I was pregnant with Ella when I got this pretty little invite in the mail from my sister-in-law, Jo, to celebrate us.
She’s on her way, it said. Pink and orange cut-out dress with yellow yarn for straps.
I loved that phrase.
It held a promise.
It was about her, and now I know her, 10 years and counting.
A few years ago, while brainstorming a way to mark the making of things, this baby invite, and the phrase starting with she came back to me as inspiration.
It was just an idea, but I loved it.
It held more promise.
But creating and being and finding your way gets complicated. And hindsight is always so frustratingly clear.
So I laid it all down for a bit and let it fall away.
And then I waited.
And waited some more.
It takes courage to start again, find yourself, risk it, put it out there, make mistakes, be misunderstood, be seen, judged, compared to and decided about. And for heaven’s sake, I’m just talking about a silly blog. Why bother? Why should I? What if I don’t?
I heard Brene Brown in person recently say: there is something deeply unholy about not recognizing our worthiness but something really sacred about being honest about it.
Fact is, I needed a few others along the way to nudge and notice, and let me voice every hesitation and still say to my face: do it anyway.
And I just needed to get plain sick of being afraid.
So a few thank you shout-outs, if you don’t mind, for the records.
And after a gazillion emails back and forth, you came up with the design for the new blog, the fabric, the blessed fringe. It feels like me. Thank you! I’m so glad our paths of stepping out into new things crossed when they did. If I had lots of money, I would hire you as a personal coach and decision-maker in my life. Have I mentioned that to you? Please consider adding that to your artistic offerings. Because you should really think about it, you could market to other fellow hem-hawers like me, and in your most loving of ways, kick them in the pants. Then create art that inspires their future. Ok? Good. Great.
We simply can’t learn to be more vulnerable and courageous on our own.
Thank you to those of you who’ve given me your words.
And symbols to remember.
Thanks for the books,
And the time spent doodling on my behalf.
And you there, for buying your chai tea lattes on more than a few occasions, listening through hot tears and texts from my kids, encouraging me to get up out of the ditch of trying to figure it out and keep moving ahead.
You all know who you are.
So here I am.
And there you are.
Often the result of daring greatly isn’t a victory march as it is a quiet sense of freedom mixed with a little battle fatigue. –all quotes from Brene Brown, Daring Greatly