Exposure

I am bare like a tree preparing for winter

Releasing what does not serve me

No longer hiding behind doubts of my worth

But willing to expose all that I am

To become who I was meant to be

It's Only Make Believe

Did you know I always wanted to be in a band? If I had an album coming out, I might choose one of these for the cover. 

I don't play an instrument, or write music. My voice is fair to middling. 

But none of that matters, because I can be anything I want to be in this picture. 

Today, I'm in a band. 

Look for my album, due in stores any day now. 

Last hurrah

I really don't like how I'm feeling right now.

This place--the cottage--is where I spend a good quarter of the year or more. We close it up for the winter and while that makes perfect sense, it sure hits me hard.

I miss it the second it's done. I regret what I didn't get to while I was here (I never made a pie this year, or jam; I never day-tripped further north like I planned; I didn't invite friends I wanted to invite). It magnifies what I see as my failings, all the things that I didn't have time for, didn't get around to, didn't wake up early enough to do or stay up late enough to see. But these failings are not just there, they're everywhere I am. 

I think it's more about the making of time and space to do things. I keep putting things off. I'm putting myself off, really. I want to think about the coming year as the time to stop hesitating. 

An Open Secret

There are times when I don't feel so wonderful. When I won't let myself off the hook for what I have done. When all I see are my mistakes. How I have hurt people. I get tangled up in regret. I allow the guilt to wrap itself around me like vines creeping up an old decrepit house.

It's not a constant feeling, by any means. But when does guilt become a bullshit constraint that is just covering up what I really need to be doing?

Moving on. Admitting mistakes. Learning instead of dwelling. Changing instead of repeating. Taking responsibility. Forgiving myself.

There is sadness and a little bit of mystery in this photo. But I also see beauty and openness.
Am I finally willing to accept that all of these are an integral part of my journey?
An integral part of me?

I'll keep you posted.

When I Shoot

On one of our recent shoots together, Lisa and I were discussing how much we like getting in the "zone" while shooting. When I'm behind my camera, setting up a shot, framing my image, deciding where to focus: I am in such an amazing space.

A space of creativity that I don't always experience in my day to day life.

A space where I am entirely myself, where mistakes and regret mean nothing.

A space of unlimited possibilities.

A space where I can revel in the freedom to do and be exactly who I want to be.

This may look like just a photo of my shadow but it's so much more than that. There is a part of me in every image I create. The good, that not so good, the downright bad. There is a mix of dark and light in this photo, just like there is a mix of dark and light in me.

Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

the return of me

pieces of me 

have come home

I welcome them 

and turn away from regret

while stepping onto

my soul's path

in confidence and joy

The year's almost over?

Wait, how did it get to be near the middle of November? I can hardly believe it. And don't get me wrong, I like the holidays and all, but I resent how pretty much everything is all about them from late October on. Like, can't we just enjoy the month of November without it being all about Thanksgiving and more importantly, all the deals coming your way on Black Friday, and December without it being all about Christmas (like it's the only thing happening all month). Really.

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my self portrait. I don't think. Or maybe it does. Here I am being blissfully oblivious to the impending madness, at least for a few days. Blissfully hooping on the quietest, emptiest beach on Lake Michigan about an hour before sunset. In bare feet, no less, on November 10, when Michigan is usually too cold for bare feet. I pretty much wish it could all be just like this every day.

In this photo, I love that I'm doing something I love in a place I love, and that I've captured it with a medium I love. I love the color of filter I've chosen and the way the light reflections from the lake make little light arrows that shoot into my body here. It looks like I'm electrified, but it's soothing, too.

The Body Imperfect

I wasn't going to post this one. Because instead of noticing the interesting composition or the lovely texture of the forest setting in this shot; all I notice is my stomach, the strange look on my face, and the crooked way my body is positioned.

Because of course this project is all about how I look, right?

You'd think after all this time, I would have moved beyond that. After all, that was one of the reasons I embarked on this in the first place.

Acceptance of myself.

More than acceptance, really. What I hoped for (and still aspire to, truth be told) is to be able to look beyond what's on the outside and just say, "Hey Jane, you're awesome. Keep it up."

So while I could berate myself for not being at that point yet, I'm not going to. Instead, I'm going to post this photo. Because, it's a pretty good shot and I'm not going to let my insecurities over my looks take that away from me.

I'm not all the way there yet, but I'd say that's a step in the right direction.

Emerging

I was talking with a friend yesterday about growth and evolution. I mentioned that I'd been doing some difficult personal work and we discussed how it is for us to grapple with those dark parts of ourselves. How in order to get clear and focused on who we truly are, we have to dig into and explore the depths. We must bravely gaze into the dark mirror and see what we can learn from it. 

But we also acknowledged that all that digging, while revealing and cathartic,  can also be very, very draining. What happens if you find you've dug yourself a hole so deep that you can't get out? How does one balance the good and the bad? 

I've found that it's easier to accept the struggle with the ease, the sorrow with the joy, and the pain with the pleasure when I remember that I am the one who is in control. I am the master of my thoughts. Good and bad. I decide which mirror I am looking into from moment to moment. It's not an all or nothing state of mind. 

I was walking in the woods alone yesterday thinking about all of this when I came upon a large, overturned tree. There was dirt clinging to the delicate  root system, leaves and other debris were now making a home there. I stuck my hand into it and was fascinated by the softness of the roots. These roots which were meant to be underground and hidden from view were now fully exposed. 

Out of the dark and into the light. The tree won't survive now that it's fallen. It's purpose has changed, but it still has a purpose. It still has work to do. 

Here I am as well. Still working in the dark but sticking my hand out occasionally to soak up the lightness. Accepting that I need both. My purpose may change from time to time as well, and that's not only ok, it's downright welcome. 

