Category: back to the barre

the edge of the deck

April 14th, 2024

Today in church while I stood in our cafe’ during worship a very poignant story from teaching one year olds popped into my head.

I had a new family in the one year old room and the dad was there chatting with me outside about his daughter when she rolled backwards and was going to plop off the deck we had for riding bikes. I caught her with my foot so she didn’t fall back. It wasn’t a far fall- just a few inches but I wanted the dad to know that I saw her, I would care for her and help her not get hurt.

He shrugged his shoulders and said that it was ok. She was allowed to take some risk and see what happened.

I took that conversation and that thought and kept moving forward with it.

There is something about a child, specifically a tiny child, to be able to take safe risks. To see what happens when they do something like trying to climb on a couch, or up a slide. Or what happens when their trike pops down the four inches from the deck.

Making space for safe risks for kids is a big part of early childhood education.

Because on the flipside; how often do we say, “That’s not safe” or “that’s too high” or “you’re going to fall”.

Instead of letting them figure out themselves (obviously with you standing beside them).

I sometimes think with kids we tend to lean to yelling across a room or a playground to not do something instead of getting closer to help monitor the trying. That’s why one of my favorite things in my preschool classroom was cooking and baking and chopping. I was nearby monitoring the try. Monitoring the safe risk.

Now, I’m not saying leave your four year old in a kitchen with knives or an a balcony with no fence.

I’m saying give them space to take risks so that risk aren’t scary. So, that their first thought as an adult isn’t “This isn’t safe”. Unless, of course it’s actually not safe.

I believe a part of our “that’s not safe” or “that’s too much” or “that’s too scary” is because we were never given opportunities to do things that weren’t safe or that were deemed scary. We were protected from those things and so now we have an inability to distinguish the levels.

Because sometimes, we need to jump.

Sometimes, we need to take a risk.

Sometimes, just because something is scary doesn’t mean it isn’t good.

Yes, the impact might hurt, but you’ll never know unless you go for it.

When I decided about 12 years ago now to go on the world race I remembered having heard for quite awhile the simple phrase; you have to jump to be caught.

I was scared. I was going to move from all the things that I knew and had and had built to go travel around the world and then who knows what. And even though it was scary and it was taking a risk- I still knew it was right.

There are a few moments in life that I can think of that I made decisions to do something scary; to take a risk and to jump.

Now, I’m not saying this time is like those times. I’m not moving or leaving the country or anything like that.

I think the risk right now, for me, is I’m supposed to be louder.

I’m supposed to speak about, write about and be a placeholder for a few things that don’t normally have a placeholder for them.

I feel as if there are things I’m supposed to delve into that feel a bit like my toddler who I kept from falling off of the four inch deck. Yah, she might have fallen off her trike on the plop down.

But she also might have felt like a toddler badass doing so.

I might say something, or write about it, or speak out the things that are scaring me or causing me to back away from the edge.

And I might fall or get bruised or get hurt.

OR

I might feel empowered and strong.

I’ve spent a lot of my life taking risks that seem really big to other people. I’ve moved states, traveled the world, I’ve spoken in front of crowds, I write and give out a lot of who I am so that other’s feel less alone.

But to me, to be known, to be seen is the most terrifying thing to me.

That’s the jump. That’s the edge of the deck.

I’ve been in a season of avoiding. Avoiding words from other people because all I feel like is I’m going to be told what I’m doing wrong or that it’s not enough.

I’ve been avoiding my own 20%.

So, here I am, at the edge of the deck.

With love,

Meg
You have to read to the end

April 24th, 2023

I have been dreading actually sitting down with myself and trying to put words onto a page.

I don’t think I’ve had any real revelation or moments that I want to untangle. I don’t think I have anything of worth to say. I don’t have anything good for myself to share.

I have no insight.

So, I’ve been trying to think of what I need to do. Currently sitting here, staring at the drink I just ordered and wondering if I have anything worthwhile to say.

I had a lot of hope there for awhile.

Hope that things were changing. Hope that I would be able to hold on.

Hope that something was around the corner.

But, just like the crash after a performance or a vacation or an event that you’ve been waiting for; there is a crash after a burst of hope.

I think I hoped that actually believing in the hope would change something.

