26 February 2014


When is a photo of a cheesecake brownie against the bag in which it came, more than simply a capture in time of a much needed indulgence?

I would say when it froze hope in time, when it reminds you of the fleeting possibility heavy all over everything, one Tuesday afternoon in Starbucks while Sarah McLachlan sweetly sings it's a long way down to the place where we started from.

Perhaps I should back up a little.

My life is quite an open book, I'm usually honest about what is going on in my world, sometimes to the point of brutal truth. It is one of my favorite things about my character, as well as one of my biggest downfalls. I strive to show Sookie how to live an authentic life, hyperaware that her authentic life might very well look different than mine. In January, two things happened that basically forced me to sit right down, smack in the middle of my universe, and severely examine everything. And I mean...every t-h-i-n-g. From the food that I choose to fuel my body, to the words I choose to fuel my heart.  All the little bits of pieces that make up my existence. The writer in me wishes I could elaborate on the two previously mentioned happenings that have brought forth such change, but the human being in me is choosing to be respectful of everyone involved and recognize these stories are not mine to tell.

There has been a personal evolution brewing since December and a pivotal trip to NIH (yes, these trips tend to be major mile markers, three days of medical tests tend to do that to a gal...) therefore, yesterday was when the crossroads became apparent and urgent. It is funny because I must have anticipated it would be a day to remember; I was superficially prepared with the shallow armor of purple hair and kick ass bravery boots. (Which, for the record? Both of those things do help sometimes.)

We all have choices, all the time...every single day. I've been throwing knowledge at myself, dancing in  optimism strategies, swimming in lyrics. Recreating myself from the ground up; a stronger foundation for which everything else will blossom and launch from; bolder love, focused direction, taking dreams straight out of the jar and out into the wild open where they crave to be.

Sometimes you simply need to pour your heart out to your dad, and cry with him in front of a fire. Rewriting the end of your story is a wee bit exhausting, but I'm ready.

What aspects of your story do you want to rewrite? 
It is never too late to reinvent yourself and change your own ending.