My winter has consisted of Christmas and moving.
I feel like I have spent this entire cold and rainy season saying goodbye to The Most Wonderful Time of the Year and moving all one million of our things across the yard. I'm so tired of having boxes of stuff and things everywhere and having no clue where they might be. At this point, if I haven't touched it in the past 4 weeks or so, I'm ready to set it afire and watch it burn, baby burn.
Except the important little drawings and sweet things and fun happys.
But the rest of that crap can go.
I emailed a friend this week, and among other things, I told her that I felt like I had lost my mojo in the past few weeks. I've been so consumed with moving that I've lost myself in the process. There has been a slow ache in my spirit to carve out space and time to rediscover who I am, what's important to me, and what I want my girls to remember and know as Truth.
Cultivating life is hard.
|Faux Fireplace in my dining room makes me so happy with its cute little Target dollar spot linen banner.|
Having a fresh space is a great adventure for the artist folks. Sometimes we get so overwhelmed with the possibilities we find ourselves hovered in the corner with our grand ideas and security blankies because the world is just so dang big and we feel so incredibly small. I find myself stretching and opening my eyes for the first time after a deep sleep and wanting things like tomatoes from a modest garden and calm paint colors and light and space and peace. My fingers are itching to write the deep and heavy and wonderfully simple things because I don't want to forget this.
I'm having to give myself permission to move one snail step at a time and being ok with the unfinished, because I'm still unfinished myself.