But now, as I look down, my hands are empty and I have to find a way to cultivate the thing that I want.

It’s scary to write these words. It’s scary to put them in a place where people can read them.

It’s scary because I feel like I’m failing at being who I’m supposed to be.

And they feeling inevitably makes me want to run.

I’ve felt it for a few weeks.

That desire to hide. To not truly put words on a page.

To hype myself up instead of admitting that I felt defeat.

It’s been almost a year and 8 months since I left my preschool teaching job.

It’s been just over a year and a half since my mom died.

And lately I’ve been having to push down the narrative that I haven’t done enough.

That I should have achieved more.

That I should be stronger.

That, once again, I’m actually failing at life.

I want to say a lot of things right now.

I want to hype myself out of this hole.

I want to tell you I know what tangible thing is next.

I can’t.

I can tell you though this simple thing:

I still haven’t run.

I’m still to the best of my ability showing up for the ones who have shown up for me.

I’m choosing the things and people that give me life and hope and joy and declining the things and people that feel like an obligation.

At the end of the day, I get to choose who I let into my home.

And whether I’m good at it or not- continuing to choose grace over myself.

None of it is simple.

But it is worth it.

I don’t know what else to say. I do know that none of these hard things are easy.

Choosing what’s good for myself and my soul over what other people think is good for myself and my soul.

I started a journey about two years ago of creating strong boundaries.

Creating those boundaries changed the narrative of who I was to people.

But you can’t let people decide who you are based on what they need to get from you.

And I must repeat: only you can decide who gets to come in your home.

And there it is: some hope I’ve cultivated.

It’s in my hands. (And so is the tequila based martini).

This is why we need to do as the magical creative human in my life Betsy Garmon says “we must practice our practice”.

We have to sit with the things that help us stir up life.

We have to do the things that bring us back to ourselves.

For me; it’s sitting at a bar and writing.

That’s how I get to the point.

That’s how I talk to God.

That’s I create hope.

So thank you.

Thank you for helping me find my point.

Thank you for reading to the end.

And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to those (whom they absolutely know who they are) who have created hope for themselves that I’ve been able to take part of.

To whom it may concern,

Here’s some hope.

With love,

Meg
On being an island

March 14th, 2022

I just did a thing where I actually didn’t delete the 400 words I had written to write something new but I opened a new document.

The words I was saying weren’t bad- they just weren’t it.

The 400 words I had typed out were moreso dancing around something that I was trying not to say because even just the thought of saying the thing that’s in my head is currently making me cringe.

Today, I feel rested.

I had a beautiful weekend, that started just sitting and chatting with my best friend at her desk because I wouldn’t see her all weekend and those moments began a weekend where my soul and heart and all the insides of me got rested all the way down to the toes in ways I haven’t been in a while.

(that’s not the thing that makes me feel cringy)

And after I sat and wrote the prior 400 words that were filled with a lot of me stating that I sometimes just want to be an island, I realized that while there was truth in that, it wasn’t thing that I needed to say.

After I wrote the prior 400 words and I realized that they weren’t it; I realized what actually was.

This weekend I found rest, peace, hope, family and light.

And today I realized that all of that reminded that I am a leader in the ability to give those things to others. I am meant to do that in a bigger way than I am now.

And honestly, that terrifies me.

I know that sounds ridiculous. That I should know that. (As my roommate Benjamin would have said to be in a text if I text him that: ThAt Is BrAnD nEw InFoRmAtIoN)

That I’ve done it before.

But this feels bigger. This feels more wobbly and new.

I am the person who is going to nag you into believing in the fact that you have something to say. That someone needs to hear the things you have to say. That regardless of what you believe or who you believe in that you have hope and light and a story that the world needs.

That you are on this earth to connect to even just one other person who needs your story.

That, even if we desperately want to be and even it feels less painful, we are not meant to be islands.

I am not meant to be an island (honestly I hate that sentence).

And honestly, there is still a lot of myself that is the most epic cheerleader because being in the background just works for me.

But I know in my knower that it’s not where I’m supposed to live.

Have you ever had those moments where you come to a moment in time and you know that one day down the road, it’s going to be a defining moment?

