Ben Rector

There was so much joy and dancing on this stage and it makes my heart happy. You better believe I was multi-tasking: dancing, singing, and shooting. Then after my three songs, I stood on the right side of the crowd with my backpack--and kept dancing.

The couple in front of me, perhaps high school age, swung and spun and dipped each other, like they were alone in the room and it was adorable and perfect. They knew every song and sang along, sometimes to each other, sometimes towards the stage.

I danced like someone who can't dance and that was perfect, too.

Life is too short not to live deeply and exuberantly.

Dance everywhere and all the time. In the grocery store. In the parking lot. In your car. In the photo pit. With backpacks and without. If you're happy and you know it--dance.

Fearless

I started 2016 with one word: fearless.

In January I did many large grand scary things: traveling across the country alone, quitting my job, starting a new one. The two proceeding months have been full of forming routines out of the ripples from those tidal wave decisions.

My lease is up in July and I looked ahead to the next decision: moving—and to where? Nashville was in mind, but the opportunity fell through. LA was another idea, but I didn’t get the job. Colorado was an option, but it didn’t fit quite right. I frantically looked for places to go, opportunities to pursue, folks to stay with in those cities and places.

Then I realized yesterday: what I’m most afraid of is staying. I’m afraid of staying in a city without mountains or oceans or as many options. I’m scared I’m giving up adventure. I’m scared my story will be boring and my life will be haphazard and unimportant and forgotten. Perhaps that sounds harsh and melodramatic, but I’m just being honest.

I’m afraid I won’t visit all the countries I dream of. I’m afraid I’ll have gifts or passions or ideas that will go unpursued. I’m afraid I’ll settle for a less worthy life. Worthy of what? Remembrance? Being told? Being photographed? A good story? Since when is being remembered or extraordinary a criteria for a good story? I’m starting to ask myself harder questions. 

 I didn’t ask for fearlessness like this. I wanted large, epic bravery, full of new languages and foods and little sleep and sore feet and full suitcases. There’s nothing picturesque or sexy about staying. I didn’t ask for this: this slow quiet bravery of staying.

But we don’t get to choose how bravery finds us. Sometimes I desire qualities, but I don’t think of what is required to cultivate them. Bravery and fearlessness sound extraordinary, but the reality is to attain them you must strike head-on what you fear most. To some folks that may be a road trip or a small paycheck. Those barely intimidate me. Normalcy scares me. A stationary life scares me. I didn’t realize how much until I recognized that may be what is next for me.

But here is the question: what is more important—an adventure or my character? How often I longfor adventure and what perhaps I’m pursuing most is selfishness. Not that adventure is always selfish, but when I desire my own adventure rather than character or relationship, it can become so.

I don’t know for certain if I’ll stay, that I’ll stay. But I know for certain that I want to become faithful. I want to become fearless, regardless of where I am. I want to trust that what God has for me is good. I want to be so secure in his faithfulness, that he cultivates mine. I want to come out of this life better and braver. Grand or quiet, I want my life to be fearless.

Wonderstruck

Somewhere between sandboxes and cubicles, life stops surprising us. Out of necessity—and granted, sometimes complacency—our lives becomes more routine than magical. We have bills due at the same time every month. Most of us have jobs that require us to be at a certain place at a certain time. Life loses most of the mystery of unpredictability.

Jamie Tworkoski, founder of To Write Love on Her Arms, is a wonderful wordsmith, genuine and articulate. I like honest people. He wrote a piece a couple years ago called “There is Still Some Time.” He talks about identity and hopelessness and hope and he has one line that has stuck with me: “There is still some time to be surprised.”

Sometimes we seek to be surprised. We visit haunted houses and plan birthday parties and vacations, and we hope for magic. Sometimes we forget how to be surprised. We want to have all the answers, all the reasons, all the possible endings. We want to choose our own adventure. But sometimes, despite our efforts towards surety, surprise finds us. Wonder finds us.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Mickey posted on Instagram about a magic show. Eager to try something new, I replied and a week later I walked into the Temple Theater for the first time, not sure precisely what I was getting myself into. Frankly, I didn’t really want to know in advance. I don’t usually watch movie trailers anymore; I want to enter a story with fresh eyes. So I knew very little about this magic show, other than the magician Nate Staniforth used to have a show on the Discovery channel.

