Roots?

My family is still on Hawaii time this morning as we dive back into routine and take on the day. There’s no way I could choose a favorite experience from our trip because so much of what we encountered the past few days has left a deep impression. A spattering volcano. A black sand beach. Raging waterfalls. A free-range horse ride, and stunning waves to name a few, not to mention the unplugged time together.

When we trekked down through a lava tube (a hole carved out underground from the fierce flow of lava) my eye kept gravitating to the roof of the cave-like tunnel. Long tendrils spiraled down over our heads. I asked our guide what the moss-like stringy roof décor was, conjuring stalagmites and glow worms in caves I’ve seen on nature programs.

The answer = roots.

Roots, of course. Because plants will grow where they will.

And I couldn’t think of anything else in the world that I can relate to more right now.

Why? Because we’re moving again. A year ago we signed the contract on our home in Georgia, and sometime in the next few months we’ll be signing a contract on a home in California.

I may not have roots planted in deep soil when it comes to a home town, but I have established memorable friendships and have garnered a strong sense of adaptability. I’m a pro at moving. But it comes with its own share of anguish, stress, fear, and raw emotion.

This song says it all . . .

Onward.

When It All Comes Together

A getaway, an exceptional meal, and an inspiring book do wonders when it comes to providing clarity. I’ve been seeking a specific decision on something for years. It wasn’t until my family hopped in a car and drove eleven hours away that I received the insight I’ve long awaited.

We first headed to my mom’s, then pushed on to Miami Beach. 

I don’t know if it was all the time I had in the car to think, the change of scenery (not having to do laundry and other mundane tasks that so readily distract), or if being freed up from the pressure of trying to make our recent move make sense and translate as the best thing ever for my kids allotted me the kind of clearheaded thinking I’ve been craving.

  

I could attribute my recent revelations to this five-star meal my family gorged on in Miami Beach. We were treated to some of the best soul food I’ve ever tasted at Yardbird. I’ve dined all over the country and this restaurant is one of my favorites. It wasn’t just a meal, it was an experience. From ambience, to daring and delicious favors . . . I swear this food had something to do with the clouds clearing. (It could have had something to do with that tasty Watermelon Sling drink I ordered. Maybe moonshine really does it for me.)

I also think it had a lot to do with the messages I kept reading in this book. It blessed me with a special dose of inspiration.

  

And now I’m sure you’re sitting there thinking what the heck did she get clarity on and why did it take so much to get her there? I sort of wonder the same about the latter, but I’m here now and that’s what matters.

Where’s here?

I’m ready to say with confidence I will be releasing another book before the end of this year. And I couldn’t be more thrilled. Because I love publishing books. I love when you read them. I love knowing my stories and characters are connecting.

Thank you for reading. I can’t wait to share more!

Until next time . . .

I Went to an Island

I channeled Hemingway and culled up Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift from the Sea from recesses long ignored.

I went to an island. That’s where I’ve been. All last week I was surprised to discover I had absolutely no ability to connect to the outside world.

No internet access. No texting. No phone.

It took me a few days to settle into the skin of this understanding—this new non-social networking me.

Like a crab slipping from its hard outer shell, I gradually began to feel an unburdening. I unhinged from the world of blogging, Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest. I reconnected with something else. Me.

Morning birds trilled with more clarity. I sank into sleep at night without the flitting busyness that computer life can bring.

By observing and listening and quieting in the early dawn, I stirred the sand in my soul. Even though the hard to breathe briny air reached humid highs, my body sighed out anyway. In response to the slowing of my schedule, the slowing of my split inattention that so readily disguises itself as attention.

At the beach, waves spooled and unspooled in ribbons of frothy white, near invincible threads sewn into the shore. God weaving. Tugging back. Weaving. Tugging back. I watched the sewing tide.

My time on the island swept up an ancient dust from the corners of my conscience, dust I’d forgotten about; dust I didn’t even know was there.

I went to an island that spoke respite into me.

And while I missed connecting, in all the broad and narrow stroke ways I’ve found to do so, it became alarmingly obvious to me I needed a break.

I’m back now. Rested.

Ever been treated to a break you didn’t know you so desperately needed? Any guesses where I was? (Hint: population = approximately 709, the crustacean I mentioned in this post is a big fat clue.)