Well, this Monday afternoon on my couch just turned into one of those for me.

This weekend I realized that God has been repeatedly telling me not to worry. He’s been reminding me that I have what I need.

He’s been reminding me that I need to look in a mirror when I remind people that they are more than they think they are.

I know there is more to me. I can feel it, beneath the surface. I know that I’ve spurred on a belief in myself by setting boundaries, by choosing my personhood and mental and emotional health over those who would say I didn’t do enough to earn their love. I know there is more because I’ve spent a lot of time making space for it.

I don’t know what is next but damn. Something is.

That’s it.
Well, that’s not it, but it is something.
Here’s to the reminder that we can always find pieces of ourselves when we’ve believed for a long time they are just pieces to give out- not to keep.

(But I will always, ALWAYS, remind you that you are more than you think you are.)

With love,
Meg
Dear 2021: No, I’m good, thank you.

January 10th, 2021

I’m sitting here plopping back and forth between two very distinctly different topics. One a soap box and one more personal.

Because ye gods, it’s been a frickin week.

I have a lot of anger, hurt and sadness. It’s not just from what’s happening in our world, though that’s a part of it. But, I think that I’m going to back away from the soap box and let that simmer a minute.

I had a moment this week where something happened in what felt like an instance and I’ve now had in the back of my head since said moment a couple tricky little sentence that used to haunt me much more than they do now.

I’m sure you’ve heard these sentences, these questions. I’m sure they have danced around your brain once or twice.

It’s “Did I not do enough?”

And then the follow-up: “Was what I did, what I do even worth it?”.

I’m a feeler, I’m a listener. I’m someone who tries to extend more grace than I think I’m capable of.

I desire for others to be better for themselves and I want people to know they can succeed. I want to encourage those around me. I want to help them find ways to show up for themselves.

I want to step back and watch them do all the things for themselves.

So, after this week, I had to take a moment to ask myself why.

And I as I sit here comfy on my couch, thinking about it and what I’ve learned in my life, and thinking about my word of the year (shift). I realize that this is one place I need to shift my thinking.

Shift is for a lot of things honestly. It’s a little aggravating, it’s a little bit empowering.

It’s active.

It’s something I can put into motion from a lot of different places.

I get told frequently; at times weekly that I need to have the amount of grace for myself as I have for other people.

I get reminded to “take care of myself” and to “rest”.

But I don’t think I’ve ever been told repetitively to believe in myself like I believe in others.

Believing in yourself is a weird thing.

So, in the summer of 2020 I applied for a job.

It was a remote job that involved writing content for a company that deals in early childhood development. The job ad literally flew off the screen at me with the qualifications being a BA in English and early childhood development experience.

Umm, hi. What?

I submitted a resume and a cover letter and felt hopeful.

This job was made for me, right?

I had a phone interview the day before we went on our summer family vacation and I was stoked to leave on vacation after this interview because maybe that would cultivate some hope that I was lacking.

After the 30-minute phone interview I felt no hope. I felt like I had no writing experience, that all my EC knowledge was trash and that I wasn’t good enough. They asked me to write a spec, but before I could send said spec in, they let me know that I didn’t need to and they were going another way.

The light, the momentary spark I felt was gone.

I had a moment of “this is why we can’t have nice things”.

“This is why I don’t believe in myself.”

And I KNOW that sounds incredibly dramatic for one job, one time, one moment.

But, in all reality it’s probably something that holds me back more than I’d like to admit.

One of the things I’d like to do is shift back to believing in myself.

I still want to believe in others like I do. I still want to choose to show up for other people in a way that reminds them that they can do the damn thing.

I just think it’s time to remember that I can do the damn thing.

And just maybe, that will proof to other people that I can do it.

Take my bestie Tori. She is CRUSHING that taking care of her body thing. And each week, with each small victory she has, I am also reminded that I can accomplish things that feel hard too.

Her choosing herself reminds me to do so.

I want to choose belief in myself to remind others they can too.

So, even though this week I was hit with a dump truck of “you didn’t do enough” I am reminded that I did what I was supposed to do. I chose belief and encouragement and grace.

I am choosing to shift back from what I maybe didn’t do, to what I know I did.

And I’m choosing this year to believe I can do the damn thing.

