Abandon hope



My mother is always the first to notice when I’m not writing. “February 5 was your last post,” she pointed out during lunch last week. I appreciate this. She notices.

In that vein, I want to dispense with one issue upfront: It has been suggested (not by my mother) that the occasional long gaps between my posts indicate I’m insufficiently “serious” about writing. I always despaired a little at that, because it felt unfair. At the same time, I always feared it was true.

But I’ve found that when we interrogate the assumptions behind our fears, and follow the what-if trail to its conclusion, we can find clarity. And I’ve realized it is true. There are many things I take more seriously than writing. Understanding, feeling, processing, life, and honesty are all more important to me than simply stringing words together. These things are indispensible to the kind of writing I want to do. Devotion to writing, without attention to them, is pointless to me. And sometimes, they demand all I have.

2016 has, so far, been a tricky one.  I returned from my last photography trip in Florida early in the new year. Less than a week later I learned two things in one day. First, I learned that my grandmother was dying, and would be gone in a few days. A few hours later, I learned that someone I loved as a girl, who has turned into a grownup soul-friend, has a progressive and usually fatal illness.  Shortly thereafter, another friend was diagnosed with cancer.

This is not to whine, but rather to explain my non-writing state of mind. Most people have it harder than I do, principally those staring down terrifying illnesses. But still, all those things drove me underground, into a place of contemplation and sadness. I was unable to speak for awhile, sorting through the dark threads and trying to understand their meaning.

I’m not a writer who processes via blog. When I do that, the work I produce is often flecked with the bullshit I tell myself while trying to fend off harder truths. And what I’ve been doing in my silence is coming to term with these grim realities, despite my best efforts to shut them out:  that not every anguish can be ameliorated; that no, everything doesn’t happen for a reason, and sometimes we struggle to extract any kind of meaning or lesson when it does; that terrible things will unfold over my objections, no matter how strenuous those objections are.

I talk with my friend, my young love from a million years ago, often. When we reconnected, it became clear that we are jarringly alike in many ways. We have both struggled to balance an intense, soul-driven orientation with obligations we couldn’t bear to disregard. We both know well the conflicting pressures of having a free spirit paired with a heart devoted to our kids.

His ethic is simple: Live as well as you can while you can. We talked about it briefly last week.

“Live well,” he wrote to me again in a message. And the darkness around me began to crack, because the truth had finally cornered me.  Live well.

I’m coming to understand that there is no such thing as the future. And those of us like me, who have probably pinned too much on it, could find all hope in it abruptly dissolved. There is only now, this very second. And if you cannot, for whatever reason – whether because of money, time, or obligations to others – live the way you desperately want to live, the way that is most meaningful to you, then you better learn to extract the meaning from the way you live now.

It took me two months of dark and sadness to accept that, because doing so meant embracing hopelessness.  How do I do that?  What if I can’t?  What if all the time I get is spent confined to a Midwestern suburb, grasping for small crumbs of time in nature, for tiny pieces of things to write about and images to capture?

Well? What if?

We are back to the task of any life – to figure out how to live it as well as you can within the bounds of your own conscience and circumstances. Right now. Abandon hope.

This means something different to me now than it did ten years ago.  Back then, I was still struggling to accept the two contrasting parts of myself, and struggling to endow my creative side with even a slight sense of entitlement. Today, my creative side has found its bearings, and feels, mostly, frustrated at the impossibility of full actualization. Five more years, it whispers, till the kid is out of school and we can move away from here, back to a place where we belong. Or at least until I can take off for the swamp at will and photograph gators, or to the Badlands to catch prairie dogs and mountain goats.

The luxury of that line of thinking is gone, as I confront the reality that five more years are not guaranteed to anyone. They weren’t when I was thirty, either, but it seemed likely enough back then to take for granted. Not now.

So that’s where I’ve been, off assimilating and accepting one of the great, immutable truths of life. Live well, now, and here. Abandon hope.

The traveler in me wants to see what happens.


Post Courtesy:  The Trailhead


“To be or not to be?”







It all starts when we are little children growing up in a world that begins to place its expectations on us as soon as we are ready to comprehend them. The rules are written in our minds daily, washing away our innocence and freedom and secretly replacing them with statements on how we should obediently conform to what “they” say about our own lives. Most of us have heard the statements about how important it is to be ourselves; however, this is one of the most difficult feats to accomplish in a world that constantly fills our minds with messages of how we are not being ourselves in the correct way.

Think about the life that you are living now. How much of it is an expression of who you truly are? I’d like you to take a few minutes and think about the activities that fill your every day. How many of them leave you feeling rewarded and fulfilled. Interesting thought, isn’t it? It is shocking to realise how often we put off being who we are just so that we can fulfil the demands that society’s standards have placed on our psyche. With all the noise that fills our days we have become immune to hearing the voice that resides deep within us and whispers the genuine desires of our souls.

I currently have the pleasure of observing my one year old niece as she navigates her way around this brand new realm of existence that we have grown so accustomed to. It is with such admiration that I notice her brazen fearlessness, her insatiable curiosity, her fierce assertiveness, her blatant honesty and her hunger for new experiences. It is then that I am overcome by a feeling of sadness as I realise that most of us have lost our childlike qualities to the harsh reality that we find ourselves living in. I cannot help but think that while we are so busy investing all our efforts into stroking society’s ego, we are drifting further and further away from the essence of who we truly are.

“To be or not to be? That is the question”

Well, my answer is definitely to be. You see dear reader, the stakes are simply too high! There is just too much to lose when living a life of playing small. The truth is that every one of us is a unique being and has the capability to make a difference in their own unique way. Not even the pressures of society are worth sacrificing that for!

I appeal to you to join me as we embark on a journey of unlearning all of the misconceptions that our minds have been bombarded with and to walk with me as we learn to heed the petitions of our truest selves.

I look forward to hearing about the beauty and freedom that you will continue to experience as you wholeheartedly engage in the act of being your ultimate self.

Your Resident Writer,