Reflecting on things I know and don't know

I'm standing in a meadow, in a field of new sumac plants and their deep red leaves and berries.

The sumac growth here was a surprise. I don't recall it being here last year and I know this meadow well. There is milkweed in this meadow, lots of it. Wild grasses, bent and folded close to the earth in oblong pressed shapes where deer bed down for the night. There are snakes here, and bunnies, chipmunks, field mice and all manner of other creatures. Foxes stop by, too. One of my lens caps is out here somewhere as well; I dropped it very near this spot around this time last year.

I could maybe say I'm partly responsible for the milkweed growth in this meadow. My dad used to take us, my brother and me, into this meadow every fall to pick apples from the ancient trees (which didn't produce any apples this year, finally too old I guess?) and to free the milkweed seeds from their pods, sending them floating across the air to be pressed into the earth elsewhere. But how this fresh field of sumac has erupted here, I don't know.

We used to call it "poison sumac," but this isn't the same plant (related, yes). This plant won't make you itch, and its berries are used for all sorts of things, like dyes, spices and flavorings.

But this post is supposed to be about me, right? Finding myself, finding some comfortable ground in self portraiting, discovery and whatnot. Not sumac or meadows or my lost lens cap.

I know this portrait was challenging (the light made it tough to see what was in focus). I know things are changing. I know I love this meadow and the millions of things, big and small, that I can discover here. I know I'm perpetually behind on so many things. I don't know what will be a surprise in this meadow next year. I don't know what will happen tomorrow. I know that I'm trying to get comfortable in an ever-shifting sea of change and flux, and that I am holding onto the things I know as long as possible, until I have to let them slip out of my grasp. I know I'm going to be okay with that.

My face

It seems like the last, oh, I don't know, several months of self portraits I've managed to avoid showing my face. Even here I'm partly shrouded by my hair (my safety blanket) and the shade.

I mostly don't have an issue with my face. I mean, I don't freak out when I look in the mirror. I see me, I think, in the mirror--an almost 50 year old woman who looks (mostly) her age. I don't have a problem with this. A lot of times, I actually think I'm kind of pretty.

What I do get hung up on is my face in photos. I don't feel like what comes out of the camera is what I see in the mirror. The lens is different from the mirror. The camera image is static. I wonder if maybe in the mirror we make little adjustments to avoid really seeing the parts we don't agree with, the lines or droops or pocks or dark spots? The camera is unforgiving, but the image is real. We can change those things in editing, of course. But then are we lying to ourselves?

I don't have an answer to being okay with my face in photos. I know I don't have to show my face in every self portrait as this is a creative project. But I also know that there are parts of me I feel self-conscious about and part of what I want in this project is to get over that, to see the beauty (yes, beauty!) in those parts that I sometimes don't love.

Jane wrote about this in her last post. I think we say and feel a lot of the same things regarding facing ourselves, and we're not unique. It may be a universal plight of the aging woman. Do we need to face the loss of our youth? Yes. Do we need to agree to the loss of beauty? No, I don't believe so. I think we have to embrace change in the definition, something more encompassing.

I have always loved writing

I went to visit my dad where he lives on the west side of the state with his friend. He's old now, 86, and his friend was away traveling and we all felt it would be good for him to have company. My brother stayed with him for five days and I took over for the weekend.

My dad dug this up, a Valentine's Day card I made for him when I was 8 (he wrote on the back, "made by Lisa, age 8"). The card has a poem in it that I (presumably) made up. It's corny, as you would expect. While there, he asked me to type the poem up for him since it's kind of hard to see. Remember those big, fat pencils we used back then? Their marks on this red paper have not aged all that well. The letters look more silvery now, but I can sort them out if I slow down.

My penmanship was pretty good (not anymore), and my grammar and use of punctuation probably made my teacher proud. I remember how important it was to me to write perfectly back then. It's still important--maybe one of the most important things to me, actually. When I write for work, I have a specific process (plan, draft, whittle, finesse, then sit on it for a day or longer, finalize, edit, don't submit just yet, edit again, submit or repeat previous two steps multiple times before submitting). When I write for myself, I am driven mad by any oversight (a typo or wrong word usage). I am trying not to be so uptight about blog or social media posts, but I do go back and edit. When I edit for work, which is mostly what my job is, I try to make other people's writing not only perfect, I aim to make it adhere to conventions, styles, guidelines.

I love the process of all of this. I love the rules and the intricacies of grammar and style. I loved these things before I even knew what they were, back when I was forming letters on this card and in elementary school classrooms and putting words together and learning where and where not to place commas. It's comforting. 

That my dad is still around and savors a corny Valentine's Day card from an 8-year-old me is profoundly comforting as well.

That I enjoyed something so much then, and that it is my career now... well, I am not sure what this says, other than I feel extraordinarily lucky.

Hiding

I saw a beautiful black and white photo online last night and I thought it would make a good self
portrait challenge. Woman, laying down, close up on her face, blurred background. Sounds like a nice image but beyond that, what would I say about it? Not much, probably.

Well, after attempting to shoot such a photo of myself, it turns out I have something to say after all.

It's not easy shooting yourself while laying down. It's a clumsy affair that causes one to furrow their brow and make funny faces. And your hair decides it's just going to do its own thing.

I hated every one that I took. Aside from thinking I looked awful, they just weren't all that great from a photographic standpoint. Or maybe they were interesting in a way, but I could not get past how I looked in them. Then I saw this one and it struck me that I'm not young and gorgeous like the model in the inspiration photograph. So maybe my expectations were a little skewed right from the start.

Yeah, I have bags under my eyes, large pores, and a furrowed brow. But dammit, it doesn't matter. I have so much to offer aside from my looks. I'm funny and smart and a good friend.