And not just to believe, but to do it.

At the end of this year, I want to look back and see a sea of words that reminds me and shows me that I believed in myself.

How will you believe in yourself this year?

(And please, remember that believing in yourself is a daily choice. And it’s choosing to be active in that belief.)

For me being in active in that belief is as hard and simple as choosing to be words on a page in the form of a story that’s been in my head and scattered on papers for 7 years.

That’s how I’m going to believe this year.

That’s how I’m going to shift.

We can do it.

I believe in us.

And, most importantly, I believe in myself.
I’m quitting.

January 3rd, 2021

It’s true.

I’m quitting in 2021.

And it’s a funny thought because I worked so hard this last year to not quit. I worked so hard to show up and to be present and to work through the tears and the panic and the exhaustion.

I worked so hard not to quit my life.

I worked hard not to quit my relationships.

Basically I worked really hard not to give up this year.

And I didn’t.

I’m going to be completely honest though: I’m kind of done with working so hard not to give up.

It’s exhausting, it’s taxing and honestly it’s just not worth it.

Why would I want to fight so hard to hold something together that might not even be worth it?

Here’s the thing: I’m not sure if I know how to quit. I’m not sure I know what I need or where I’m going, but I do know that I have picked up parts of myself in the last year that I really love and there isn’t space for those things to be in the same space as all the things I need to quit.

It’s a little terrifying. Making some distinctions and drawing lines and figuring out what I want to lend my time to even more than I ever have.

It seems vague but I think that we don’t always know the path we are walking on- we just must keep walking on it.

When I was in Ukraine so many years ago spending time around a group of Nigerian med students, one of them said something that has stuck with me all these years. He was talking about how he and his peers were discussing what it would be when they left the Ukraine. He made the point to say that he wouldn’t be going BACK to Nigeria. He wasn’t the same, the place he was going wasn’t the same. He couldn’t go back to it. He could only go forward home.

That’s sort of how I feel about 2021.

I have so many things that I picked up in 2020. Some I loved, some I didn’t. I have things I lost, things I cherish.

But I’m not going back into myself.

I’m moving forward into 2021 in so many ways. The year has already started a little topsy turvy but we’re going to roll with and keep moving down the path that I’m going.

I’m quitting the things that don’t give me life. That cause me to run away from myself. That cause me to lack hope.

I’m quitting the things that aren’t me.

I’m quitting in 2021.

So…watch this space.
a beginning

May 17th, 2020

Every year around this time of year I start to look back on the past year of my life and start to take into account things that happened, where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and maybe who I think I’ve become over a year of life.

I turned 34 in California around my Orange County family. I turned 34 with some weighty statements inside myself that I carried from the new year.
I turned 34 with margaritas and sparkles.

I’ve been trying to, amidst all that is going on in the world and in my head and outside my front door, spin up what I’ve learned this year.
And really I just don’t know.
Honestly.

I’ve been trying to figure it out. I’ve been trying to read over past words and letter board statements and everything in between.

Here are some things I know:

I know without questions I have people that love me.
I know, with maybe some question, that I am really good at what I do because I do my job out of exactly what I am.
I know, without question, that I still face disappointment and failure and heartache.
I know, without question, that I am capable of more than I give myself credit for.

I think the funny thing that happened during 34 is that I’ve learned even more who I am and what I am about and where I should place my time.
I think I’ve gotten harder on myself in 34. I think I’ve called myself a failure this year more than any other year. I think I’ve felt the weighty heaviness of comparison much more than I ever have.
I think that ironically as I learned who I was even more and felt so comfortable in who I am, during 34 I’ve dealt with not feeling enough and have second-guessed friendships and relationships and my place among all of it.

I don’t say all this to sound depressed and sad. Because I wasn’t. Those aren’t the right descriptors.
And, because I needed 34.

Glennon Doyle posted a tweet today that rang so deeply in me.
She said, ” I have not written a word during quarantine. Just a reminder to worried artists- there are times for creating and times for becoming the person who will create the next thing. For many of us, this is a becoming time. Rest and become. Love you.”