I didn’t even know what to wear. Usually when I shoot a concert, I’ll look up the band to see what they’re wearing, so I can dress somewhat appropriately. (I’ve been the person wearing teal and orange at a metal show, and I learned my lesson.) So I looked googled the show: Nate was well-dressed, but not presumptuous, and I decided that my usual simple t-shirt with nice jeans would be alright. I added lipstick, just to dress it up. As it turns out, that was perfectly fine.

Though I wasn’t necessarily skeptical going into the evening, I was cautious. I’d heard sort of magician horror stories: things like hypnosis or situations where folks were made to do uncomfortable things. That’s not my cup of tea. My friend and I sat down, just as Mickey introduced the night with these words: “There is no age limit to being astonished.” And within the first five minutes of the show, Nate set me at ease. 

The next week, we sat down and I talked to him later about his life and job.

In our conversation, I mentioned that the only magician stereotype I could think of really was the sort that did tricks for children at birthday parties. I wish I’d written down what he said next, but I was too busy listening, so I’ll paraphrase it the best I can. “My favourite part of performing at children’s parties are the adults standing at the back. They have the biggest reaction. The people who have forgotten how to be surprised are the ones most likely to be surprised by mystery.”

That first night, as I sat in the 3rd tiered row, unsure of what was coming, a little excited, a little nervous, I felt a new emotion creep in: wonder. Nate did his first trick. I had no idea how he did it. I went back the next week: I still don’t have any idea. My jaw dropped and I turned to my friend, grinning and eyes widening. How was this real?

A few years ago, Taylor Swift released a song about a boy from Minnesota with the line: “I’m wonderstruck.” He coined the word and she sang it from stages to arenas. I love when people create words for feelings. She sang about a crush, but I think you can be wonderstruck by other things, too. When the lights rose at the end of that evening, when I stood up in the tiered room of the Temple Theater, I know what that word meant. I felt it.

We seek to be surprised. Part of me wished to know how it all worked, but most of me was soaring on that unexpected feeling of being surprised by magic. Halfway through the show, I was seriously considering volunteering for something. If you don’t realize how big of a deal this is: I’m an introvert. I never raised my hand in college and I certainly didn’t volunteer for anything. But in that short amount of time, Nate had gained my trust, no small feat for a stranger. 

How did he do this? I could tell he valued people. He asked for the name of every volunteer and remembered it. He talked to us like we were his friends, like we were important. We weren’t props—we were part of his story. When Nate and I met the next week, we didn’t meet to talk. We met for portraits (for this story). But when I walked in, he sat down and patted the row of red cushioned seats next to him, motioning for me to sit. He asked thoughtful questions about my life and photography; I learned that there is a close-knit magician community. I learned that Nate has traveled the world doing magic.

It reminded me of a pause during his show, where he said: “Mystery is the universal language.” I’d never thought of that. People are everywhere. Surprise is everywhere. It transcends age and culture and language. At the shows I went to, there were children. There were folks my age. There were folks old enough to by my grandparents. I saw older people laughing, children grinning: all amazed.

We all have the chance to be wonderstruck. I’d never considered the art of surprise, the art of wonder before. The wonder of mystery. We want to know that there is still something unknown, something worthy of awe and surprise. We long for it, I think. It’s a glimpse of something bigger than ourself, in the best way. That in our daily lives, there are still things to be discovered. That magic is real, even just for one night.

That evening I left my adult life and bills and routine behind. I didn’t check my phone for two hours. I didn’t want to. My imagination, like the Grinch’s heart, grew three sizes that day. If you want to be surprised, to be wonderstruck, to feel a little more wide-eyed about life: check out Nate’s show. I’m not being paid to say this—I mean it. Thank you, Nate, for surprising me. For the wonder of the unknown and the mystery of magic.

Chances

April 18, 2010, I shot my first show: August Burns Red.

I still have the email from Josh, their tour manager. I asked him the most naive questions, from “where do I pick up my ticket” to “what do I wear” to “when do I show up.” I probably would have been annoyed with me: a young gal with no experience to merit the opportunity to shoot at a great band at one of the best venues in Chicago. But Josh was super gracious. He answered all my silly questions, going above and beyond, letting me know what to bring and when to show up and the order of the bands and even gave me a way to contact him day-of if I had any more questions. Who does that? Only the kindest people. Josh gave me a completely undeserved chance at something great and it changed my life in ways I couldn’t have anticipated that day.

