The last couple of weeks, I’ve taken some time away from Substack, as I loved the writing routine I had and how my neurodivergent brain thrives there was an itch at the back of my brain and a tug on my heart that I needed to explore.
So as I do, I answered the call, or at least followed the curiosity. This year, but more specifically, the summer has been declared the time for exploration in the van. I want to go places I haven’t seen, touch things I haven’t touched, bask in light in places my younger self would dance around with elated joy that I made it happen.
I’ve also been inspired to pick up my camera again. One of the many hats I wear is photographer, editorial photographer, to be more specific. Telling stories, or capturing images that inspire a story within the viewer, is something I put at the center of how I shoot. I want you to look at my work and either want to be there, or remember a time you felt like you were. Either way sparks emotion, and that’s the best compliment an artist can get.
So naturally, because I have spent more time shooting and editing, I have spent less time writing. At least here, for and on this platform. I even took last week off the podcast. And there was a time in my life when that would have freaked me out. I would lose subscribers, lose momentum, get off track, lose interest. And there was a very small sliver of that at first, but quickly, then came the feeling of a shoulder shrug because I truly believe that what is on my heart to explore isn’t taking away from anything at all. It absolutely can’t be, and I’ll get into why the more I embody that, the more it feels true in a minute. Story time first because humans and silly mistakes and and/both, divine timing, and surrender or something.
Yesterday, I was driving from Ashland, Oregon, back to Portland to fix my air conditioner. The original plan was to drive from Portland to Santa Cruz, down to Carmel, then to Menlo Park to see friends, and then back to Bend, Oregon, where the journey would continue north to Montana by way of Spokane (both places I haven’t yet been before).
But I realized the day I was heading out from Portland that my house AC (the one that is located on the top of the van to cool the “house” portion of the vehicle) wasn’t turning on. My friends who are here in Portland know far more about the intricacies of electricity, but I had to leave, and the weather where I was headed wasn’t going to need it anyway, so the plan then changed, and I would have to come back.
I arrived yesterday after 12 hours of driving, divided between two days, for my friend to flip the switch on my AC (alternating current for those who don’t know) box, and the air conditioner came to life. Again, for a very small sliver of a second, I was so mad about wasted time and wasted gas and and and.
But here is the thing about all of this. As much energy as I could and have spent in the past on being annoyed at wasted time or being nervous about losing subscribers or people’s interest, is the exact amount of energy it would take to choose to believe something else.
This isn’t about toxic positivity or telling myself inflated statements that aren’t grounded in anything real or true, but more about the power of awareness in how often I choose a perspective that doesn’t serve me in things and situations that just are.
The drive was done, and it turns out that I get to be here for a friend of mine whose mom just passed away, I get to take care of all my doctor’s appointments I’ve been putting off, and I get to utilize no sales tax on getting my air conditioner remote and my tail light cover replaced before I head out. ‘
I also got to be on the highway yesterday when a 19-year-old girl was run off the road by a guy who merged while she was in his blind spot. He side-swiped her and kept going. She veered into the grass median to then overcorrect, 360 through all three lanes of highway without (miraculously) getting hit, and ended up smashed front end into the grass ditch on the right side of the Northbound highway.
This all happened right in front of me in slow motion. I immediately pulled over and ran to her car. She was physically unharmed but was hysterically crying as we waited for the police and the tow truck for her smashed car to arrive. I once spun out on the highway in the snow. I wasn’t hit, and my car was fine, but seeing all those cars coming toward me as I was spinning was a type of fear I won’t soon forget. All I could think was I didn’t want her to be alone with that fear.
Later, when the police were asking me the details about the accident, the man asked, “What made you stop?” I told him exactly that. He said, “Most people don’t stop.” So later, when I was standing in a driveway, listening to the hum of the air conditioner that wasn’t broken, cooling my house, I chose to remember that girl. Maybe it is all in benefit to us after all.
I want to acknowledge that I am a white, cisgender, middle-class woman in a first-world country, and that affords me a lot more choices and options than so many have. That is just true.
What is also true is that the only person who gets to decide what we allow to take in and make a home inside of us, stories about who we are, or what is possible about us, is us. We may not have control over what happens to us, or what is fair, or just, or kind. But we have a say in how it influences us, and that choice permeates everything I’m finding. I had to decide.
I have to keep deciding.
Nothing you choose with your heart is “getting off track” or “falling behind.” Everything is meant to serve you, and the best things can’t find you if you settle only for what’s good enough.
You are built for wild and beautiful things, and all that is in your heart to be realized, and nothing you do in the direction of holding that true in your chest can pull you away from that. You are worthy because you are.
I heard this yesterday in a guided visualization on my wildest dreams, “this or something better.”
This or something better.
to the brave thing,
p.s. I love you.