I think in some way- 34 has been a becoming time for me. Yes, I have created and I have more firmly planted my feet and I have used my voice even while it shook.
And man, I’ve cried.
I’m going to another letter to myself of all the things that happened this year, of all the events and the laughter and the rose’ vodka.
But first, I take a deep breath and remember that I am still going. I am still moving.
I am still becoming.
And so are you.
Dear 34,
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Meg
So please, WRITE

February 16th, 2015

I always want my words to be profound.

I want them to hold something to have meaning.

I want to write things that incite conversation and promote action.

I also try too hard.

I sit in front of my computer every 4 days or so to post a new thought, a new revelation, a new truth that is rippling through my spirit.

And I erase a lot.

To the point where I am surprised my delete button still works on my computer.

There are a lot of words I haven’t said in my life and many of them come in the form of the backspaced words on word documents. If only there was a way to put all of them together.

On second hand let’s not.

Then I think of all of the words that go unsaid or unwritten.

Or all the words that go unread.

(And if they are unread are they really written? Just kidding…not going there)

There is something about profound insightful thoughts that cause us to move. I love reading words my friends have said and reading what they are going through and their insights. My email is crammed with blog subscriptions and the ability to see the world through others eyes. It’s crammed with group emails from friends about ramblings and stream of consciousness thought processes.

But now I think, I know what I HAVEN’T said. What haven’t THEY said? What moments of brilliance have been backspaced away or crumbled and thrown in a trashcan.

And it’s also kind of funny because we live in this crazy world where there are so many platforms to be heard; from 140 characters on twitter to creating your own website to podcasts and blogs and everything in between.

So with all of that ability to be heard; why are so many of us still silent? Why do we throw words in the trash and decide we don’t need to say them?

Some I’m sure think there are too many words out there so will their words be heard. Or maybe they are afraid of the comment section.

Or even just too afraid of what one singular person will say.

And so we delete or backspace or walk away from a thought because it is too honest or too real or too much of the person you actually ARE as opposed to the person who people see.

The last blog I posted entitled “Real” took everything in me to press publish. I really just wanted to delete it all and pretend it didn’t exist.

I think when I choose to delete something or send it to a friend rather than post it on my blog it’s mainly because I think it might be too much. Too vulnerable, too spiritual, too Jesus. Or sometimes it’s because it shows my flaws or my fears.

But when, in reality, it’s just my thought process, how my brain works.

It’s true sometimes I tie a spiritual lesson to an episode of Vampire Diaries and it’s inevitable I will talk about therapy, or the lessons from Spain or Cambodia small eye or getting hit by a car.

But it’s what’s in my heart.

It’s where I come from.

So I will write.

And I want you to as well.

So very badly I want to read the words you have written. I need them actually. They cause me to think and to write and they inspire me.

So push past the comment section, push past the vulnerability and the fear and put words to paper. Quit hitting delete, quit crumbling the paper and throwing it aside.

People need your words, they need you at your broken or your whole, they need you at your happiest, your angry and your giddy. They need you at your real, your teenage self who loves vampire shows and your adult self who has treasured things in your heart that need to come out.

So please, WRITE.

Here are some blogs of people who’s words I treasure, find humorous and lovely and adore reading. Some of them have been MIA for a moment but take a second to go back, read the archives and find some inspiration. None of them are “proffesional” they may have gotten paid once or twice for their writings, but mostly it’s a heart thing. It’s a pouring out onto paper of what’s inside.There are so so many more I could post or brag about. so many more words I read on a weekly basis. There is inspiration out there. You just have to choose to read it, see it, use it, and be it. (and if you have a blog or a favorite space to read words comment and let me know!):

Patty~ Patty is one of my best friends and someone who has influenced my writing more than anyone. Her words are timely, poetic and beautiful.

Tiffany~ This woman called me to write and be truthful. She has been calling me into my story for over two years.

Abby~ Another member of my hometeam. She is currently on an adventure leading a World Race squad and she has beautiful words and truths.

Allan~ A crazy worshipper I met and got to do life with in Spain. Check out his Euro journey and all that entails.

Helena~ I followed her blog while she was on the race. She empowers women and has a hysterically lovely view on life

Kellen & Whitney ~ a couple whom I treasure. Their words inspire like none other.

Casey~ a longtime hometown friend who blogs about her adventures in dating.