That was the first day I picked up my camera. Ever. I’ve since taken it to multiple states and countries, shot dozens of bands. I’ve made friends because of it: folks like Sarah and Alyssa and Meanz and the dudes in Holdfast. Some of my dearest friends. I’m in Sarah’s wedding in four months because of my camera. That’s how we met: shooting together.

My camera has given me the courage and reason to walk into dark rooms and crowded streets and talk to strangers. It’s given me the push I needed to become braver. I’ve met folks in most states I’ve visited: shop owners, tourists, bands, baristas. My camera has given me the opportunity to eat amazing donuts and cross state lines and have better adventures than 18-year-old me could have imagined.

Today, April 3, 2016, I shot August Burns Red again—almost 6 years later to the day of that first show. It feels like bookends to something, but I’m not sure what, as I don’t think my time with a camera is over, but I feel a sense of completeness. I feel like I began something and I’ve come around the track, back to where I started, but with a journey between there and now: like I circumnavigated something grand, this part of life in-between.

Thank you, Josh, for giving this gal—with no experience or knowledge—a crazy, undeserved chance. You changed my life.

I’ve told this story before and I’ll tell it again because it changed me and I’m so thankful. My story is entirely different because one man gave me a chance.

Give people chances. First chances. Second chances. Undeserved chances. Give lots of chances.

We all need them.

We all need them.

You can change someone’s life.

*Full disclosure/epilogue:

I wrote this the afternoon before the show. When I’m full of nostalgia, I write, so I did. That was about 3pm. I showed up at the venue at 6:30, and at 7 I stepped outside for a breather and to eat a Clif Bar. I was walked down the sidewalk when a man asked, “Liz?” It was Josh. We’d never met in person before, but he saw my photo pass and took a guess; he was right. I told him the condensed version of what I wrote above here. I thanked him for giving me a chance. He remembered that I’d lived somewhere else before; what are the odds of someone remembering that, years later? I’m telling you: this fellow is the kindest human. So I asked him for a portrait. Later in the evening, as he walked by, he thanked me. I guess this whole story is a thank you to him.

Distances

I’ve never been good at judging distances.

all photos are film, taken on a Pentax K1000 in Colorado in January

The only accidents I’ve been in have been scraping cars in parking lots, not realizing how close they are. I’ve hit curbs and once a bird (that was his fault).

I always think places are farther than they appear and people are closer

I think each sentence you write, you speak, is a step towards me and I think we’re getting closer to something. I think each coffee shop roadtrip afternoon adventure in a new city is like driving closer together.

Then I hit a curb and we hit a standstill and I realize neither of us was moving. We were standing still, throwing words across state lines, dancing in eloquent phrases, each with the ghost of the other.

I thought we were close and the end was far, but I’ve never been good at judging distances.

Phinehas, For Today, and Friendship

Phinehas played a showwith For Today in Iowa City a few weeks ago, and I drove straight from work, making it just minutes before their set. Why? Well, not only do they put on a great show, but Sean, the vocalist, is engaged to my best friend Sarah. Meaning he is one of my dearest friends, too, and thus worth the drive.

I shot their set from stage left with Sarah and it was a blast. I love creating with her.

Due to where we were standing, most of my shots were of Daniel and Sean, but I snagged a few full band shots throughout the evening

After Sean finished, we all hung out in the green room and walked around outside for a bit, and I snagged a few portraits of Sean and Sarah.

In the alley next to the venue, Sean introduced Sarah and I to Mattie, and naturally I asked for a quick portrait. It’s just what I do. He was willing and ready and posed without prompting.

After getting food, I snuck back into stage left to shoot the end of For Today’s set. It was so hot in that room that my lens kept fogging up. Crazy.

There’s a lot of black and white in this series, for two reasons: I like it and the lighting wasn’t super spectacular and black and white is more forgiving of that.

Choose to surround yourself with people who are better than you and inspire you.

It’s easy to look at feed networks from places like Portland or LA or Nashville, in sort of envy-sweeped admiration. And when you do that, you miss the amazing folks around you. They exist, I promise. No matter where you live.

A year ago, i didn’t think there were many creative folks in Des Moines. I sure was wrong. I was invited to a couple meet-ups and showed up. And that’s a lot of it: showing up. And through showing up, I’ve met some of my favourite artists who are now my best friends. And vice versa. Some of my best friends are now my favourite artists.

