blogging | Dare Boldly

Sundays Are Not For The Blues

Here, where I sit on the deck of our friends’ home in Todos Santos, beauty surrounds me like a warm velvety blanket. The soft, ocean air wraps around me like a gentle embrace; there is no where I need be, nothing I need do but be, here, now.

High above, white wisps of clouds, like angels’ wings, streak across the vast blue expanse. In the distance, the surf pounds against the shore, a rolling rumble beckoning me to come watch the sunset. The scent of salt air mingles with the sweet fragrance of the garden in full bloom. I stay here. For now. Sunset is an hour away.

Bird song fills the air with the cooing of doves and the rhythmic hammering of a woodpecker. In the distance, a rooster crows. But how can that be? It’s late afternoon.

Dr. Google has the answer. Yes. They can crow any time of the day, or night.

This morning, standing in line waiting to enter the best coffee shop in town, I chatted with a man whose dog was hit by a car yesterday. “The driver couldn’t avoid him,” he told me…

To read more click HERE.

____________________________________________

On The Move.

Dearest Dare Boldly readers, my heart is calling me to a new space, a quieter corner of the internet where we can connect more deeply. I’m moving my writing to Substack!

For years, I’ve wrestled with the very act of writing. Is it hubris to believe my words matter? Yet, if not to be read, why write at all? This move is about releasing those doubts, about embracing the simple joy of sharing stories and reflections that stir my soul.

Substack feels like coming home. Imagine a cozy room filled with sunlight, the scent of fresh coffee, and the gentle hum of conversation. That’s the feeling I hope to create in my new online home. It’s a place to escape the noise, to find inspiration, and to remember the beauty that surrounds us and our capacity to create joy, harmony, hope and Love in the world around us.

Substack is simple and inviting, like a handwritten note passed between friends. It allows me to share my writing freely, with no barriers between us. (Though, if you’d like to support my work and receive occasional gifts, there’s an option for that too – but truly, your presence is the greatest gift of all.)

Come, gather with me. Let’s share stories, explore dreams, and celebrate the everyday miracles that make life so extraordinary. I can’t wait to welcome you!

__________________

To read the completed Sundays Are Not For The Blues – click HERE.

Exploring 1
Art Journal page
August 12, 2014

Like writing, art-making takes a willingness to move through ‘the bad’ to allow the good to appear.

It is not about finding perfection. It’s about finding the perfect moment to breathe into what appears, exactly the way it is and delight in its presence.

I have been exploring art journalling.

Ah, you may ask, what is an art journal?

Like a diary, it incorporates words and enhances/intensifies them with images to tell your story. An art journal can be used to capture creative ideas, document your thoughts, feelings and happenings along life’s journey, experiment with new ideas and techniques (one of my favourites), and/or to be present in the act of creating for the sake of creating.

I have always been hesitant to call myself an ‘artist’. The label triggers long buried memories of being a teen-ager and wanting to paint and draw but feeling inadequate in the presence of schoolmates who were amazingly talented. My desire to ‘look perfect’ right from the get-go stymied my willingness to risk sharing my creations. I judged myself ‘not as good as’ and let my desire to express myself through visual media go.

In my twenties, I dated a man who was a hobby artist. He gave me some oil paints and encouraged me to ‘have fun’. Being seriously confined by my desire to ‘look perfect’, my attempts at painting were far from fun, they were painful.

I gave up that idea along with the boyfriend and focused on my writing.

My discourse on ‘who am I’ became restricted to ‘a writer’. An artist I was not.

And then, my eldest daughter was born and from a very early age she displayed an incredible artistic ability. Her stickmen were not just lines and wobbly circles. They were identifiable human and animal creations in lifelike relief.

One of her favourite summer activities involved my lining the deck railings with drawing paper, filling pots with tempera and setting her free to paint the world in all its colours — She was Frida Kahlo in diapers!

And still, I did not pick up a brush until one day, when she was around 15, she asked if we could go to the art store. She wanted to paint and needed supplies. On a whim, I said, “I think I’ll paint with you,” and my love affair began.

There I was, mid-forties discovering a lie I’d told myself as truth wasn’t true. I was an artist.

And the question became, what other things do I tell myself about myself that limit my experiences simply because I tell myself they’re true? What truths do I not challenge in my quest to stay safe in my limiting beliefs?

After over 7 years of continuous blogging (I started my original blog, Recover Your Joy, on March 10, 2007) with a post called, Scooping Up The Shadows), I have learned a great deal, met some amazing people and… allowed myself to write bad again and again and again.

Along the way, I’ve created a body of work that is a reflection of who I am, how I am and where I am in the world.

I am not perfect. I am me.

I learnt that from blogging everyday about what it is that makes my world shiny and bright, even when clouds are blocking the sun, even when I’m feeling fuzzy and blue or sunny and free.

It doesn’t matter how I’m feeling, my commitment is to turn up on the page and find the gift in everything. To write through the bad to find the truth and beauty in every aspect of my life.

It is not about finding the perfection. It’s about experiencing creation. All of it. And the act of creation is not a defined art. It is limitless.

I have been exploring art journalling. Some of my pages please me. Some of them give me pause to ponder the gifts of creation. They give me space to ask myself, how willing am I to let go of my need to ‘look perfect’ to simply be present to the perfection of this moment, right now.

I am learning and I am grateful for the gifts I find in every moment.

I am a writer, an artist, a creative spirit finding her expression through shadow and light.

Namaste.

To see my latest journal page and read the poem (created with it, In The Quiet Hours) click HERE.