Tag: be in your life

1,100 words on 38

June 4th, 2023

I’m sitting here in a place I’m physically in almost every day of the week.

And I’m sitting here wondering where I’m going to go next.

I feel as if this year I’ve truly had a year of shedding things, people, scenarios.

I have much less space for the things and people and moments that I don’t walk away from feeling more like myself.

There is a fine line between the needing to do something and having to do it. A fine line between doing a hard thing because it’s good for you, doing a hard thing because it’s needed and doing a hard thing because you’re being unnecessarily self-sacrificial.

I think I’ve done a handful of things this year because I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t struggling. I needed to prove that the grief and the sadness and the things that felt INCREDIBLY defining weren’t actually who I was.

I needed to prove to myself that I was going to be ok.

This year was a struggle of a grief that has undeniably wound into all facets of my life and my actions but having to choose and remember that I am not it.

When you have a grief that is life shattering it’s hard to mend the breakage without the grief being a part of the glue

It just is.

I’d like to note here that as honest as I am- there are still things that I set aside for just a few. A few things i just deleted. And I wrote some things that I realized aren’t for all.

That’s a piece of myself I’m keeping.

This past year going into next is continuously realizing what places in my house are for others and which aren’t.

The really tricky part about being a home for others is that at the end of the day- you still have to sleep in that home.

So, because it’s who I am and I’ve already referenced vampires to someone once today-all I can think of right now is some of the mythology of The Vampire Diaries Universe. When a vampire came up to a home, they had to be invited in. Getting invited into a house is so simple a lot of us don’t realize that we do it all the time. (Now, don’t worry- I’m not about to get all 90s youth group on you about like “leaving doors open for the devil to get in”- IYKYK).

Like, in TVD before a person knows about vampire it’s so easy for them to just give a haphazard “come inside”. Then BOOM you’re stuck with that vampire having access to your house until the deed physically changes.

Once characters in the show knew this little piece of information they became highly aware of who they were letting inside.

But luckily for us, we aren’t dealing with vampires.

We are though (I am though) dealing with things that don’t stir up life inside of me.

Things, people, situations that just don’t, at the end of the day, add to who I am as a human and I’m going to boot them out of my house to the best of my ability.

Because in the year of 38 I’m choosing to lean into the things that add to me as a human.

That’s not just running through wildflowers or sitting on my hands.

Because, hard things add to who I am as a human.

Choosing to go out after 9pm on a Thursday to sing karaoke at a bar with my best friend Tori and her husband Shawn adds to who I am as a human.

Accepting grief adds to who I am as a human.

Woods coffee runs with Joanna adds to who I am as a human.

Camp adds to who I am as a human.

Being the back up back up at church adds to who I am as a human.

The audacity adds to who I am as a human.

Being a person who knows how to show up adds to who I am as a human.

Helping theater kids become theater adults adds to who I am as a human.

Identifying as someone who works at a church after never wanting to again, adds to who I am as a human.

Seeing my close friends succeed and cheering them on adds to who I am as a human.

Being with the inhabitants of a little blue house in Irvine adds to me as a human.

McDonald’s sprite and those I share it with adds to me as a human.

Using the massive amounts of child development knowledge adds to who I am as a human.

Things that add to my close circle as humans; add to me as a human.

Laughing over 25 cent mimosas adds to who I am as a human.

And I should repeat even though it scares me: hard things add to who I am as a human.

I have to say that list got progressively longer and that added to me as a human.

Because, making space to write on a Sunday at a bar adds to I am as a human.

And it stirs hope I so desperately need.

I think, that there is always a little bit of trepidation with hope.

The desire for hope brings the realization that there could be the lack of hope.

And in the process of writing all of these I realize that as terrifying as it is to say (especially in the weeks prior to camp): I am stronger then the realization that there could be a lack of hope.

I’ve proved it by just showing up.

So.

Here’s to a year of choosing the things that add to myself and add to the people who add to me.

Here’s to a year of choosing hope to the best of my ability without trepidation.

Here’s to a year of karaoke and ax throwing.

A year of quarter mimosas.

A year of being the back up back up and the church intern.