Maybe you’re an artist. Maybe you’re not. That’s okay, too. Find accountants you admire. Find folks that own pet stores. Find farmers. It just so happens my field is art. So that’s where my friends are. But there are swell people everywhere. I believe it.

Sarah and Sean are some of those people. They create absurdly well separately and even more so together. I’m inspired by their art and by them as humans. Sarah loves people genuinely and deeper than anyone I’ve ever met. Sean is one of the kindest humans. He always greets me with a hug, and even walked me through fixing my headlight.

Not that it’s bad to find inspiration from the internet. But those aren’t real people in your life. Make sure you’ve got some good real ones, too, and when you find them, don’t lose them. Keep them. Learn from them. They’re treasures.

Bowling with Bumpers

A couple of week ago I wrote about social media. It’s the one called “My Soul Is More Important Than my Brand.” This is sort of that story, Part 2. Or rather, the continuation of my thoughts. Sometimes I finish a blog and feel settled. My words feel sorted out and finished and I can move on. Other times, writing unearths more thoughts. This is one of those latter times.

In case you haven’t read Part 1 or don’t want to, this will catch you up: I’ve been asking myself why I use social media and if it really is good for my life. I’ve been asking why a lot, and I’m learning that once you start asking that question, it becomes difficult to stop.

I began thinking about other way I use my phone. Things like music and maps. Some of it is good. Very good. Google Maps has assisted me in navigating public transportation in new cities and guided me across the country when I ventured alone. I’m dreadfully directionally challenged. If it wasn’t for Google Maps, I’d probably be dead, either at a gas station in Kansas or off a bus route in Chicago.

As I travelled across the country and into new cities, Yelp gave me coffee recommendations. So I wouldn’t have to stop and ask anyone. Most of the time it went splendidly. I discovered a bookstore cafe and doughnut shops and even met my friend Matt that way.

Things that were normally difficult—finding my way and discovering the best food—were suddenly made easy. I became self-sufficient. I didn’t have to look at street signs to know where to turn. I didn’t have to pay attention to where I was—or think at all. Often, I don’t even know which direction I’m driving: north, south, east, or west. I didn’t have to stop for directions or recommendations. Miss Independent. 

This can be good—say you’re in a dangerous or unfamiliar area—but often it creates an artificial self-reliance, potential isolation, and bravery that isn’t backed by experience.

Is untested bravery really bravery at all?

Bravery that hasn’t been built upon the experience of confronting fears isn’t really bravery at all. It’s reckless, artificial self-reliance, and a little bit of ego.

It’s like bowling with bumpers.

I bowled last weekend for the first time in forever (cue the Frozen soundtrack in my head). There were so many of us that we split our group between two lanes. I was on the kid’s lane—the one with bumpers—with a 5-year-old, a 3-year-old, and two parents. I lost. Badly. Like lost to a 5-year-old badly. The only person I beat was the 3-year-old.

After that game, the kids had to go home to bed, so I moved to the next lane—with no bumpers. I still didn’t win, but I did amazingly better. In fact, on my first frame, I got a spare.

Why is that? Yes, perhaps it was a little mad luck, but I think it might have been something more. When I bowled with bumpers, I had a backup. I tried to throw the ball straight and true, but if it didn’t go where I wanted it: oh, well—the bumpers would save it.

On the other hand, when I bowled the second game—the one without bumpers—I had to give it my all. If I bowled crooked, there was no chance for me. It was all or nothing. I had no safety net and no backup plan. I had to jump in to the game 100%.

I want to bowl without bumpers in my life. To commit and learn bravery the honest way. To sincerely become brave.

I want to surrender all back-up plans and safety nets. To force myself to rely on God and on other people. To learn to ask for help and for directions. To learn slowly and well. To keep asking why and keep writing down down what I’m learning as I’m learning it. It’s not easy and it’s not independent, but I believe it’s becoming brave and being true and I think I’d rather be brave and true than independent and artificially self-reliant. We need each other. 

Here’s to becoming brave and bowling without bumpers. We’re in this together.

You Don't Need Permission

Des Moines Art Center

I made a new friend last week, but learned she's moving east this week to a bigger city, full of uncertainty and adventure. I asked her what she was going to do there. She didn't know yet. Then I asked what has become my favourite question: "What's your dream?"

