“It is in the unraveling of this world that we are reminded where our true gift is found.”
— Melissa Michaels
Eyes barely open I touch the switch for coffee and listen to the machine slowly come to life, imitating its start I leisurely make my way across the room. With my journal in hand, I ease into the soft chair and begin to write. The darkness shelters the calm morning like a new friend in the space where I unravel the residue lingering in my heart.
The swirl of the pen and the ritual it creates fills the page with all the rumbles that occupy my thoughts. Occasionally they arrive as a revelation; a way of letting go of the things I have been holding for too long, welcoming discovery as my hand magically floats across the page, flooding the paper with serenity. Like the fog that gathers in the mountains, these reflections collide, imploring a space of their own while I untangle the message they deliver.
Words: Christie Leigh Babirad
Photo credit: Amanda Large, Bella Grace Issue 3
When I was little, I built forts with my brother, whether it was in the living room with chairs put together and blankets for a roof, or in the backseat of the car on long trips, setting up the blanket as our creative wall between us. I had my space, and he had his.
We may not have survived those trips with all the fire and dreams inside of us if we weren’t able to be alone! It’s no surprise that when we would arrive home from these trips, we would dash out of the car, grabbing all the stuff we accumulated, and we were already on our way to doing or pursuing whatever was turning in our heads on the drive — like the birth of my detective agency, or my act for the elementary school talent show.
I don’t know why there is such a stigma or fear with having alone time as we get older, and yet we crave it all the while. Alone time is right! Alone time can be magical!
Now read carefully, because I’m about to give you THE SECRET to creating your own “me” time.
“For the great doesn’t happen through impulse alone, and is a succession of little things that are brought together.”
—Vincent van Gogh
A text from my college girl — my daughter — got me thinking about how I find sunlight in my day, no matter what the weather forecast is.
Daughter: Good Morning Mama! sun is not out, but I am. @class lu xo
Me: Find sun in your day — an Iced Mocha, try something new @lunch, sing lu xox
I texted my girl a list of ideas and then thought about my own go-to list of simple pleasures. No matter what type of weather Mother Nature has in store, here are a few ways I add sunlight to my day.
On a Sunday morning not too long ago, I was sitting at the coffee table with a cup of tea and notebook, my heart feeling extra nostalgic. I never know what I’m going to end up writing about on Sunday mornings; all I’m sure of is that when my pen hits the paper, my heart opens instantly.
I decided to take a little trip down memory lane and wrote about cherished memories – magical moments I never want to forget. I remembered the songs I wrote at 2 a.m., the faces in audiences I’ve played to, the beautiful people I’ve met. I revisited easy afternoons, singing in the car with friends and taking neighborhood walks. I also recalled more difficult moments – the shaky hands on stage, silent prayers I said so I wouldn’t forget the lyrics, second guessing myself, and the introvert in me nearly terrified of unfamiliar situations I found myself in. As I recalled these moments of uncertainty, I stopped mid-sentence and jotted down these words:
“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” – Eleanor Roosevelt
“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
— Robert Frost
I have nightlights in most of the outlets in my home.
My favorite is a tiny bulb shrouded by a large scallop shell, which casts a comforting, pink glow in my bathroom. Weeks before Daylight Savings begins in November, you’ll find me scurrying around my house, setting out rechargeable candles on nearly every surface and checking batteries. During the dark months of winter, nothing brings me more contentment than seeing displays of luminous holiday lights, twinkling in the frigid evening wind.
For as long as I can remember, I have had an aversion to darkness. Yes, nearly all children at one time or another have a fear of the dark, imagining monsters under their beds, but it rarely continues into adulthood. I still to this day see the shadows in my bedroom as foes and adversaries, at the ready to reach out and jolt me out of a peaceful slumber.