jodhpur, india 2009

there is absolutely so much going on inside of me right now. familiar darker things that crave a voice but, at the same time, feel tired and old and like they just need some dirt kicked over them. and new things, too. colorful, intense, could-they-really-be-true kinds of things that have my heart beating strangely and the top of my head blowing off repeatedly. i am scattered and one-tracked, depending on the hour, and i can be anxious or still, depending on the minute. i am slightly insane and zen at the same time.

i've also been short on words around here. i realized today it is because i've been feeling a struggle around how to bring this space back into the present, which isn't the rich textiles and spicy chai of my time in india, nor the speeding train that led up to going. honestly, i just don't feel that interesting, dynamic, or able to adequately express anything when my current experience is so inward. the present is about slowly returning to the land of unknowns. to the routines of carpool and lunches and squeezing my life in between the hours of 9 and 3. to paying bills and shaking watering money trees. to facing limitations and surrendering to the slower pace of practice and learning.

there are exciting trips being discussed and also there is groundwork to lay for how this passionate living thing will continue to play out. and there's the niggly voice of pragmatism, too. the one that knows that it is time to consider things like value and worth and business plans. like how to open doors for some revenue and to streamline this vision i have for the doorways project–and also how to seek some help with that. you know, the whole trust-in-the-universe but make-good-choices, too, paradigm. finding a balance between being faithful and being smart. faithfully smart? clearly setting intentions and then letting go.

so, honestly, this time for me is about so much, and so little. it is life simplified and expanded. it's as much about the pot of soup on the stove as it is about the next trip to afar. it is glow-in-the dark make-up on my son's face and my daughter's blissful tellings of campfires on her middle school trip. it is asking myself how much reassurance i need before i accept that i am good enough to keep taking pictures and sharing stories (including my own). it is persimmons at the market and a house that still doesn't feel like home. it is a feeling in my chest that is warm and radiating and almost more than i can handle. it is me, raw and tender, alive and vulnerable. passionate and ten steps ahead–circling back and surrendering. 

it is everything. and nothing. 

and it's as all over the place as this post.

i know there is richness and spice here, too. 

probably more.