A (not-so) new debut.

Oh it's been a little bit. I apologize the drag of silence, but before I dive into a post about what exactly has been going on (a new job! wedding things up to our ears! honeymoon planning! relief! anxiety! okayness!), I think I will share bits about me that new (and old) readers may care to read over coffee, or a glass of noir, I will not judge, on this fine Friyay afternoon.

I have been incredibly big and I have been incredibly tiny and I am finally okay with not fearing or having to be one of those extremes. I'm building my curves, and I am working every day to own them.

Reading and writing are some things I miss the most -- concentrating long hours on creating or taking in content. I often overwhelm by how fast-paced and anti-analog this time is. I do not belong in this era.

I am a walking emotional sponge. I have been soaking in and carrying around other people's stuff my whole life. Good and bad stuff. It is a difficult trait to have because I feel what others feel and my body identifies it as foreign because it's not my stuff so it manifests as anxiety usually.

Now because of that, I burn out easily. People drain me. I'll usually have to leave the room and take breathers outside, in a bathroom, or if you have a dog you can usually find me hanging out with it, wherever that is. I can be down with dogs forever.

I am quite the catastrophizer. I sniffed a small neon green crayon up my nose when I was five and I thought I was going to die. I also kept it from mom because I didn't want to get in trouble. I later hid in the daycare's bathroom to panic and sneeze it out.

I'm the kind of girl who has an eye for a guy with strong hands, arms, a serious jawline, and is good-smelling. I get to enjoy all these things with Daniel and I am quite aware I'm with a looker. These days I think I've complimented him a dozen times on his deodorant I picked out. It smells loooovely but in a man-type of way.

I like pretending I am a wine connoisseur, though I gravitate towards about 2.5 variations. I like to feel fancy. I also like fancy cheese.

I am so looking forward to having a little family with Daniel. What better a sound than hearing little feet running around wood floors, soft skin, cherub lips, and curls, so many curls -- little we's.

I am so so shy. So shy. An extroverted introvert and I will let you mull through the shopping list of reasons why that may be difficult.

So, there you are. Hello again, and I will try to tend to this space more in the coming huge months!

Good, good karma.

Sometimes it comes around. 

Feeling nervous and giddy (but mostly nervous) this week. How I've waited.

I hope good, good karma maybe finds you, too.  

On being present.

Dream catcher c/o Wildflower Dream Catchers

How pure the tiny growing mind. How it easily latches on to what's right in front of it. Sweet, tunnel vision. No room for the torrent of thoughts that seep through any orifice: ears, neurons, pupils, mouth -- all things of the body are magnets of memory.

No. Young minds are so simple and oh how lucky are they. They know how to just be. A feat many of us grown ones are unable to do. We are so jaded. We are so fatigued.

But to try. To try and just try every day, every hour, with all you've got inside to stay right here. Away from there and then and in that painful memory or that trying time. No need to keep in such a state. Because what for? Why?

I paid massive attention to detail as a girl. I did things like count in my head, make up stories about colors in front of me, try and configure faces out of the lush, green mountains. Raced the raindrops and married salt & pepper shakers. I played dolls every waking moment of every day. I closed my eyes and breathed in my parents' scent, memorizing it, keeping it safe. I was always up there in my head but always in regards to what was in front of me.

I need more of this. And, I suspect you do, too. Be a child for a moment. Stare at colors and smell the spring air. Aren't they lovely? Take a break from the deep-up-there and find what you're missing right in front of here. Hold it with eager palms, the rope on a tire swing you have no choice but to cling to. Don't fall! Grab the present like a face and find the galaxies in its eyes. Look until you can see the stars drifting on boughs. Then simply be still.

The thing about hard things, past things, worry things, is that you don't have to hold on to them.