Blog

"Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in." -Henry David Thoreau Alongside the river of my imagination I found an old camera. It comes from long ago. A deep brown wooden box with tarnished brass knobs. Its appearance at once intrigued me and filled me...

For me, September has always felt more like New Year’s than New Year’s has. I know without a doubt that its seasonal, as summer slowly shifts into fall, but even more so, it’s the start of the school calendar. Although my school days have long...

You deserve Creative Joy!

As you might know, I will be co-leading The Creative Joy Retreat again this fall with the awesome Jen Louden and the amazing Marianne Elliott.  I am looking so forward to another visit to the picturesque landscape and inspiring architecture of the historic Garrison Institute. Just being there is relaxing! And to reconnect again with Jen and Marianne, Danielle (our wonderful right-hand-woman) and all of the open-hearted and inspiring women that will gather with us just makes me swoon. The retreat offers so many of the things that feed and nurture our feminine souls; community, connection, solitude, simplicity, a slow pace, rest, relaxation, reflection, deeply comforting food, creativity, stretching our bodies (yoga), exploring our thoughts (writing), honoring our unique perspective (photography), and the time and space to breathe and be. Perhaps what I love best about this retreat is that there is no tangible "end result" we work towards. No figuring anything out. No creating any product. No cracking of any codes. The whole point is just to enJOY being; through breath, gentle movement, kind thoughts, quiet time, conversation, sharing, feeling, observing, and sleeping.

What drives this introvert to others initially is a needed, but seldom obtained, connection — craved shared path or experience, a witness. While difficult, I long for the adventure that only strangers can bring to one another. That simple chance to gain a shared kindness...

The day started at dawn, the sound of young women sweeping dirt into neat rows with twig brooms just outside my window, the strokes striking a rhythm punctuated by the sound of clanging as aluminum spoons stirred morning porridge into metal cups. Young women swept...