It doesn't fucking matter. But I allow it to matter. I allow myself to gauge my value on my looks.
This is a choice I am making.

I repeat.

This is a choice I am making.

This photo is a clear indication of that choice.

It's not a bad thing to want to look good. But it is bad when I let my looks define who I am. When I let them dictate my worthiness. When I cut my face in half because I can't bear to show all of it. When I edit the photo so it's softer and prettier looking.

I have a long way to go. I wish I could say I'm going to stop making this choice today. But it's not that easy.

Growth never is though, is it?

I'm not giving up, however, just acknowledging that I am human and I have work yet to do. Today I'm hiding but you never know what tomorrow will bring. And that, my friends, is life.

Letting the Wind Carry Me

You can't see me in this photo. But I'm in there.

My vision, my eye, my point of view. By the action of creating this image, it became a portrait of me, in a way.

But beyond that, when I saw this photo for the first time, I gasped. Just a little. You see, this photo is me. There's dark around the edges, and light inside. Like the pods releasing their seeds, I am releasing  something too.

I'm releasing expectations and rules about who I thought I was.

I'm releasing fears and limitations.

I'm releasing anyone or anything that makes me question my value.

I'm releasing the idea that occasional sadness means I can't also be happy.

So like the seeds, I am trusting that the winds of change will lead me to a place of growth. To a place where I will embrace and love both my darkness and my light.

The Time to Shine

The last several months, a wise person has been helping me sort myself out. Helping me to rediscover my value. Helping me to look inside myself for approval.

It's been a tough road, but at the same time, a very enlightening one as well.

Yesterday he gave me an assignment of sorts. At the end of each day, I am to write down one way in which I excelled. One way in which I feel my light was shining bright.

This is not an easy assignment for me. But I'm gonna do it. Because I know in my heart that I need it. It's not bragging to look for the good things about myself.  It's not self-absorbed to want to be special or unique. It's human nature. I've been denying myself the encouragement that I easily give to others. It's not fair for me to look outside for validation. Not fair for the person I'm expecting it from and not fair to myself. I have to give to myself.

I deserve it. I always have.

So I will listen to my friend. I will do my assignment. Like those sun flares surrounding me in the photo above. I will find the ways in which my light can be seen. From every angle. In the brightest of daylight to the darkest of night. I will find them.

I'm ready to let myself Shine.

Exploring

Last week I was in California for work, not far outside San Francisco. It seemed a shame to fly all the way across the country and not see anything aside from my office, so I tacked on the weekend, booked a room through airb&b, and explored as much of San Francisco as possible in about a day and a half. No plans, no expectations, no research.

I like this about me. I am mostly easy-going. I am adventurous. I am not afraid to wander, get lost, and have no idea where I am. Payment for that is I meet interesting people, have conversations I might not otherwise get to have, learn things I might otherwise not know, and have experiences I wouldn't ordinarily have. I got a scooter ride around the city and saw the ocean waves from a cliff side in moonlight. I met a guy and his dad from Indiana who were on a business trip--when they saw me on the street later they waved and yelled my name. I caught up with some old friends and got to know a few new ones. I had famous Irish coffee and smelled the sea lions on Pier 39. I learned about a leather festival on Fulton Street. 

I took this photo just before all of that, a few hours after I'd gotten to the airb&b apartment. All this new and exciting stuff right outside a door I was just about to open. 

East is East?

I know that sunflowers turn toward the sun. What I did not know is that once pollination occurs, however, they remain in a fixed position facing East. 

I took this photo of myself in a field of sunflowers with the intent of writing a post about following the light.

But when I read the above fact, something else came to mind. 

Facing the East. 

In my spiritual work; the East is seen as the direction of passion, illumination, and fire. It is essentially a masculine, determining energy. But that does not mean it is exclusively for men. We can all strive for these attributes in our own lives, we only need to claim them. They're already ours. 

I've been grappling with negativity and stillness in my life lately and it's been quenching my inner fire. I've made some changes recently to get myself moving. To wake myself up and stoke the fire. 

I am the determiner of who I am. Of what I feel and what I let into my life. I choose optimism and passion over negativity and stagnation. 

I choose to face East. 

Summer's end

Just like that, summer is over.

It was summer all weekend. Glorious, hot, steamy, stay-in-the-water-all-day summer. And then today, it's not. I see everyone's posts about their kids' first day of school. There are splotches of red on the trees. It rained most of the day. I have to go home to the city for a while. Summer is officially done.

I love fall, but I sometimes have issues with transitions. I am comfortable with admitting and facing that now. I need to give myself time to adjust to changes.

So I'm trying to focus on the little things; like, I can't wait to wear scarves (I love scarves), and boots (love those, too), and hats and knee-high socks and cozy sweaters and my favorite robe my daughter gave me more than a decade ago. I can't wait 'til the dog gets chilly at night and snuggles under the covers with me. I love apples and I'm going to eat a ton this fall. I might finish knitting the scarf I started for my daughter last winter (no fun knitting in the hot summer). I'll go visit my kids and take them out for coffee and linger in a warm coffee shop.

So where am I here, in this photo? Holding on to the last vestiges of summer at the cottage, facing into the wild weather and upcoming changes. Things are changing. I can do this.

In Defense of Big Calves

I have large calves, they aren't particularly muscular. They are mostly just fat. I have to buy boots for "wide" calves. Sometimes cute knee socks do not fit over these fat calves. 

But here's the thing. These fat calves are sturdy and strong. They are smooth and soft. They are curvy. They have supported me through many years of living. Getting scratched by burrs in the woods, or sunburned on the beach, or worn out walking the streets of the many cities I've visited. 

I think it's time I start loving these fat calves of mine. They're kind of awesome. 

