ta. da.

the moral of the story

Is that someone thought I had the capacity for greatness and I just won't let him down until I have run out of my ways to get myself there.

on the lookout for signs

stay tuned

After three and a half years, I made the decision to leave my job. It's been a long time coming and there is a back story that there's really only one other person who will ever understand completely, but — in the middle of a horrendous economy — I am going to do my own thing. I'm going to work with the best creatives and strategists I have had the opportunity to work with during my 15 year career to develop creative solutions that bring people together to create social and policy change.

(More on that later.)

I keep saying that I have never felt this unsure of the future before in my life, but I think it's more that I presumed at this stage in my life I would be a little more confident about the path. It's like thinking, when you are 14, that you'll feel like a "grown up" when you're 30: a big ol' lie.

Right now, I'm fighting the urge to take a six month hiatus, get in my car and go for a drive across the country spending time with people I love, asking them why the hell they think I was put on this earth and if they think I could pull off that conflict zone photojournalist gig I have always dreamed of.

Last night I made a spreadsheet of the 52 places (in the order in which I would visit them) I wanted to go to on that 6 month trek.

Stay tuned.

a reminder

Veronica is finding her voice and reminding me to use mine.

in which I discuss something that makes me feel less than sane

I shall now attempt to write a post in which I discuss something that makes me feel less than sane without leaving you with the impression that I am not less than sane.

Already on shaky ground, aren't I?

I have this thing; it's an obsession really. I got it in my head months ago that I rarely have really good conversations with anyone. By "really good" I don't mean smart or funny or whatever. I mean conversations in which I feel like I am completely immersed — and they are as well — like we decided to hold hands and jump off a cliff together, confident that where we landed would be cool and refreshing like a lake in the middle of July or that it would be soft and pliant and we'd inevitably laugh as we bounced back up in the air — still holding hands — our insides jostled and silly.

Immersed.

Trustful?

I hear everything you're saying; you hear everything I'm saying. No distractions from the second track of thought running along in parallel; the track of doubt that — in addition to pulling my attention away — is populated by what I'm really thinking, including all the things I want to say but won't or want to ask but won't. And no distractions from wondering what's playing on your second track.

I don't have those conversations.

I don't hear everything you're saying and I don't say everything I want to say.

Ever.

And it's making me lonely.

That is all.

beautiful

I cried like a baby. This is a beautiful testament to survival and to family. Goofy and geeky and filled with love.

“If someone would tell me here, then, that I would come sixty something three years later with my grandchildren, so I’d say ‘What you talking about?’ So here you are. This is really a historical moment.”