A year of figuring out how to move forward.

A year of supporting the humans around me in their dreams.

Here’s to a year of realizing that the glue is dry, it cannot move and it does not define me.

It pushed me on, became a part of my story but it’s not all that I am.

Here’s to a year of choosing the people, places and things that add to myself and the ones that I add to.

Here’s to, honestly, 38 being the year of Meg.

Because the year of Meg isn’t selfish.

It’s finding ways that I can add to myself and in turn add to the people around me.

However that looks.

With so much love,

Meg
37: a year of sand trudging

May 29th, 2023

Dear 37,

I realized today I needed to sit and think about you for a second.

There are two things I do before I turn another year older; I scroll the photos since my last birthday and I read the letter I wrote last year.

It’s a fun way to remember all I’ve done, all the shenanigans that my friends and I got into, the trips we’ve taken, all the cheers we’ve done and everything in between.

In my letter to myself I wrote at the end that it felt like 36 had been living in winter; that I was ready to come out in the sun.

That was a little hard to read.

I know that this last year was full of hilarity and joy, full of theater and karaoke and helping with events at church and learning more and more about myself and who I am.

But, 37 has inevitably felt as if I’m trudging through the sand trying to get to the water again.

I’ll never forget this one off day on the world race in 2013. We were in Mozambique and our contacts wanted to take us to an island but what ended up happening was us trudging forever through sand and then we ended up a row boat that came with water buckets to bail the water out and took us to not the island we were meant to go to so we turned around in the rain and had to trudge back through the sand and the rising water line to go back to our van and go moments down the road to the correct place.

But, honestly on the walk back through the sand I just wanted to go back to the village, get in my tent and watch a movie.

This year felt as if I just wanted to go back and stop having to trudge the sand just to get to the next thing.

Though, just like that really random day in Mozambique- for the most part this year, I kept going.

I think it’s always the goal to get to the end of year and feel like you did something beautiful.

And as I started writing this I honestly felt discouraged.

I felt always a step behind. And that I was falling behind all these humans in my life that were experiencing good and beautiful things.

But, I’ve realized as cheesy as it sounds, my ability to keep going has been a good and beautiful thing.

I have found new parts of who I am, I’ve stood my ground, I stepped out of my comfort zone, I met some beautiful new humans, I got to go back to camp, I didn’t die on the sketchy stairs or fall through the trap door while doing a doing a kick line in a corset during Rocky, I developed a cat allergy and so many things in between.

I’ve just kept going.

And like that time in Mozambique keeping going led to some stories that I will remember for the rest of my life, I think 37 will too.

So with so much more that could be said:

Dear 37,

Thank you.

For the tears, the laughter, the corsets and the times I ended up just sitting on the floor.

Thank you for the humans who have consistently pushed me along and to the ones who caused me to push myself.

Thank you for the sand.

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
Stop dragging giants

February 19th, 2023

I had a really rough week.

It seemed as if all of these different past moments of my life were trying to rush up at me and give me a jump scare. There was a day when I thought I was going to have a panic attack. Had I not known the clues my body has for one I probably would have. There was another day I burst into tears because I couldn’t articulate the things that were actually bothering me.

And Friday I’m just pretty positive all of those things just physically weighed me down and I spent all of the day in pain.

In all honesty I’m not super surprised. I’ve been systematically shedding heaviness from my soul and spirit and being these days and I can feel every moment when something tries to cling back on. Be it a word, or an old pattern or an insecurity. It’s like someone comes into my house and hangs up a picture of a clown and then I have to take it off the wall each time because I don’t want it on the wall because clowns are the worst.

Today, while I was sitting in church, during worship, I kept seeing this image of someone climbing out of a mudslide. Their body was caked in mud. Inches and inches thick. They started their journey to the next town and as they walked the sun beat down and crusted the layers. And even though they didn’t want to keep walking with all that weight they didn’t know how else they could prove that they had lived through a mudslide.

Isn’t that a little crazy? To keep walking with layers of harden mud to prove that you had survived?

Isn’t the walking proof you survived?

It got me thinking about how frequently we carry our old burdens and trials and struggles just to prove we defeated them.