Mercury

Well hello, September! The month makes me think of back to school, which reminds me of when I was in school and teachers used to pass around a liquid ball of mercury which we would hold in our sweaty little palms, roll around a bit, marvel over, and then pass on to the kid next to us until it made the rounds of the room.

Mercury. Dangerous stuff. In the palms of our hands, no less. A little liquid ball of silver. Like magic!

So there's a time in the afternoon when the sun inches toward the lake to make its retreat for the day, but before the sun gets too low and the sky starts turning color. This is when the lake gets all sparkly and magical and, to me, mercurial. That silvery liquid that was so mystifying.

I can't hold mercury anymore, but I'm still fascinated by it and delighted that I get to see it, walk into it even, most days that I'm here.

Change and flux and worry

It's that point in the year where it feels like everything is up in the air. It's the end of August, which means back to school mainly, which is like some kind of frenzy in most of the country. With no kids in the house and nobody starting college for the first time (although our daughter is going to a new college this year), I swear, the frenzy is just annoying. Maybe I'm a little wistful about it, though. I do miss my kids.

I had a plan to be back at the cottage for about two weeks, only the plan may change this week. There is the flux, the uncertainty, the winging it. My kid is sick, and there's not much that feels worse than being away from your kid, no matter his age, when he's hurting. Worry from afar feels worse than worry while laying eyes on the person you're worried about.

The first time my daughter went away to camp, I think she was in sixth grade, I likened it to walking around with one or two of my limbs removed. It's foreign, disorienting; but good practice for when they step into the world on their own. But here you are parenting away and making all choices and decisions for your young offspring, and then boom, almost overnight they are grown and on their own, doing all that for themselves and there you are without your limbs. And you sort out how to adjust.

I don't know if this image conveys what I'm writing about, but my limbs are still attached (that's good) and I am in the place (cottage) I love best. But part of me is sitting at my son's bedside, helping his sister care for him, and waiting to hear what the next step is before I rush home.

Where I Come From

 

Tomorrow, August 26th, marks three years since my dad died. I miss him all the time, but it's getting easier to think about him without instantly getting sad. I can get look around and see everything that reminds me of him and it makes me smile. 

For instance, my dad loved tinkering around in the garage. Both at his home and at the cottage up north. He would organize his things, rearrange whatever he felt needed rearranging that day, work on projects. If we ever needed to find him, the garage would generally be the first place we'd look. 

He was also something of a collector. Antiques, tools, boxes, and his favorite collectible; books. The walls in the garage up north are lined with shelves covered in books. As anyone who knew my dad can tell you, he was an avid reader. Books. Magazines. Newspapers. If it had words on it my dad would read it. I learned a love of reading from him, one of my favorite photos is of me as a baby in his lap and he's reading me a book.

I don't make the time to read as often these days, and it's something I'd like to remedy. Today I went out into my dad's garage and I looked at some of his books. I picked one off the shelf and held it and wondered if my dad had read this particular one. He probably did. 

There are many ways in which I am similar to my father. A tendency toward drama, a need to travel, loyalty towards my family and friends, and the love of a good story. I've been missing the feel of a book in my hands. It's time to bring that back into my life. 

I think my dad would like that.  

What's in a name?

...that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet...

Or something close to that, from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. A quote I always knew, long before I read the play in high school English, because of my dad's love of the theater. And "a rose is a rose is a rose," attributed to Gertrude Stein. Another nod to my father on that one. But who you are and pride in your name was something my dad fought for and tried to instill in my brother and me, in addition to and outside of artistic implication. Our last name was a gift, essentially, and we were to honor it as such.

Of course as a kid none of that made any sense. I continually embarrassed my dad (a teacher in the pubic school system I attended) and failed his name on so many accounts. I enjoyed having my name associated with trouble (it was fun). Until I started to understand it, and then I became as fiercely protective of my last name as my father has been.

My first name took longer to like, let alone be something I felt protective over. The name "Lisa" always felt so boring. I knew plenty of Lisa's growing up, and none were particularly exotic. I liked names like Roxanne, Angela, and Poppy. Those sounded like adventurous girls who did interesting things! Lisa sounded like the girl next door who never did anything. It didn't help that I had to go to speech therapy in grade school (a fate worse than death, being called out of class each day in second grade to go to the speech therapist's office) to learn how to say "s" so that it didn't sound like "th."

Over the last decade, though, I've felt a shift. I actually like my name now. L's sound sumptuous, and I've mostly mastered the "s" sound (except when I'm tired) and can even make it whistle a little bit when I want. I love a cursive L, too, and the opportunity to finish my written name off with that dot above the i is a bonus. I like how my name sounds, how it looks when written, and how certain people say it. I like that maybe I am just a little bit responsible for making my name seem less like the girl next door and more like the girl who might persuade you into taking the adventure of your life.

My dad is right. We are our names. Best to fall in love with our names (and ourselves) rather than fight them.

At Peace?

What I see when I look at this photo.

Calm

Rest

Peace

I placed the sun right between my eyes. The Third Eye. The Sixth Chakra.
The center of intuition. A place that will guide me to inner knowledge. If I let it.

But instead I am feeling stuck and full of doubt. I've experienced a loss. Without getting into great detail, a close friend and I have parted ways. I am sad about it. I am grieving. But I also know it is for the best. In the long run,  I will grow from this. They will grow from this. My inner wisdom tells me this is so.

I was going to take some photos of myself during a particular bad patch of grieving, but that felt wrong. I want to focus on healing and what that means to me right now.

It means letting go of attachments. It means letting the grief come but knowing that it will begin to lessen in time. It means finding strength and honesty in myself. It means not allowing regret to cloud my vision. It means asking for help from my community and loved ones. It means remembering who I truly am, not what they told me I was. Not what anyone tells me I am.