Sarah~a truth speaker, bringer and a lie crusher. soon to be on another amazing adventure.

Lauren~ from my orange county neck of the woods. her words are witty and intelligent and everything in between.

Glenalyn~ a fellow adventurer, wanderluster and tribe member.
writing on writing

February 8th, 2015

Something that I heard on multiple occasions in Spain was that there is new revelation every day. That each day we can grab a piece of truth and wisdom that we didn’t have before.

And I believe that that statement is true. I believe that we CAN get something new out of everyday. A bible verse, a song lyric, a word from a stranger, a prayer, a sunrise, ANYTHING that can unlock piece of truth for us.

Five days ago I started this daily writing challenge for myself. Not for anyone else.

It’s just for me.

I call it “back to the barre” in reference to a favorite movie.

And so, for the last 5 days I have turned my phone onto airplane mode and set an alarm for 30 minutes.

And written.

A couple of the days I worked on a story I’ve been writing for awhile while another day I wrote for myself. And then the last two days I’ve been furiously writing this short story. It’s going to become a five parter. I’ll probably share it with a few people, but mainly it’s for myself.

Because I’ve realized over the last year that writing is something for me.

It’s a place for me to throw all the things out of my brain and stare at them and then see how they fit back together.

Sometimes that is in the form of a blog, a letter or a Facebook status.

And sometimes it is in the form of a story that isn’t supposed to be about me. But it is. It hold a piece of myself.

I’ve realized it is actually easier for me to post a blog about myself then to post a short story or a poem. Because that writing, that story that comes from somewhere out of the depths of me is personal. More personal than I would like to admit. Or care to realize.

So, in all of this writing and putting words on a page, I didn’t think I was searching for truth. I thought I was just trying to open up this room in my mind that was storing words that I didn’t have access to anymore in the continental US.

But, of course I was searching for truth. I’m always searching for more truth. I’m always searching for things that make more sense then they did a day before.

The words that paint across the page from my pen or pencil are the inner-workings of my mind trying to put more pieces of the puzzle together.

Words unlock things. At least for me. Reading the words of a friend or an ancient scholar. Skimming through quotes on instagram or scribblings down the side of a page in a journal.

Words are my keys into the next. Words are my voice.

Words are a part of my truth.

So I guess, what I am getting at here is this: find your truth. Find what brings you to MORE truth. It could be writing, or painting, reading or listening to a podcast. It could be running or cooking or anything in between.

Just find what’s yours.

And use it.

Use it every day. There is so much out there for us to grab onto BUT there is so much inside of us to utilize and we don’t even know because we don’t know how to get to it.

Finding what brings you truth is essentially finding what brings you life.

That’s what is on my heart and mind right now. A push, a call, to find what brings you truth and life and do it everyday.

Find truth. Find life.

Grab it.
the one in which I make a centerstage reference

February 2nd, 2015

I want to write. I really, REALLY do.

I want to commit words to a page and not use the backspace. I want to not erase line after line after line because I don’t know where it’s going.

Or I know where it’s going and don’t know how it’s going to get there.

I’ve stared three different blogs over the last hour, with three very different endings:

“I’m a cheerleader”

“I turn 30 in 4 months: sweet lord baby jesus”

“I cook with garlic and onions a lot”

I don’t know where to go with any of them. I don’t know what words to tap out to formulate the thoughts that are jumping around in my head. I have a lot them; thoughts that is. And right now all I can think about is that one scene from CenterStage where Juliette tells Eva to always come back to the barre. When the people are being mean and hateful and the world seems topsy turvy she just needs to come back to center. To the barre.

Now, I don’t feel topsy turvy really but I do feel like I need too, in some way get all of the chaos out of my brain. Out of the part of my brain where my words lie. I want to make sense of the things that don’t fit.

So starting today, for the month of February, I am going to sit for 30 minutes and write. Every day. Be it a piece of whimsical fiction or a letter to a friend or the sketching of multiple words across many pages. I know there are writing challenges everywhere happening and going on so this thought is not new but borrowed. But it works.

So I’ll be here, everyday, going back to the barre. (#backtothebarre?)

Care to join?

Shoot me a message or an email and maybe we can get this train moving together.