The Sling Diaries Vol. 5: All The Love - "Bliss"

As I sit, staring out of a window in our Midwest home, attempting to gather my thoughts, a beautiful, slow rain of yellow falls to ground. The earth is littered with crimson, yellow, and golden brown...the sky filled with amber morning light and my heart rests in this season's beauty--in this moment. The window is cracked and quick, crisp breaths of Autumn swiftly pass across my face. The colors of Autumn and the changing of seasons bring a heart-fluttering joy, but accompanying it is the onset of bleak, cold days of white...a lack of sunshine. My heart craves the sunshine.

Every moment of calm sweetness, of laughter, of smiling so boldly your cheeks begin to ache is accompanied by a moment thereafter, or perhaps within that moment that brings it back down to earth. That roots it. A sense of realism clouds my bliss. This is not to say that I don't experience immeasurable joy--that I don't sing my heart out, let go of my inhibitions, or feel each moment for what it is, but as I roll down a a grassy hill with my oldest son, crunchy, golden leaves entangling themselves in our hair and sweaters, I feel a strange pang in my heart. With his head thrown back as we reach the bottom, his laughter erupts from the bottom-most part of his stomach and I stare in awe at his ashy-blonde hair that used to be white. I see jagged bones under almost-too-tight clothing; ragged holes in the knees of his jeans--scars, skin stretched over a larger frame. I am enamored with the moment, with this beautiful boy that used to be so small, so soft, so fragile. But accompanying the collection of wonderful, beautiful, loving, and upbeat notes of the waltz that is our life are the somber, pensive and somehow sorrowful slower notes of our life's sonata playing beneath the surface of our lives.

The finitude that is this moment. The knowledge that, however beautiful, these days are fleeting. A blink and he's almost six. Another blink and there will be no more heart-achingly sweet moments of romping around in leaf piles, wrapping our fingers in each other's hair as we reach the bottom of a steep hill, surrounded by sunshine and crisp, cool air. And time passes.

Bliss isn't here. Because just as the Autumn leaves turn brightly, they, too, will fall. The trees are left barren and cold. It's not that it wasn't beautiful, that the moment wasn't anything and everything, but it couldn't stay. Not forever. So, what then?

We let our hearts ache. In the most beautiful and painful ways. We soak up that moment spent at the foot of the hill, wrapped up in our almost-bliss, and then we press forward. But these are our moments, and sometimes we get lost in them. Sometimes we are there, on the brink of bliss, and that sorrowful pang doesn't strike our hearts and realism doesn't cloud our view of the moment. Those moments are cherished, tucked within the confines of our hearts in the place where memories go to flourish, to be relived when we are grey and those moments unfold no longer.

But time still passes, seconds ticking, as we stare at the slow-falling of leaves and the blanket of gold upon cold, hard ground awaiting their arrival. But...it's okay. Because that's the nature of the near-bliss moments: they fill you up, warm you heart, and bring you joy. And if you can tap into them, I mean really tap into them and feel them for what they are, then you're as close to bliss as you will ever be here on this earth where time passes both slowly and quickly. Because light is accompanied by dark, happiness by sorrow...and if we can feel them both respectively and still keep our heads held high as our babies turn into children into men...then we are doing just fine.

I'm wearing Dexter in a Sakura Bloom Chambray in 'Black Currant'.
(From our family day to the Pumpkin Patch and dinner at one of our favorite spots for Pizza)

The Sling Diaries Vol. 5: All The Love - "Vision"

I've never been much of a "dream it, do it" type of person. I've spent much of my life riding on coattails of people I deemed cleverer, smarter, and more creative than me, never giving myself much credit or much space in which to dream big dreams. High school was this crazy realm that swept me up and mixed me in with the masses; I aspired to do wild, free-spirited things: move to the UK, live in a studio apartment in London, barely make ends meet, but fall in love with kindred artsy spirits and get lost in that world. I was going to live simply, but beautifully. However, growing up in the Midwest with practical parents and practical expectations, a sense of practicality has always clouded the booming and sometimes quiet desires within my heart. I never gave much weight to these dreams because I was always encouraged to aim smaller, to be content, to be 'smart'.

So, the many lives I envisioned for myself washed themselves away.

I wouldn't say that "people were right", that being practical is always the answer, but my vision for my future has changed in very big ways since my 16 or 17 year old self began dreaming of adulthood. The reality is that you don't always get to be the sweet, bohemian girl in the movies. Sometimes you don't escape to "the big city" and meet a beautiful, deeply-emotive, dark-eyed poet/musician and fall in love under ecclectic Anthropologie-esque linens. Sometimes falling in love looks a bit different. Sometimes real life is paying the bills, wiping snotty noses, and ducking out quietly, hair askew and black leggings marked with peanut-butter-hand-prints, while the sitter distracts kiddos so you can grab coffee with parent-friends instead of braving Indie-folk shows at some hip downtown scene with a Hollywood-esque group of friends, a theme-song playing as we whip our heads back and laugh in unison.

But...sometimes when the seasons change and I feel a tug on my heart, I sometimes wonder if we could ever do it: if we could pack up our lives and move somewhere crazy and beautiful and out-of-the-ordinary. A place where all of my younger-self's visions could become a reality.

But of all of the dreams I've envisioned in the confines of my mind, the dreams that include my husband and sons are the most vivid--the ones that feel the most real, the most tangible. My visions for our future, for their future, for Andrew's and my future after they've grown are never the same and change with the weather, it seems...but they always grip me at the core and give me hope and excitement, mixed with a little anxious anticipation. But...I couldn't tell you where we'll be 15 years from now; I couldn't even tell you where we will be three years from now.

