Like Wildflowers Pressed Into Your Favorite Book, the Quiet Kind of Confidence Can Be Found at the Gardens Edge

Each footstep crunches in anticipation of the next—there it is, a lifetime of moments so perfectly captured in a structure that sits just above the golden valley with the deep green trees and the relentless rolling fog. 

I catch my breath, holding it, cradling it, memorizing the weighted of it in my throat, as if keeping it in will help to create an imprint of every adventure, feeling, piece of laughter and conversation woven into my entire self by years of living. 

These imprints, always humming and always reminding me of unlikely treasures. Of freshly baked bread and childhood songs sung on windy roads, somehow only ever remembering the first two lines, but singing it anyway.

Of running along the beach shoreline, catching small rocks and chunks of sand between your toes as arms are spread high and wide, salt coated fingers eager to receive the spray of the ocean. 

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Re-Defining Success, Putting My Worth in a Bouquet of Lilacs, and Deglamorizing Being Your Own Boss

I’m wondering why the lilacs keep drooping when I cut and put them in vases.

I’m wondering, as I sift through old emails in attempt to find book edits I purposefully put in the archives, if I had ever noticed before that my grandpa had three different ways he “signed off” of our emails: Word-loving grandpa, your grammar loving grandpa, or GG (short for grammar grandpa).

I’m wondering if I cut the stems diagonally and put a little sugar in the water, if that wouldn’t help with the lilac situation?

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On Privilege, Money, Self-Worth, and What to Do When Things Don’t Work Out As Planned: This Real Talk Is Spicy & There’s No Pretending Otherwise

The house is so quiet I swear if someone were to walk in they could hear my thoughts.

I can feel my face still flushed from a run I’m telling myself I should have gone further on.

I’m tempted to pull out my phone and distract myself with the happenings over on social media.

And there is this deep rooted feeling that I should be doing something else right now. Something that is going to either A. Help me to make a living B. Help get me further ahead in planning for the event, or C. Help take away from the growing pile of adult to do’s that I so dread looking at. Oh wait, I nearly forgot about D! Which is, ironically, take care of myself, and maybe detox.

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Here Are 5 Little but Important Reasons Why You Are the Strongest You’ve Ever Been Right Now

There is a bouquet of brightly colored yellow flowers in the window.

Kona is sleeping next to my tucked up feet.

I received the sweetest note from a dear friend today.

The birds start chirping with the warmth of the day instead of the sun.

The house is still, I can hear myself breathe. I can hear myself listening.

All the windows are open and afternoon smell reminds me of budding tulips.

I just spent a week with my family, eating delicious meals, laughing effortlessly, drinking too much coffee, all while working hard and passionately toward a goal that I may or may not fall short of—not the point though, is it? In fact, there isn’t one.

That’s on my mind right now, but so is this.

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So You Call Yourself a Writer but You Don't Write?

I recently pulled out a new notebook, folding back the pages and pressing them against the table.

As I put pen to paper, I caught questioning my motives. I caught myself with a handful of excuses that amounted to nothing more than just that, excuses.

Excuses, why? Because I’ve fallen out of the habit of writing daily? Because my words might come out clunky and unorganized? Because someone else can do it better than I? Maybe so. Maybe yes to all of these things. Maybe I have fallen out of practice, come up with one too many excuses, leading to heavy and clunky words and the idea that whatever I can do, someone can craft it better.

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Unedited Thoughts From 35,000 Feet Up

It comes at you suddenly and in the most unsuspecting of ways. 

The words whirling around like dust provoked by the swooping touch of fingers on a windowsill, my body sits curled up miles high, eyes fixated on the crescent moon that rests just above the wing of the plane, while my mind opens the door and allows the dust to have one last hoorah before all goes still.

Before it settles. 

Before it clears.

Before thoughts take shape out if the stillness and the eagerness to create something. 

To make sense of anything. 

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Chloe O'NeillComment