How it can be scary to let them go because who are we if we can’t prove it.

And of course, I thought about David. When he knocked down Goliath with his stones.

Clearly for the rest of his life he hauled Goliath around to prove the point. He had a team of people who moved a dead giant to prove that he had knocked him down.

No, no he didn’t.

David walked in the proof that he had knocked Goliath down.

We don’t have to carry the dead giant around to prove we conquered it.

We are the proof.

I don’t have to carry the dead giant around to prove I conquered it.

I am the proof.

I’m not saying not to mark the moment.

There is power in marking a moment.

When people walk on trails and they choose a new direction- they mark it. That way if somehow they get lost they can go back to that moment and move from there again.

When we go through a moment in life that is life changing in someway and we’re able to move from it- we need to mark it. We need to remember what we’ve come from and where we’ve been.

We don’t need to carry the thing for the proof that we did it.

We’re the proof that we’ve moved through the thing.

I’ve worked really hard in my life to stand strong. To defeat giants and to walk in strength.

I’ve tried to meet moments for what they are. To not negate things I’m incapable of controlling and to listen to what my body is telling me.

But, I’ve definitely dragged some dead giants along with me.

And that ends today.

I don’t what you’re dragging along, if your jacket that’s easily removable is covered in mud, if people keep trying to decorate your house or if you’re in the middle of something.

I want to tell all of us from here on out to mark moments, stack stones, make directional arrows.

I’m not naïve to think I’m never going to meet another giant or mudslide.

But I do know I’m going to do my damndest to take off the muddy coat and leave the giant where they dropped.

We don’t need to drag giants anymore.

We’re the proof.

With love,

Meg
Today was a good day.

January 29th, 2023

I had a beautiful day today, got to hang out with favorite people, hug the necks of those I don’t see a lot. It was just good.

So, I decided I wanted to sit and write.

I was trying to grasp at something to say-somewhere to go.

I had an experience this past week, something good and soul filling that I’m still digesting for myself and for the first time in more years than I think or I can comprehend-I feel just simply like myself.

Nothing dark or heavy or weight bearing is surrounding me.

I feel like I’m allowed to believe that hope is tangible.

It’s no longer “I believe something good can happen, but…”

I feel like there’s a part of myself that was always so ready for the other shoe to drop, that was just in wait for the next thing that was lined up to build my resilience, that that part inside me has realized it can actually just rest.

That I can lay my defenses down.

Back when I lived in Orange County and was actively in therapy, at the end of that preschool year, my director gave us all a verse. The verse she gave me was from Nehemiah 4 wherein the builders were building but also held a hammer in their hand. A couple weeks later after upping my meds and having a really hard time with suicidal thoughts, my therapist made a comment.

“You know it’s just reminds me of the builders in Nehemiah. You’re going. You’re moving forward. But you have a sword too.”

Since then I’ve kept in that manner. I’ve held a sword while I’ve kept moving forward.

But, I don’t need that sword anymore.

I’ve read a lot of books and read so many stories of warriors and soldiers who were always battle ready, who never shook the cloud of war and fight from them.

Who always had a sword under their pillow.

And I’ve learned in the last 12+ years of my life that it’s really damn hard to sleep with a sword under your pillow.

And, I’m done with that.

It’s gone.

I don’t need it under my pillow because at the end of the day- I have what I need without it.

And to me; that’s hope.

I don’t know what’s under your pillow. I don’t what my train of thought led you too.

I just know that I made the decision to find a way back home to myself this year and that my home doesn’t have swords under the pillows.

That’s it.

That’s all for now.

With absolutely love and hope,

Meg
Clean out the corners

January 11th, 2023

In September of 2021 I started a new job and about 3 weeks into I finally felt capable of attacking something that I had put off far too long: my closet.

So I pulled everything out and just had it on the floor as I began to go through it and see what I was and wasn’t wearing anymore.

Then, a trip that was supposed to be going to hang out with my Orange County family turned out to be one that flipped my whole world around when my mom passed away.

I came back for a few days before going to spend a week with my dad- took one look at the clothes and shoved them back into my closet.