The truth is, there are those with great visions for their futures who set out to conquer that mountain and they do it...and that's freaking great. But what of those of us whose free-spirtedness cloud our sense of direction and are as fickle as the shifting winds? It's not that we don't have a vision for our future, or that we don't have bravery or self-sufficient determination that can overcome great adversities, but we move with the wind and waves, ever-changing...and that's pretty freaking great too. My visions are fluid and although I will forever live with "what if"s I will also always live with "it shall be"s. Whatever will come shall come, if you will.

I guess, for now, I choose practicality, I choose family, I choose a home in the humble Midwest. My dreams are not discounted and if someday we wind up sailing across the sea to a new life of Hollywood-like adventures and I hear a catchy, instrumental theme song playing in the back of my mind, I will know that it was meant to be. But...if kissing bumps and bruises and singing my own lullaby-theme-song as I rock a sweet baby or grandbaby back to sleep in our Midwest home becomes my long-term reality, I will know that I am right where I was intended to be--that this is surely the vision that stuck. And...that visions are just visions sometimes and time passes with or without our approval and life lands us smack-dab where we are meant to be. And right now? It's here. In the Midwest. With my two boys and charming husband. It's boring...and beautiful.

I'm wearing Dexter in a Sakura Bloom Simple Silk in 'Malbec'.

The Sling Diaries Vol. 5: All The Love - "Surprise"

Naptime's over. You hear the quiet humming of a now well-rested child, so you open the door to the bedroom with a clear picture in your mind of how the next several seconds will play out. Instead, there he is, covered head-to-toe in his own excrement, smearing it about the sea of blankets and sheets atop your bed.

...

There's an hour. Maybe 90 minutes. Just a sliver of sunlight left on the last night of your family trip to California because the day got away from you...but you still need to see and feel the ocean one last time before you travel back and become land-locked once more. You type the beach that many locals have recommended into your GPS and off you go. "Your destination is on the left," the voice echoes. But to your left is a string of shops and restaurants....and the sun is quickly fading as kids screech in disapproval, desperately clinging to hope that they will still feel the cool, salty breeze on their faces and the wet sand on their toes.

...

And then there's your senior year of high school. You have your life mapped out in your young, naive mind as end-of-the-year orchestra and choir concerts diminuendo and you close the curtains on your last year as a bonafide youth. College, job, marriage, kids. That's how you do it, right? And then it hits you in the face like a cold, icy headwind. The positive pregnancy test stares up at you from the bathroom sink of your childhood home that you've dwelled within since you were five-years-old.

...

See, here's the thing about surprises. Sometimes they're bad. Sometimes they're so bad they knock the wind straight out of you...and sometimes they are a slow, painful rub like sandpaper against your heart. I've never been one to welcome surprises with open arms; I've always panicked in their wake, trembling in fear and rage before I give the moment a chance to unfold. Because...surprises reroute us. They take the picture that we've already painted in our mind's eye and completely change the color scheme, the whole entire feel of the painting. We are forced to veer to the side and choose an alternate path and it scares us. Surprise means change.

But...here's the other thing about surprises. Sometimes when they unfold to their full potential, they are good. Like, really good. Because sometimes you are worn down to bare bones after a week of non-stop sleepless nights with your teething one-year-old awakening and crying out for you, but when you open the door to a not-so-pleasant surprise, your first reaction is anger, frustration, but...that tired, worn-out toddler finally slept for longer than an hour stretch and two stubborn teeth made the voyage out from beneath his tender gums. Because sometimes after that moment of frustration and after the mess has been cleaned and the dust has settled, the moment moves swiftly to a moment of peace as relief overcomes him and you hold him close without a hint of discomfort after a long, long week.

And when you finally find that beach, the sun is settling into a cradle of soft, vibrant oranges and purples as your children run wild and free through the sand and waves. Your chest rises and falls as the salty sea air kisses your cheeks as if to say 'goodbye, see you soon,' and you are completely enamored with the moment that surrounds you. Your husband's arms engulf you as the sound of crashing waves and sweet laughter fill you up to the brim. The perfect close to the perfect week. More perfect than you'd originally imagined.

And...when your world feels like it is crashing in around you, 18 and pregnant, it's hard to see the moment of calm that lies beyond the moment of chaos. It may feel like your world is collapsing, that there is no way up from such a deep, deep low, but then all at once the smoke clears and there, looking up from the ashes of your whole world that seemed to have burned to the ground is the sweet, sweet face of your newborn son. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, his mere existence revives you and instantaneously rebuilds your brokenness. Sometimes the worst surprises are the best ones.

I will probably always panic when I come face-to-face with surprises that seem unpleasant at first glance; I will probably always brace myself, teeth clenched as they blow through me and shift me to the left and right. But more often than not, these moments of high tide that you would presume to cause a great calamity, leave the sand beneath its chaos smoothed and new. Surprises are just like high tides. They are chaotic and tumultuous, but when it settles and washes away, you are left with a fresh, clean moment of peace. So, even though I will grit my teeth and muddle through the chaos, I will always know that after each life-shaking and not-so-life-shaking surprise, there is calm.

There simply can be no calm without chaos. So, I welcome the chaos in all of its bittersweet surprise.

I'm wearing Dexter in a Sakura Bloom Pure Linen in 'Caribbean'.