So I close my eyes and I allow myself to really see. See that light and power and wisdom that is me, even when I feel like I am an aimless wanderer who cannot control her emotions. The path I am on may not be straight and perfect, but I'm still on it. Falling in holes but climbing out and trying again.

Always trying again.

Invasive thoughts

I feel like I'm constantly reminded of my faults this summer. I'm flaky. I'm careless. I'm messy. I'm self-absorbed. I'm wishy-washy. I'm not good enough. I'd be a better (person, mom, friend, etc.) if I just (fill in the blank). Invasive thoughts.

I went with my thoughts about all my faults to sit in a little patch of meadow with something else that is invasive. These purple flowers (which I've incorrectly called purple thistle) are spotted knapweed, an invasive plant that crowds out native species. The knapweed is prolific here, but there are also some tufts of fleabane, a few hardy Queen Anne's lace, and some stalky mullein hanging around in here, too. The native plants are putting up a good fight.

This knapweed is prickly, but it's also pretty. It creates a sea of purple that I think is beautiful. And although it's invasive, the monarch butterflies seem to love it. It can't be all bad, right?

Maybe reminding myself of my faults isn't all bad, either. Maybe finding a way to look at some of them in a different way is beneficial? Or, reminding myself of them keeps me working to move past some of the pricklier ones?

I don't know. But I'll keep working on it. For now, I'm going to try to stop beating myself up about everything that's wrong with me and work on letting the good thoughts take root.

Aside from that, I've got a little catch-up to do this month here--I missed a few weeks.

Dog days

It's such a common phrase (dog days of summer) that I wanted to look it up to make sure I was using it correctly, and it turns out it's an astrological reference rather than having anything to do with dogs or even really with heat, although it corresponds to the hottest days of high summer. But on this particular day it was too hot to do much of anything, so I parked it on the couch for a moment and thought it might make for an appropriate image and reference to that phrase, which turns out to not mean what I thought it meant.

And lots of things don't mean what I think they mean.

For example, I'll admit I'm still licking my wounds (ha! accidental dog reference) over my little blog fiasco, wherein I accidentally wiped out my Google account, thus deleting two whole (different) blogs and my images on this one. It shook me up more than I expected. I whined about it, a lot. I took to Facebook to proclaim my shock. A wise writer I know responded with something that's been knocking about in my head since: "Kill your darlings," he wrote, "and then make more."

Wow. Bam. Pow.

And then, yes. YES.

I wrote some good stuff (some bad, too), and it's gone and it's not coming back. But I'm not out of ideas or creative juice. I can formulate words into sentences that will be good again. Hell, maybe even better. I can keep learning and taking pictures. And I will probably lose more writing and photos and it's still going to be okay, because I can make more.

Until I'm blind, or my fingers fall off, or something else prevents me from shooting and writing, I can make more of this stuff. More good stuff, more bad stuff, more stuff in the process of creating for the sake of creating. "In the process of creating for the sake of creating." I want to live in these words.

Even lounging on the couch in the indescribably delicious heat of the late afternoon sun (or what most call the dog days of summer), I want to live in those words.

I am a Photographer

Sometimes people will ask me what I do. In other words, what is my job? How do I make a living? How do I contribute to society?

My answer varies depending on the situation.

I'm a wife and stay at home mom. 

I crochet and make cute little things that I try to sell. 

I belong to a beautiful circle of women who facilitate empowering work for other women. 

Lately I've added one more answer. 

I'm a photographer. 

I used to be afraid to make this declaration. As if I had to meet certain criteria to be allowed into this exclusive club. Like I have to have won awards, or gotten a degree, or sold my work, had a gallery showing.

But I don't think that anymore. 

I take pictures. Pretty darn good pictures. I love composing a shot, scouting out places to shoot. Editing and processing my work. I love discussing photography with others who share my passion. I find the challenge of taking a good photograph exciting and meaningful.  

That makes me a photographer. 

A pretty darn good photographer. 

Restraint

You may not believe this if you only know me through reading this blog, but I don't always tell the truth about what I'm feeling in my deepest places. I give some of it up, sure. But there are days when I'd love to let loose.

To really let it out.

To scream it from the rooftops.

To rant and rage and cry.

Don't we all have times where we just get so fed up? Whether it's our own lives messing with us, or all the atrocities we see happening in our world?

I firmly believe that what I put out into the universe comes back to me, so I try to see the positive in most situations. But I also realize that holding back rage or sadness or fear does me no favors. Quite frankly, I know I don't have to be strong all the time. But somewhere along the line I told myself I had to keep quiet about what was really deep down inside. That if I did indeed scream from the rooftops and someone heard it, they would realize that I am not a fountain of strength and restraint. And if they realize that, where would that leave me? Who would I be then?

Therein lies the rub, my friends.

This post has no shiny, happy ending. It's just me, wondering if that hand will ever move out of the way completely. I hope so, but that look in my eyes says 'I'm not quite ready yet.'

It's a new me (and I'm not happy about it)

I'm just interjecting a short (non-angry, non-sobby, non-self-portrait) post to say that something lousy happened to me yesterday. I won't expound, but it means that I lost all access to my two other blogs and the photos I've posted in this one, along with my blogger "identity." That said, I'm going to spend some time this weekend trying to remember what photos I've posted here up 'til now, and repost them into my posts that now look like they are posted by "unknown."

So that's me, unknown, in all posts up 'til now.

I am grateful that the writing in this shared blog didn't disappear, but a bit heartsick about the other two. I want to be unhappy with Google, blogger, and my ISP, but I can probably take the blame here. My ISP moved to a new platform, and I guess if I were savvy enough I'd have realized that would knock out my Google account, thus my blogger access. And, if it's so important to me, why wasn't I backing up my posts?

Here's to lessons. And do-overs, and restarts, and things lost in the stratosphere.

