Living Loud

My kids are loud. You know the kind of loud I’m talking about. Shrieking and screaming from sun up to sundown. Our house is loud.

And I love it.

I love to hear their feet racing across the floors, the quick slapping sound blending with the squeals of delight to form the sweet song. The soundtrack of small children fills our home and I love it.

At home, my kids are free to bellow, well mostly, I’m only human. We fill our house with unbridled sound because so often we expect them to be much less loud. There is no screaming in Target, if I can’t no one can! There is no screeching at the library. They know it. And they settle into the quiet of being in public.

I listen to the two of them giggling as they chase each other around the house and smile when a loud scream punctuates the excitement. There is so much energy in those tiny bodies and it finds ways to sing joy.

Expressions of living loud.

I learn more from my children than I could teach them in a thousand lifetimes.

Laugh. Loudly. Scream when you need to. Screech in delight.

Live loud.


That Which No Longer Serves Me

Big day for the sky today. Magic in the up there.

Some of the magic has sprinkled down on me. I’m inspired to let go of that which no longer serves me. My particular something is probably different than yours. Maybe you have released. Care to share any tips?

I’m contemplating what letting go looks like for me. A friendship feels strained, if we are talking truth, has always felt strained. I have desperately wanted to be this individual’s friend for a very long time. Therein lies the issue.

I desperately want to be this person’s friend.


Sounds, well, desperate.

I feel a strong connection to this person. I have attempted to cultivate that connection for decades. I’m working on why. What value was I getting?

How do I let go of the desperation and maintain the connection?

Can I let go of that which no longer serves me?

Do the Thing!

There are things. Scary things. Things we know we should do. Things we know we could do. Then we talk ourselves out of it. We get scared. We let fear lead. And all the things remain undone.

I am tired of missing things. I am facing the fear. Inviting it to take a seat in the back. Doing the thing.

I want to write a book, so I am writing a book. Fear whispers doubts. No one will read it. If someone does read it, they won’t like it. They won’t like you. These ideas have all been done before.

On and on it goes.

Fear likes to be handled gently, so in these moments when fear is begging for attention, I turn and say, thank you, I see you. And I am going to do the thing anyway.

Fear pouts. I let it.

When I moved fear to the backseat, I created space for new ideas. New energies. I started looking around at the world with eyes of curiosity. I wondered how things looked without the lens of fear. I opened myself. A bit at a time. True to its nature, fear would chime in when it noticed I was getting a little further away. I would remind fear where it belonged. I remind fear of all of the time spent deciding for us. I remind fear of my gratitude for doing its job and keeping us safe from all the things.

Then, I reminded fear about skateboards.

I have always wanted to learn how to ride. I have always been scared. I took the flight option in fight or flight response every time and stayed away from something that appears to be enormously fun and exciting. I ran from the experience. I thought I was afraid. Me. The self, Me. I wasn’t afraid. I was letting fear drive. This thing I wanted to do set to the side for a lifetime because the force was strong with my fear and I allowed it to win. Every single time.

Until yesterday. Yesterday, I bought a longboard. I am learning how to ride. Because I want to. Because I have always wanted to.

Fear whispers. I remind.

Fear pouts. I let in.

Do the things!

Write the book!

Buy the skateboard!

Get on it!


Glennon Doyle says we can do hard things. She’s right. We can. We do. And it is glorious!

It takes courage to take on hard things. It’s worth it. And it’s fucking hard.

Everyday, I see wonderful acts of bravery. Bravery in the face of uncertainty. Bravery inspiring monumental shifts in old thought patterns.

They are out there. These brave souls navigating this experience with strength and grace.

I see you.

You’re awesome!

Step Back

There is a power in the step back. Introspection lives there. The lessons are in the space between progress and step backs.

I’m sitting in that space today. Acknowledging the slip into old patterns and allowing the slip to serve as an illumination of the progress I have made. 

We all have our own roads. We walk our path and along the way, we sometimes stop and look back so we can see how far we’ve come. I had to trip, to see that I’m moving forward. 

So today, I pick myself up, dust myself off, tie the laces on my walking shoes and look forward. Welcoming in gratitude for the experience of perspective, I take the step. Onward, ever onward. 


When did ambition become a naughty word? We aren’t any less ambitious, we just don’t seem to talk about it. Why hide a burning fire?

Striving. Growing. Achieving. All wonderful results of ambition. All within reach, should we be inclined to lift our arm. Ambition moves mountains and produces results. Rallies us with the clarity of focused intention. Why hide from the light? 

So let’s take back ambition. Let’s shine it’s light and let the world feels it’s heat. Match the word to the feeling. The feeling that gets you out of bed early and keeps you up late. The smoldering drive powering you forward. The embodiment of expansion.

I love ambition and smile every time I see it, in myself and in others. I write and I’m ready to invite ambition into that space. It has served me well so far. 

Writing, meet Ambition. 

Ambition, meet Writing.

I’m sure you’ll be fast friends. 

Your Crazy is Showing

There is a conspiring voice women use to help each other be presentable. Your slip is showing, we whisper, urgently. So the poor woman can settle all her parts into place. The closer we are to her, the more quickly we tell her. Strangers in bathrooms are close in their own way. Shared experiences matter, even when they are our most private moments. Maybe, especially when they are our most private moments. So in these moments, these women temporarily become our sisters, friends, mothers, and we look out for them and any parts that might appear out of place.

This is a little how I feel we handle crazy too. Oh honey, your crazy is showing. Urgently, we whisper a warning. You wouldn’t want everyone to see your crazy, would you?

Maybe a little crazy is good sometimes. Maybe a little crazy is exactly what keeps things moving. Passion is a little bit crazy. Relentless pursuit of a dream is a little crazy. Falling in love is a little crazy. Becoming a parent is a lot crazy.

All of the best things in life seem to be a little bit crazy.

Crazy can also be a stunningly effective motivational tool. It can be helpful in certain situations for people to know you are a little bit crazy.

My daughter has recently been stepping out of respectful communication and needed some correction to get back on track. I talked to her about tone and intent. I warned her when she was dancing too close to the line for too long. We discussed expectations. And with all these discussions, she was getting dangerously close to being out of line. So, I let my crazy show. In a controlled way, in a loving spirit, though she would disagree, I let my crazy show and allowed it to magnify the message I had been trying to convey. The glimpse of the power of crazy served to give power to my words and my daughter responded, after tears and hand written notes about sadness and life, with a renewed understanding that I am the parent here and as a parent of this particular family, I expect respect.

Sometimes, a little crazy is a good thing.

So, thank you very much for pointing out when my crazy is showing, but I already know. I know because sometimes, I let it show.