And it’s been like that ever since.

2022 was inevitably just surviving.

And I still feel weak for saying that but that’s what it was.

My closet bursting at the seams has been this symbol of everything I didn’t think I was capable of handling.

But this year I’m coming back home to myself.

Which means doing things that feel really hard and overwhelming.

So, last night I decided to start the work of cleaning out the corners of my room.

I shoved my bed as far as I could into the middle of the room and began a trash bag of things I didn’t need anymore.

I created space.

Then tonight after a long day I unboxed some things I’ve gotten for the kitchen and then got to work on moving all the furniture in my room and vacuuming and taking a lot of deep breathes.

It all feels like a long time coming.

My friend Michele has been someone who I’ve talk to a lot about not feeling shame for being incapable of doing something. She’s been a cheerleader when I’ve been able to do something that feels bigger than me.

Today she said that this year feels like we’re getting out from underneath all the shit that’s been squishing us. And we know we aren’t going to get squished again because we’re strong and we’ve practiced and now we can thrive.

I got emotional as I cleared out my corners.

As I vacuumed and threw out things and contemplated what I needed and didn’t need.

I’ve realized how heavy I’ve felt and been and how my room has been a picture of what was going on in my brain.

And how I’ve felt like- in a way- that I deserved the things because I didn’t know how to feel better and because I thought I just should.

Grief is lonely.

And my room was ultimately a picture of that.

But, now, I’m cleaning out the corners. I’m not done yet and I get a new mattress on Saturday and I’m going to be able to sleep again and enjoy my space and keep moving forward in whatever this is.

I don’t know what you might be holding right now or what your room or your brain looks like but this is my encouragement to you to mentally, spiritually, physically and tangibly clean out your corners.

You deserve it for you.

With love,

Meg
Coming back home

January 3rd, 2023

I was going to go sit and write somewhere, but nowhere was sitting with me and it’s cold out and I have things I should do instead. But, I decided to make a snack and grab a sprite and sit on the floor with music in my ears and try to do something I don’t do a lot: write at home.

I don’t know if I currently have the capacity to write about what I’m feeling heading into this year but I’m hearing some things loud and clear so I thought I’d write even a muddled mess of a first try.

Last year my word was “create” and as I pondered through that and what I thought I did or didn’t do; I realize I did create-it just didn’t feel like how I thought it might.

The thing I keep hearing for this year, loud and clear, is just a simple phrase “come back home to myself”.

I know that feels like it should be easy right?

Absolutely not.

I’ve been surviving the last year of my life. I’ve been doing what feels like the bare minimum to keep my head above the water line. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. I’ve been doing exactly what I need to do and I’ve been pushing through.

I think I’ll be honest that at the end of it all, I just truly want to come back home to myself this year.

And I’m not 100% sure what that all entails.

I just know that I need to find those parts of me that I’ve lost along the way.

That I need to not be scared of it.

That I find hope again.

And I know this all sounds dismal- it’s not.

The reason I want to come home to myself is because I have people and spaces and times and abilities that show me who I am.

I know those things.

But, it’s time I start remembering that I have to walk in the door to come home.

Finding ways to care for myself that aren’t always easy and that take some vulnerability and courage. Finding more ways to be exactly who I am.

Finding ways to come back home to myself.

It’s truly an up in the clouds type of word for the year but I’m sure I’ll keep delving and keep figuring out what it means each day.

Happy new year my friends.

With love,

Meg
Gargoyles changed my perspective

December 11th, 2022

I honestly just want to go to sleep.

I’m tired, I had drinks with a friend and some fries, I have a full week ahead- but this morning I had a thought about story. And I feel like I need to flesh it out a bit, so here I am, in my comfy with a Yule log playing on the tv, my Christmas lights on and we’re gonna talk about it.

I just finished a book in a supernatural series I’m reading and with each book I’m shocked to see that this author has more story to tell and more places to go and more character development.

I’m a sucker for a supernatural story. I think it’s the BA in English in me that loves stories that aren’t cut and dry where I have to search out the themes and character archetypes and strings that weave through a story. I love the moment where I realize that something I read ten pages ago was actually the foreshadowing I thought it was.