Breathe, let go

Like Jane, I've had a rough couple of weeks. I have lost focus and allowed worries to creep in. Breathe. Let go. My mantras of late, but they've really just been words that I'm not even heeding.

This week there were a few bright spots. Two friends visited. My son and his new girlfriend visited. I encouraged others to follow their passion. I offered advice. I said "I love you" a lot.

I'm standing in a wheat field in evening sun, doing just a bit of that letting go.

There is Light Out There

Without getting into detail about it, the past few weeks have been rather trying on both my body and my psyche. Most of it my own doing, my own reactions to what's happening around me and to me.

I've been working for months to really try to see how large I can be, to allow myself to dream big. To quash that old tape that says I need to stay comfortable, where I can't get hurt. That tape has gotten very loud lately, and I've been listening to it. Allowing myself to wallow in self-pity. To doubt my abilities.  To stay put. Where I'm quiet. Where I'm invisible.

Where I'm safe.

For me, safety means: no sharing, keeping my emotions in check, no more dreaming. So needless to say, continuing this project, where I am vulnerable and real and in front of the camera most of the time, is downright unappealing.

So today I stood far from the camera and I faced away. I didn't want to expose myself.

But as I study this, I realize. I'm still the focal point. I'm still here, dammit. I still want to move toward the top of the hill. Toward the unknown. Away from darkness and fear.

There will be times when I doubt myself. When I feel small and inconsequential. But even in the midst of all that, my heart reaches for the light. Because it remembers who I really am and what I really want. Even when I think I don't.

Obscured

I'm not hiding in this photo. But this post is about what I keep hidden. Or rather, what I hide from myself. About myself.

Today is my birthday and already I have been showered with good wishes from family and friends. I know I am loved and cherished by so many people. It is a beautiful feeling. But a feeling that, for me, can be fleeting. Because as with most outside validation, it doesn't last. Especially when inside I don't necessarily believe in my inherent value.

As I have mentioned before, I have worked a lot to love me. To find compassion for myself. I have come a long way. But still, I find it easier to believe the negative about me. I'm unreliable, tend to laziness, bossy, quick to anger. You get the gist.

So I look outside for the good stuff. I surround myself with wonderful people who are eager to tell me all the things they love about me. But as I said above, it's never going to be enough until I actually find a way to believe it myself. Until I push aside the negative junk that's hiding the positive.

This photo is blurry. It's hard to tell what's really going on. But if you look closer, you'll see beauty in there. Lush greenery, life, summer light. I want to be a part of that.

I have obscured my own beauty and light by allowing myself to dwell on my more negative traits. Giving them more strength than they deserve. But since it's my birthday, and I love presents, I'm going to give myself one. I will say and think only positive things about myself today. And if someone says something nice about me, I promise to believe them.

Happy Birthday to me.

I'm trying

A handful of ox-eye daisies and a little bit of fleabane in the meadow, late afternoon sun. Softer, more thoughtful, more understanding, more compassionate. This is what I'm aiming for.

This week was busy--half working, half vacation, but lots of guests and kids and in and out all week. It's easy to feel like the work you're doing on yourself when you're alone is, well, working. But guests and family and unexpected upheaval bring the reality of where you are with that self-work to light.

And I just felt like I was failing at a whole lot of things this week.

I could be a lot better at being a friend. I need to be a lot better at being a daughter, sister, wife, mother to my young adult children. I have to not give lip service to letting go, but actually let go. I have to not be controlling. I think I'm not judgmental at all--but I see that I really am sometimes. I need to worry less. I need to be softer, but I also need to stand up for myself more. I need to keep working on myself.

Late June and little to say

I don't really know what to write to accompany this photo.

In fact, I've already written and deleted about six paragraphs. I'm really having a hard time, here. Really.

What's to say?

Where am I in this journey, this week of this year, in this project? (I don't have a good answer today, but no closer to acceptance, still loaded with faults.) What does this say about me? (That I plucked some of the prolific wildflowers out of their living quarters and put them in my hair.)

Really, I'm lost in thought and possibilities today. The Supreme Court made a decision yesterday morning that changes the landscape of this country. This means my brother's marriage is legal in every state, including his own. This means people I know and care about can marry the people they love. This is monumental. I guess I feel like being a little quiet and taking it all in.

What I Need

Today I discovered that somewhere inside of me is a needy little girl. A little girl who wants to fit in and be cherished but who long ago learned, or taught herself, that needing and wanting were signs of weakness.

So she pulled away, folded inside of herself and swatted her own hand every time the need arose. She stopped asking. She decided that anyone who loved her was wrong. That she should know better than  anyone what was really inside.

She was wrong.

I was wrong.

I am needy. I am weak. I am giving. I am strong.

Today I realized that I need to ask for what I want.

I have to ask for what I want.

I have to hug that little girl and stop swatting her hand.

She is precious, and cherished.

She is necessary.

And so am I.

Dreaming

A few years ago I was told that the dream of my life, my sacred dream, has always been within me. Held safely in a secret chamber of my heart. That I alone had the power to unlock that chamber and begin to nurture that dream. All I had to do was allow myself to remember. To stop thinking so hard and to begin feeling.

This was not an easy task for me. Words I heard growing up had encased my heart and caused me to forget my dreams.

"Don't get your hopes up."

"We don't want you to be disappointed."

I know these words were spoken out of love and concern, but they planted seeds of fear and skepticism. Then they became harsher words that I told myself.

"Dreams are unrealistic and stupid."

"You can't have that."

"You can't do that."

I lived this way for many years. Managing to still make a wonderful life, with a husband and children, friends and travel, a life that was full of love and enjoyment. But I didn't dream. I lived in a world of safety and comfort, not trying for fear of failing. Fear that made it difficult to even contemplate the idea of a sacred dream.

