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Filtering by Tag: it is what it is


liz lamoreux

this morning was full of darkness.
literally because i somehow found myself sitting with one light on and no blinds open as i worked on a document that was pretty thick (which is my personal "editor-speak" for a bit over my head and difficult to read).
i found myself not opening the blinds and pouting a bit.
missing my friends.
wishing for a different sort of day.
i felt silly that my video blog posted yesterday was me in the darkness...in a witness protection sort of lighting. and i kind of wanted to take it down, even though the message i shared is very important to me.
but i mean seriously. how silly of me to post me in almost darkness.
so then in my pouting i just sat in mostly darkness.
i mean it was grey out anyway, so it wasn't like opening the blinds would matter.
but clearly, coming close to pitching a tent in that darkness was not going to be a good idea.
and a friend insisted via email that opening the blinds was a must.

so i did.

which helped for a few minutes.

and then a bit later i took millie out.

and noticed.


and was reminded.

that face

and while standing outside, a hummingbird swooped in right next to me.

a visitor

and then later, just before dusk, the blue made an appearance.

the blue appears

though i am still feeling a bit pouty...a bit stuck in some feelings of missing and wishing...i am trying to just sit inside the feeling and notice.

and i forgive myself for needing to just be me inside these feelings. i forgive myself and feel the light begin to fill the space around my heart.

with each breath, i feel the light.

and i give myself permission to be here.

you take a breath...

liz lamoreux

Well, I'm writing this while sitting in a tow truck. I'm okay...my car is a bit bruised as I hit some pretty major tire debris while driving on the highway late this evening.

You know those scary moments as a driver where you know you just have to hit what is in your path to avoid creating a bigger accident.

And as I sit here, I am thinking about how we do this as we walk on the path that is our life. How you can be walking in the darkness, and even though it is dark, you think you know where you are because you have been here before...but suddenly something unexpected is there and you don't have time to stop or protect yourself...you must keep going. And you find yourself unable to stop even after you hit it. And as you keep going, maybe you are a bit battered and shaky...but you are okay and (deep breath) you know you are okay. And suddenly there is light and solid ground again.

And you take a breath again.

And you just keep going.

(Or you stop and call for help, but either way, forward momentum while just staying in the moment and breathing seems to be the only answer.)

thoughts put to screen.

liz lamoreux

the ceiling fan whirs and spins and shakes the pull that clanks insistently against the glass lightbulb cover. millie sighs into sleep at my feet. jonny shifts in his chair as he checks email and plays with his new computer....i hear the hushed tinkling of a piano as barry manilow sings, "...and when october goes, the same old dream appears, and you are in my arms to share the happy years...i turn my head away to hide the helpless tears...oh i hate to see october go." music has a way of invoking a memory, a time, a place. of course.

and this album, this sultry, jazzy, smoke-filled room of an album that barely pauses between songs puts me right back into the hot tub on the back porch of our house on oak road. that hot tub...a fortieth birthday surprise for my mother. i can see us, the four of us, sitting in that hot tub with the snow surrounding us...daniel the cat and his brother silver jumping up to peek into the water. my parents talking about their days while i soak up every word and my little brother plays with something, a matchbox car perhaps...or a he-man character...

i know every word to each one of these sad, heartwrenching, foreshadowing songs. my ten-year-old self knew the words to every one of these songs. not understanding that people really did leave one another. not knowing the pain that could exist alongside love. not knowing the pain that was to come. but these songs knew. these songs knew that love could end.

when i opened up a new blog post tonight, i planned on writing a "senses post" about this moment. about how my hands smell like brass because i have been playing with wire and creating. about how the water tastes and feels as it falls down my throat. about the beauty in the midst of the nest that is our home. about the softness of the my new linen bloomers against my skin. i planned to share the senses of this moment.

but then this music began and my thoughts turned to more than twenty years ago. twenty years. to a time when my heart didn't know much other than love and hope...in that house, the music would flow throughout...into almost every room...and sometimes my parents would put this album on and i would be alone in the living room and i would begin to dance with an imaginery partner and pretend i was in the midst of a "baryshnikov on broadway" sort of scene and i would pretend i had my own partner to love. i would dance and sway and live inside the hope of my own love...i would dance inside my own future.

here i am.
i am that future.

and i reach for my partner's hand and dance in this place, in this time, to this music. as i am living inside the hope that is my life.

today's mantra

liz lamoreux


water at the 5 spot, seattle

as the rain falls
and the wind trickles into our open windows
and millie sighs before curling into rest
and the voices and writings of dear friends
(with their wisdom and love)
dance across my heart,
one phrase circles my mind.
it feels like home.
it feels like right where i need to be.
and to hear it sung invites me to believe,
and to know,
it is all as it should be.

it is today's mantra:
i hope

(to hear it sung to you, click here.)

(thank you)


liz lamoreux

drifted layers

driftwood, washington coast, april 08

Every now and then, I struggle with what I want to write on my blog because there is so much I want to say but I cannot find the words. I cannot find a post's worth of words because they are so stuck in my throat (and heart and gut), but I feel as though I have to get them out in order to move forward.

Last December, I wrote about what I almost wrote about and it seemed to help a bit.

I'm trying that again today.


I almost wrote about…

How I struggle with the high school aspects of blogging. I am so thankful for all that this medium and the community I have found within it (and the friendships) have given me and how I have grown. Yet, I struggle with seeing the "cool kids" table and all that it brings. And wishing I was…and wishing I was not…

An experience that rocked me to my core late last month. Words said by another that cannot be taken back that invited me to wonder who I am and what I am doing and why. Words that invited me to feel like I needed, wanted, had to run far, far away. Words that I am trying to forget.

Feeling left out and how much that hurts.

The idea that we are always interacting with human beings in almost every moment of our lives. It might seem like they are simply voices or words on a computer screen or a car or a passerby or a memory. But behind every interaction, even very small ones, is a human being or two or three. I want to wear a t-shirt that says, "Human here." And, I want you to wear one too.

How we cannot be in charge of anyone's feelings but our own. We are only "in charge" of our reactions, of us. This isn't selfish; this is truth.

The things that could have been.

How I cannot be everything you need me to be.

The struggles of having an etsy shop and putting yourself, your creations, out into the world. The other side of art+craft shows, when things don't always go as you had hoped, when you don't sell as much as you thought, when the venue is not quite what it seemed…when you wonder why you are doing this at all.

The questions whizzing through my mind that all come down to this truth: I just want people to like me.

The reality that we share only pieces of ourselves on our blogs. We cannot know everything about someone just because she has an online journal. Why do we feel the need to judge? Why do we feel the need to pretend?

My need to let go of judgment and resentment.

How I am drifting back to my daily practice and finding me.


(After typing all this, I thought, "Am I really going to share this? Why?" I guess I share it to let some of it go as I so need to do that. And I guess I share in the hope of letting you know you are not alone…thank you for reading...)


liz lamoreux

farmers market flowers


for the cool days to continue with a few warmer days peppered in

for space inside my heart to let go

for the perfect piece of chocolate

to live in this moment instead of yesterday and the day before and the day before that

for moments to listen to the wisdom i have within me

for less fear and more do

for the rain, which i do love, to stop long enough for the ground to dry so we can go listen to jonatha brook and judy collins sing along puget sound this evening

for more peace within (for you, for me, for all of us)

what are you wishing for today?