And I love when an author uses all of those elements; archetypes, themes, context clues and story crafting to take a hard left when you think they were going to go right.

[For example: Gargoyles. (The girls that get it; get it)]

When they craft a story that feels like it always was only to open the world in the story to things you never thought possible.

And as you read on you realize it all makes sense. All the things that have lead to that moment make sense. You just couldn’t read it in the way the author meant because to you that’s what they had always done.

I’m really bad at believing that life is just going to be the same again.

That the situation is the same, the scenarios are the same, the feelings are the same.

That nothing lifted to make the story different.

But today, sitting in church during worship I got a fierce reminder that if the story was the same I’d just be rereading a chapter.

And I’m not.

Going into a new year can feel like a lot of things. And no, the world doesn’t change when the clock strikes midnight. But it becomes fresh.

You can create hope and life and walk into something choosing to believe that the story is going to turn left rather than right.

You can believe you aren’t rereading-it’s a new chapter.

(Like maybe there might suddenly be gargoyles).

I can admit freely that especially in the last year of my life I’ve lived in fear of the other shoe dropping. That I’m gonna get on a plane and the world will crash down again, that a phone call will crumble me.

I’ve treated each season like I was rereading a chapter rather than writing a new story.

I haven’t stepped out of the box enough to see that the themes and context clues and foreshadowing mean something wholly different than before.

And that is honestly terrifying to admit.

There are a few weeks left of 2022. I know there isn’t a magic spell, or some potion or anything that will change it all.

But, I do know that I have to stop living as if I’m rereading a chapter.

And honestly I don’t know what that means.

But, I do know that this isn’t just a me thing.

You also aren’t rereading a chapter.

You don’t have to live in the monotony of what always was.

And you, human reading this, have so much to contribute to the narrative.

So, with that, I’m going to shower.

With absolute love,

Meg
Another Labyrinth reference

September 25th, 2022

I am not enough, I am not capable, I don’t hear from God and my voice isn’t needed.

All the words I’ve had, all the words I’ve deleted, all the words that have percolated in my head over the last hour have all had the same theme.

I am not enough, I am not capable, I don’t hear from God and my voice isn’t needed.

And I know how that sounds, but I’m gonna need you to hold on and keep reading.

Because at the end of the day, until we realize what binds all the awful things together in our brain we will be unable to figure it out.

I emote for the most part a very bad ass bitch attitude. Because honestly, you just have too.

But, when the exhaustion hits and the seasons change and memories come back to haunt us, it comes chugging down the tracks with a force.

And if you’re wondering: that’s where I’m at.

Exhaustion, changing into a season I’m realizing I have more against, and the memories flooding in.

I was having a conversation with someone a few weeks ago about how I’ve gotten better at meeting situations that feel heartbreakingly similar to other seasons in life not with “but I’ve been here before” but instead “I guess I have to go deeper”.

Because at the end of it all these phrases “I’m not enough” and “I am not capable” are not the same that they were.

They can’t be.

Not only am I am different human than when I met them before, not only am I stronger, but also I’ve seen some shit.

When I first wrote this long list of all the ways in which I feel like I fall short (it was pretty damn long), I felt guilty for even thinking them.

Not because they didn’t feel true, but because I had a momentary pause of; I should be stronger than than this.

But that’s not true.

I don’t need to be stronger than all the lies.

I need to be strong enough to recognize them for what they are and keep moving forward.

I’ve referenced this movie before, but I’m thinking of the scene in The Labyrinth where the main character realizes that the Goblin King has no power over her.

And I wonder how frequently she had to repeat that in her mind.

If she saw an owl, or had a moment of anger at her baby brother, or if she wanted to run. I wondered how many situations she met in her life past that where she has to tell that little voice in her head that it had no matter over her.

(It’s now I’m realizing that lies in my head are 100% David Bowie as the goblin king)

Because some days it feels easier to give in to them.

How easy would have been for her to give the baby to the goblin king and live a life free from the thing that made her feel something.

Sometimes, I don’t want to show up for myself.