But something happened five years ago that helped me to dig deep into my soul and figure out what I really wanted in life. I opened up that secret chamber and decided that I was worthy of dreams. That dreams are not only possible, but necessary. For all of us.

If you had asked me if I was a dreamer five years and four months ago. my answer would have been a resounding 'No'.

Now though, I not only dream, but I share those dreams with others. I bring those dreams to fruition. Some are still sitting, waiting to happen. Some might never happen. But you know what?

That's ok.

That's life, lived to its fullest.
Where fear is met with persistence.
Success is met with gratitude.
Failure is met with grace.

Where dreams are welcome. Always.

How dare I be uninspired?!

Out of two separate photo shoots today in two gorgeous places, I got absolutely nothing I was happy with. First, I wanted dappled light in the forest and I tried and tried and just could not make that work.

So, then I thought of a shot in the nice early evening sun, with the lake and grasses in the background, and why not add my favorite person being in the whole world (my dog) since I'm feeling a little not-so-great about myself and, of course, she's super cute. Only the dog was utterly recalcitrant and unhelpful. Plus, you know, when you want the natural light to illuminate your face, you kind of have to be actually facing it, which doesn't make for the most attractive facial expressions. Hence the closed eyes and pinched expression.

Sigh.

Jane talked me down from the ledge on today's failed attempts. There are more days in the week--I could have scrapped today's shots and tried again tomorrow or over the weekend. But she reminded me that we committed to bad photos, too (whether compositionally lousy or just lousy to us), and so yes, I do like to honor my commitments.

Hello, I'm Lisa, and I love hooping

I started hula hooping a couple of years ago. I saw a video, it looked fun, I bought tubing and made a hoop and watched some more videos to figure out how to do it (the size of the hoop matters exponentially). I watched even more videos to learn some tricks, too. I've taken some classes, even. And all of it is blissfully, stupidly, outrageously FUN.

So, yeah, I'm a 48 year old woman and I hula hoop. I think I'm just old enough that I don't feel I have to apologize for it.

Anyway, I really couldn't wait to do a self portrait with one of my hoops (yes, I have several). I'm hooping on my deck in the Lake Michigan wind and fog. Free. Hooping. Crazy happy.

What's in a Photo?

On Saturday night I did something I have never done before. I wouldn't say I was worried or nervous about it, but I did feel the gravity and importance of my role and that forced me to confront many of the doubts I have about myself.

Doubts that persist despite the many strides I have made in the seemingly simple task of learning to love myself.

So I did this thing and while in the midst of it I let go of self-conscious thoughts and worries about doing it "right". I was strong and capable and nurturing.

I am strong and capable and nurturing.

In the midst of it, there was a tiny hiccup and I felt myself allowing the fears and doubts to come in but I stopped myself. I dug deep down and turned the negative thoughts into a teaching for myself. I told myself that I will make mistakes but that doesn't negate the powerful, important work I am doing. So I kept going and it turned out to be even better than I had hoped.

After it was all over I went out with my camera to get a shot of the moon over the lake. It was one of those nights where you almost can't believe something so beautiful could possibly exist. But it does.
So I propped my camera on a picnic table and took many, many photos. Not one of them captured the intensity of the light or the stunning glow of that gorgeous moon. At first I was disappointed. I wanted a photograph to document this amazing night. I thought it wasn't meant to be.

Then I just looked at that moon. I sat and gazed at it for several minutes, while I thought about the women I was spending the weekend with. Women who are strong and capable and nurturing. Women who, like me, are not perfect. Women who make mistakes. Women who keep going through sadness, hardship, and disappointments. A group of women I am proud and honored to call my sisters.

I looked at that moon and I knew that it is part of me and part of all of us. That beauty can't always be captured in a photograph but it's there all the same. This photo shows just a fraction of that beauty. We don't always have to have a picture to remember an amazing moment.

It's in us, forever.

This is Me

This is me in Saguaro National Park.

This is me after four very long days of driving over 2,000 miles.

This is me surrounded by beauty and unfamiliar creatures and plants and landscape.

This is me alone and unafraid amongst the cacti.

This is me standing tall and exploring.

This is me Happy.

I'm an extroverted introvert

Watching a cloudy sunset over Lake Michigan. With white wine (in a very old jelly glass). Alone, but not lonely.

It's interesting--there is no one here this early in the season. A few neighbors come and go on the weekends, but no one stays during the week. I'm seeing weather patterns I don't normally get to see (a waterspout! A rainbow!); I watched a mother and baby deer bound down the dune and then run up the beach, leaping in and out of the water playfully; the family of eagles hunts in front of the cottages, treating me to an excellent show (they normally stay north in the short strip of beach where there are no cottages). I'm here so early because it's the first year I don't have children in the house wrapping up their school year. It's kind of a new experience.

I drove to a friend's son's graduation party on Sunday; they live on this side of the state, south of where I am, also on Lake Michigan. I only knew the hosts and one other guest, but was introduced to and sat down with a group of women who seemed interesting and so we chatted about writing, photography, kids, work. When I told told them where I had driven from (just an hour north) and that I was here by myself, one of the women--a freelance writer--asked if I was an introvert or an extrovert. I really had to think about this one.

Is it possible to be both? In certain settings I'm definitely extroverted. In others, I'm really shy and uncomfortable, although it might not show. What qualifies those terms, anyway? I think I'm on a 70/30 scale, with the bigger chunk being introverted. I really like my alone time. I don't mind having conversations with myself (I have lots of them). I get anxious when I think about someone horning in on that time if I haven't planned for it. That said, I get super itchy if I can't bounce ideas off someone else. I like asking a lot of questions and hearing people's stories. I love trying new things and meeting new people. I get a little lonely at night.