Seriously. Ask someone that this week. Easily the fastest and most beautiful way to get to know someone's heart. Often, the answer will surprise you in the best way. At least that's what often happens to me.

For this question, she immediately had an answer: "To be a food critic"--for a major newspaper or magazine. Then why not do that? What if she started small, with a blog? She doesn't need anyone's permission to try food and write about it. Then maybe she could guest blog somewhere, perhaps get featured in a magazine, and, with some hustling, I bet she could get her column.

She hesitated, not totally sold. "Maybe I will! Or maybe I'll just get a normal job." If she does start that blog, I told her, let me know! I'll read it.

I was talking to another friend this weekend about that conversation and this is where he arrived: we're often waiting for permission to chase our dreams. And we don't need it.

Maybe we're waiting for the perfect job or writing on the wall, but maybe all we really need to do is begin. To say yes and hustle and work hard and drink too much coffee and we just might make it.

That thought is a kick in the pants for me, too. I've been rather hoping for an opportunity that pays me to photograph and write stories. But, heck, I have this blog and I have there words, and there are stories all around me! Why do I need an occasion or a theme or a specific purpose outside of that?

I guess what I'm saying is this:

Don't wait for permission to chase your dream.

You're alive. That's all the permission you need.

Daytrotter Downs

I spent all day Saturday exploring Davenport with my friends in Poema. I shot the entire day in film and while I don't have many words right now, here are photos from the day.

My Soul is More Important than My Brand

Maybe having a dangerously full phone was the best thing that could have happened to me.

film / Colorado

Let me back up.

Over the past four months, I’ve been doing some major soul-searching, dreaming, and goal-setting. I’ve been saying lots of “no-s” and a few “yes-es”. I cut my hair, quit my job, started a new one, took an internship, got rid of a bunch of clothes, drove halfway across the country by myself, and feel more alive than I have in months.

About a month into the year, my phone kept reminding me: your storage is full. No room to take a photo. This was unacceptable. But totally understandable, considering I had around 21,000 photos on the little device. I wish I was kidding. I’m not.

So I deleted my Facebook pages app. And my Facebook messenger app. And my Twitter app. And my Facebook app. Most of the other social media apps had disappeared long ago for want of space on my phone. I’d delete apps until I had enough storage to take even just one more photo. Albeit, I have a problem, but the outcome is becoming something good. Just hold on. This story gets better.

Now I didn’t get notifications. I’d have to go on the internet to check these social media sites. It was a lot more effort and I found myself doing it less and less. Valentine’s Day was the turning point on Instagram. I got so tired of “hashtagblessed” couples that I logged out. It was too distracting. 

That was only a few days ago, but I’ve started thinking. 

I’ve been broaching my life with such purpose. Making large decisions based on dreams and goals. I’ve been asking myself why? Why do I shoot weddings? Why am I working at this job or taking that opportunity? Why am I doing this? Why am I doing that? Is it helpful? Is it life-giving? Is it necessary? I’ve been cutting out aspects of my life, but there was one area that I hadn’t approached with any purpose: social media.

That’s not to say that I don’t think about stories and colors when I’m posting (I’ll be primarily talking about Instagram, because that’s where I post and scroll through the most). I write with intention, I shoot photos with intention. It’s not haphazard at all. But I hadn’t really thought about WHY I was doing all this. Why is it so important?

I started venturing into the social media world when I was 18 with Facebook. It’s where I launched my photography business. From there I expanded to Twitter, Pinterest, Tumblr, Instagram. They’re not I stay in touch with friends, share art, and find community with folks with similar interests. I’ve made sincere, real friends through Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. I’ve traveled the country and stayed with these folks. Social media can be such a good thing.

One of the most lifegiving things to me is to see beauty in unexpected places and to communicate it in a way so that others can see it too. Social media is a great conduit for this. One of the best.

But.

On Instagram, I’ve been doing a corporate life series, where I strive to find beauty in the business life grind. Which is cool in that it stretches the idea of beauty. But then I’m approaching my life with this question: what beautiful thing can I find to share today? I felt pressure to find something to share so I can keep up with my series. How silly is that? Instead of noticing beauty or seeking it because it’s beautiful, I was giving beauty a pricetag. The value of beauty was only in that it could be noticed and shared. That’s not good.