I want lean in to all the things that cause me to not be who I am and just exist.

But, what kind of life is that?

I don’t really know where I’m going from here.

I have the legal pad of all the ways I currently don’t measure up.

I have the Goblin King trying to hand me a magic crystal to take the baby away.

Here I am though: standing my ground, speaking out that he has no power over me and choosing to keep moving forward and sitting in the muck and grief and places wherein I don’t feel I have the strength.

If you’re still here I want to remind you that you haven’t been here before because you’re in fact a different human than you were.

And the Goblin King has no power over you.

With love,

Meg
Year #1(0)

June 26th, 2022

To the greatest Royal family there is:

Can I just say; ain’t no tired like after camp tired when you haven’t done it for three years.

I’m on my second cup of coffee sitting in my California home base and just starting to truly think about everything that the this past week was.

As I shared in my devotion on Monday morning, I didn’t think I had all the things I needed. I was emotionally drained, tired, and honestly just didn’t think I had the ability to teach bible stories to kids.

It’s felt for awhile as if I’m walking among ruins. Like my life fell apart and I haven’t started building again.

But I was reminded that, for the most part, ruins still have a foundation.

We were starting from scratch this year.
And might have felt, a little bit, like we were walking among ruins.

But, what hasn’t changed, what remained and maybe evolved, was all of our whys.

I saw it in all of your faces as you were eagerly awaiting the kids to come up the mountain. I saw it in your dance moves at chapel and your animated conversations at meals. I saw it in the staffs faces sitting at breakfast club or helping with woodworking or walking another kid to the nurses station.

We may have been walking among some ruins, we may have been missing a few tables and maybe a dunk tank (though did anyone really need to be in that on Wednesday?).

At the end of the day though, the foundation, the heart of the matter was the same.

We were there for the kids.
And we were there for each other.

On Monday I challenged and reminded us to be where your feet are and that you had everything you needed.
Mostly, I was just preaching to myself.

I’m pretty busy at camp. My desire is to always be available to help, to be present and to help make transitions from place to place be the easiest I can.

But, knowing myself, I knew that there would be moments I’d just have to force myself to pause. One of those was on Wednesday when I sat at an activity table for 45 minutes making one of those beaded flower projects with a camper.

Another was when I went on the zip line first and stood across the way for an hour cheering on the LIT girls and counselors.

I could have easily not gone on the zip line, I could have easily sent someone else and then done all the logistics of getting the girls on. But, instead I looked at the girls and said, I’m scared, I don’t want to do this, but I’m going too.

And it was amazing.

I stood across the field for an hour listening to the LITs cheering each other on and it was just a beautiful present moment where all I was focused on was the girl coming down the zip line next.

We all had to do some hard things this week. Maybe it was engaging with a camper or figuring out how to make something when you didn’t have all the pieces. Or figuring out a job someone else used to do for years.

Our campers had to do some hard things this week. Maybe it was going in the zip line or calming themselves down when they were frustrated or making it across the swimming pool.

But what we did this week was create a place where those hard things felt manageable. What we did without knowing it was show campers what they could do by us just showing up again.

Right before the world shut down in 2020, I was in a musical. And I found out after it had gotten cancelled that my parents were going to drive up to Washington and see it. Because, to quote my mom, “She wanted to do a hard thing for her to remind me I could do hard things”.

And I thought of that this week. I thought of it when I was having a hard time being present or when I didn’t feel capable. I thought of it when I was tired and someone flagged me down to walk somewhere with them.

I know we all have stories and reasons why we do camp.

This year, for me, my why was a little different. It was to face a thing I didn’t think I was capable of anymore, because at the end of the day I love and believe in those kids more than I believed in my inabilities to do the damn thing at camp.

At the end of the day my love and belief in YOUR abilities was greater than my inabilities.

You all inspire me and push me on more than I can even comprehend. The ways you show up and jump in and speak life and love with your actions and your words to the kids we serve pushed me on each and every day.

I get asked a lot why I don’t just go to a camp in Washington.

And it’s because of you all.

You are my family.

You are my lighthouse.

Thank you for always welcoming me back home 💜

With love,

Miss Meg