Anyway, part of getting comfortable with taking pictures of myself is also getting comfortable with me, just how I am, and not just in the physical sense. I'm an extroverted introvert. If I ever get to talk with this woman again, that's what I'm going to tell her.

Stuck inside

It's a rain all day kinda day, and since no one is around, I'm at a bit of a loss. I already went into town for chocolate and other necessary provisions, I've written a few pages, it's too rainy to go out and shoot. I guess next on tap is to finish watching the movie I started last night, clean up the cottage a bit, read, go for a run in the rain, make a salad for dinner, try to rope a friend into skyping or facetiming with me. There's only so much I can talk to the dog before even she walks away.

Waiting for the water to rise

This lovely little turquoise building is actually a boathouse. It, and this deck, is suspended over a marshy section of land in Lake Erie Metropark, south of where I live. I know it's a boathouse because I have pressed my face up against that little window because I really had to know what was in there. And there are some old wooden canoes in there, that's what. I can only assume that at one time this marshy span was more a river... I mean, why else would a boat house be here? Still, I want the back story. I am a journalist by nature.

But beyond that, I feel like I'm waiting lately. Waiting for something good to happen. Waiting for the right project to hit me over the head. Waiting for everything to be okay. Waiting for summer. Waiting for the perfect time to open that $100 bottle of wine I was gifted during an outrageously fun evening earlier this spring (a story best told over wine--but maybe not that $100 bottle). Waiting to have enough money. Waiting to feel really comfortable with myself. Waiting for the lock on that boathouse door to be mysteriously gone, or broken, or just unlocked, so I can get a better look at what's inside. Waiting for a stroke of creative genius.

Jane wrote about feeling restless some posts ago, and I so hear that call. I am restless. I want a change. I'm ready for a surprise.

Bring on the waters.

Working Hands

I have noticed the past few years that the elasticity in my skin has decreased. I can pinch the skin on the tops of my hands and it will take a few seconds for it to return back down. Age spots, wrinkles, all the signs of aging are showing on my hands. I see them in this photo and I could dwell on the imperfections I see in them. But I won't.

Instead, I will dwell on what these hands do. They create and sooth. They caress and clap. They get dirty. They turn my ideas into realities. They hold on. They grab and don't let go very easily.

These hands work. Somedays they work hard. Somedays they don't. Every wrinkle and line on them has been earned. From washing dishes to squeezing my babies. From every mundane or exciting thing I have ever done.

They are my mother's and my grandmother's hands. They are my children's hands.

They are mine.

They are aging as I am aging. Yet here they are, working just as hard for me as they ever did. I look at these hands and I see growth and seasons changing and life continuing. There is beauty in that. Such miraculous beauty.

I am this

Here's that second post for the week.

This is what I am. I grew up on this beach. This sand, the sky here, the churning (or gentle) great Lake Michigan is in my skin, my bones, my hair, the very fiber of my being. It's my right arm, my heart and my soul. A separation would be an end.

Today the lake was gentle and the fog rolled in and out in some cosmic rhythm to which I was not privy. I was only here for the day, checking on the house and readying it for the season. I had to commune with the sand, I just had to. And the lack of contrast due to the fog begged for black and white treatment for this photo.

Anyway, this is truly me, wind blown and sand covered, part of the earth.

Tell me you're with me

That I'm not the only who gets so far behind she can't even fathom a way to catch up?

I missed my self portrait last week, so I'm committing to two this week. And the week is very nearly over. And I'm trying not to panic!

So, last week I was in the throes of an important work project, plus trying to prepare to take Friday and Monday off of work so I could spend a long weekend in Manhattan with my daughter in celebration of her 21st birthday (which I can still hardly believe--I don't feel old enough to have a 21-year-old!). I thought I would be oh-so-inspired to take amazing photos in New York, and I thought for sure I'd do some fantastic self portrait. Maybe me dwarfed by the Manhattan skyline, or me, frozen on a busy street while crowds swarmed around me. Even without a tripod. I'd shed any self-consciousness and be a daring photographer. Oh the ideas I had.

Only none of that happened. I had a great weekend doing all sorts of things I wanted to do and really enjoying the time with my daughter. Experiencing more, documenting less. And then when I got back late Monday night I had to play catch up starting bright and early Tuesday morning, and after that the week got even more busy.

But tonight Jane and I went out to that excellent marsh that we both can't get enough of, and I breathed and remembered the things that really inspire me, photographically, that is. I do love the city. I love the buildings and the noise and the different languages and colors and backgrounds of all the people, but I want to be in that more than documenting it. I want to soak it up and roll around in it and feel all of it. I'm not sure I know how to photograph that kind of experience, I guess. So again, another shot from the marsh. I am unapologetic (I'm also working on my unapologeticness. Just sayin'.)

But back to tonight. And the first of two self portraits this week, you know, to catch up. The bugs tonight were relentless. I noticed that the longer I stood still, the larger the swarm around me got. I'm running from the swarm, but maybe also running from my regrets (over not being daring enough to do a self portrait in New York), and maybe also running toward the me I am starting to accept more--the one who is unapologetic, the one who knows that she loves the city but really thrives in open spaces, the one who is accepting of her faults and weirdness, the one who is learning new things every day.

Stripes and Shadows

Last week I wanted to look pretty, this week I just wanted to take a photograph of myself. The light in our front room was making some lovely stripes through our blinds so I sat down in the right spot, picked up my camera and shot a few. Hair uncombed, no makeup. Not even any coffee yet.
Today I wasn't thinking about how I looked, I was thinking about how even when I don't feel like taking yet another photo of myself I still adore this project. I love what it is creating for me. I love that I get feedback for my work. I love discussing it with Lisa. I love that this project is touching people. I love that I am doing something that feels worthwhile.

And I love this woman right here. With all her foibles, flaws, and quirks, I still think she's damn cool.