(It begs the deeper question: why do I take photos of anything? What’s important and why? I’m still answering these questions. That’s not today’s question, though, at least not here.)

I often respond to comments and notifications faster than I do to texts or emails. That’s not necessarily good. I struggle with jealousy of other folks—strangers and friends and artists. That’s not good. I sometimes post a particular photo because I think it will get more likes. Sometimes I even take a photo for that reason. Not because I am being creative. Not because I think it’s beautiful or sometime not because I even like it. But because I think it will be liked. That’s not good.

The war in my head begins.

I can’t get the words Bob Goff wrote out of my head: “Do awesome things and don’t tell anybody.”

But. Why wouldn’t you want to share them? Then everyone else could know how awesome it was? How awesome you are?

I made a list.

Reasons why giving up social media scares me:

I’ll lose followers.

People will forget about me.

I’ll lose touch with folks who are far away.

I won’t be cool (ha, like I every was).

No one will know about the neat things I’m doing or the thoughts I have.

Somehow my life will lose significance. 

I won’t know what anyone else is doing: FOMO.

I’ll have less creative inspiration.

But step back, Liz. Think about it.

Why does it matter if you know what anyone else is doing? Does it matter at all? No. There’s very few folks whose daily lives affect mine—and they know where I live and have my number.

And if people forget me because they can’t digitally follow me: then I guess I wasn’t that important to them anyhow.

Oh, hey. I’m back. I just took a break to tweet about writing this. I wish I was kidding. Check my twitter if you don’t believe me.

So what do I do with all this? I don’t want to quit it all. In fact, I can’t. I run several social media accounts for businesses and clients and can’t just drop out. There’s a balance, certainly. I’m not suggesting an isolated Hemingway-esque lifestyle.

And I don’t want to overthink and curate my online presence to the point that it’s artificial. 

There’s got to be some sort of solution. Even if I haven’t figured it out yet. It’s probably different for every person, but I know there’s got to be a better way for me.

My phone is my, well, phone. My music-listening device. My GPS. My camera on most days anymore. How do I isolate this one unhealthy aspect (which admittedly is mostly in my own head and not an actual problem with any of those sites)?

Well, for starters, I’m not redownloading Facebook and Twitter. I don’t get any urgent notifications on there. They can wait a few hours until I’m home and at my computer. I’m logging out of Instagram regularly. I’m learning if I don’t see notifications, I’m not as concerned with them.

Maybe this is the question I should be asking: what is my end goal in even thinking about social media? I want to be more present. In life. In relationships. I want to be actually DOING more awesome things with my life. If you look at your iPhone settings you can see how much time you spend per day and week on each app—and it’s scary. What if I read instead? What if I took a dance class or a cooking class? I want to be entirely fully alive. I don’t want to be a mental prisoner of this mentality that my value is somehow wrapped up in likes and follow counts. There’s got to be more to life than this. In fact, I’m sure of it.

Some of my best times have been without my phone or social media. When I lived in Greece. When I lived in France. The days I spent with Holdfast, running around Kansas City and not even thinking about looking at my phone. Times like that. Times I feel alive. I don’t think about what I’m missing out on. Any time you choose something, you automatically forgo other options, and what good does it do to scroll through photos of them? Why not thoroughly be present in and enjoy the day you've chosen?

I’ve met some of the most interesting people over the past few months. And they’re doing awesome things that no one knows about. And they’re okay with that. It’s sort of a novel thing, to not share highlights. To just live them.

I want to be more like that. To balance sharing honestly and branding and also just fully living without worrying about any of that. My soul is more important than my brand.

This world, it’s a tightrope. The answer isn’t getting rid of it all, at least not for me. But something needs to change. I want to live my life, even in the smallest ways, with great intention. Life is too short to be haphazard. I want my risks to be grand things like road trips and books and relationships, not time wasted on the internet. I want my problems to be world issues or the mess of relationships or poverty or justice, not social media, the number of photos on my phone, or the number of likes my last post got.  There’s got to be a way to do this, a way that still allows me to be physically, mentally, and emotionally present without totally logging out of or deleting every form of social media. 

I don’t have an entire answer. I’m still in the middle of figuring this out. Isn’t that how life is though? Figuring it out on your feet. Learning as you go. Struggling and hopefully coming out the other side more full of bravery or grace or something worthy. This post is just sort of a curtain opening into my brain right now. If you have ideas, I’d love to hear them.