera.
Start taking pictures. Learn from the best. Take lots and lots of pictures.
Dance with strangers and sing out loud even and especially if you don’t know the words.
Don’t go to bed at 9pm.
Fall in love.
Don’t ask them to leave.
Work among others who challenge you and inspire you.
Make dinner, and always have chocolate in the house. The broccoli keeps going bad anyway.
Do lots of yoga. And go for runs.
Connect amazing people to amazing people.
Dream dream dream of the space you’ll own one day. Where you will write, take photos and flow. Brick, wood, light. Get specific, and get after it.
Collaborate with fellow movers & shakers. Leaders and visionaries. Leave behind the collaborations that don’t work.
Fall deeper in love.
Paint the walls grey and blue.
Go to the ocean.
And when you find him.
And no matter what….never ever stop pointing to the beauty.
We were never intended to hide our feelings anyway. Tell the truth, would you?
What a wild 30-days. Here’s to 30 more. To 30 more years. To 30 deep breaths. To 30 cups of coffee. To 30 sunsets, naked and in the ocean. To 30 I love you’s. To 30 I’m sorry’s. To 30 forgive you’s, need you, want you. To 30 bricks and 30 more until theres a home that we love and yes, we love.
Repeat repeat repeat.