It’s time to emerge from the rabbit hole.

As tempting as it is so stay in the rabbit hole, the outside is much more alluring.

12 posts. 5,324 words. Thousands of views. Hundreds of comments. I’ve been telling Eric’s Story for only a week, and already so much progress has been made. But friends, I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually exhausted.

I’ve descended into the proverbial rabbit hole, consumed by the creative process. My natural tendency is to dig deeper, stay longer, until I have to be retrieved after collapsing in the depths. But this time it’s going to be different. I will only write when the words well up inside me and spill out like water over a flooded dam when my fingers hit the keyboard. When it starts to feel like an obligation, it’s time to back away.

I’m taking a break, a momentary leave of absence from the exercise of soul baring. This story will still be told, but it won’t come at the expense of my health or my sanity. I’ve got two little girls who depend on me (and one big boy). I’ll be back, when I’m rested and ready. Until then, keep sharing Eric’s Story with those who need to hear it, and keep reaching out to me if you’ve been touched by it in some way.

Your encouragement, whether verbalized or silent, means so much to me. I live in an amazing community, both online and offline. As any runner will tell you, you’ve got to pace yourself if you want to finish the race. And finishing is what matters most to me.


Your Dreams May Be Trying To Tell You Something…

An ex-boyfriend once gave me a book on dream interpretation. It was a thick, colorful book with explanations for many scenarios and themes one may encounter while sleeping. It covered everything from colors, to animals, to weather, to textiles. While I was intrigued by the subject matter, I noticed a disturbing trend with the book’s rationale. 

The color orange? Well, that means you’re sexually repressed. Zebras? Sexually repressed. Rainstorm? Sexually repressed. Corduroy? Sexually repressed. Wait a second…I’m starting to notice a trend. Perhaps this was wishful thinking on his part. Either way, I’ve never given much credit to dream interpretation until today. 

I had time to linger over my thoughts on the open stretch of highway between Kingman and Wichita today, and my mind was mulling over this career change I recently made. I’m thoroughly enjoying the extra time I have with my girls, and I’m excited about the freelance projects I have coming up on the horizon. 

The anticipation I felt about the projects gave me such strong feelings of déjà vu that I had to get to the bottom of why I was feeling this way. And then it hit me. Ever since I could remember, I’ve had a recurring dream that goes something like this:

I’m wandering through a familiar house, though usually not my own, and I stumble upon a room that I didn’t know existed. It’s usually an attic or a cellar, and always dusty. I pull a string to light up the room with a single bulb, and begin to explore. There are antique riches and interesting paintings, old furniture and costume jewelry. I find treasure after treasure, and my heart races with anticipation at what I’ll find next. 

Only today did I realize that this represents the creative process for me. I was born to create, and delight in discovering the treasures that exist right under my nose. There are stories and ideas just waiting to be extracted from the dusty recesses of my mind. And even if I can’t make much of a living from this “creative picking,” I’ll enjoy the process all the same.


Write Where You Are

Someone asked me recently if I consider myself a “mommy blogger.” Hmm…I’m a mom. And I blog. So, technically, I suppose I am. But I’m also a lot of other things. I’m a wife, a sister, an aunt and a so-so friend (my poor pals have been pretty neglected these past few years). It’s not that I’m boring. I just don’t have time to be interesting.

As it turns out, not everyone is a fan of mommy bloggers. “All they do is talk about their kids’ bodily functions  and tantrums and lack of sleep and blah, blah, blah…” I have to admit I was a bit intimidated to even start a blog for fear that “those” people wouldn’t think I was funny or clever.

But you know what? I really don’t care anymore. Writing is my outlet, my indulgence, my escape. And I’ve decided that it’s ok to embrace right where I am, and write where I am. I’ve included my first-ever blog post below, to remind myself why I started this in the first place. (And big props to Judy Dunn who helped my better understand my misgivings about blogging: What’s Under Your Bed?: 10 Monster Blogging Fears Worth Chasing Down.)


Blog Post

Oops, gotta go. Daughter just peed on the floor. Turns out mommy blogs do revolve around bodily functions.