I just started a new blog. It is called my morning moxie and I am really excited about it. It is my 11th blog. Yes, eleventh. (I know) Even more interesting, it is actually the second blog I have started by that name.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. It all started so innocently with a travel blog. It felt so brilliant...go on a trip and write to friends and family about adventures from half a world away. Fun, right? While I was on that trip, however, I was inspired to start Daily Perspective. That is something that I never saw coming and would never change. Then I started with the blahbitties. (this blog) My little trio of blogs was so cute.
Then it grew. Another travel blog. A blog/hub/webpage for my art/passion/creative ideas.(a candid voice) A between friends blog. Then the book blog.(treatise on ink) A coupon blog. (coupons make cents) Another travel blog. A personal "collect my thoughts together so I dont go crazy because I have so many blogs" blog. (if you're counting, I'm just kidding on that one) The fairly new art projects blog (blARTog). And finally the newest addition to the family, the new moxie blog, which is about"waking up to a more healthy, creative and balanced life".
I feel like taking a nap after thinking/writing about all of those blogs in one place. Seriously, I'm bloghausted.
I have considered getting rid of some of my blogs, but I am too attached. Or maybe I am lost too deep in the online woods of blogland. Why am I even sharing my life with anyone who knows how to turn on a computer? And if I am going to put it out there, why am I not trying to make money doing it? It seems ridiculous. But then again, maybe I have grown because of blogging. Maybe I am more disciplined. Maybe I have developed new ideas and even made new friends. Yes, perhaps, despite the hundreds of hours of my life I sometimes feel went into some internet black hole, blogging is simply a part of my journey. And now, after dozens of trip musings, almost 1000 photos, some new books read, money saved and new art, ideas and inspirations created, I look back down the blog trail as a new and better person. Then, all I feel I can do is look ahead and keep going, typing and sharing, only dreaming of what the next view will bring.
Thank you for reading this and any of my other blogs you may read (or will click to today).
If you want to keep track of all of my blogs in one place, check out "my life blogified" on facebook.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
a fighter
You think I'd despise you,
But in the end I wanna thank you,
'Cause you've made me that much stronger...
every word resonates and...every memory...every moment makes my heart both break and grow stronger.
But in the end I wanna thank you,
'Cause you've made me that much stronger...
every word resonates and...every memory...every moment makes my heart both break and grow stronger.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
sNOw
Portland doesn't quite understand the concept of winter. And I don't quite understand that.
I grew up in Montana where we used to build snow tunnels in the back yard with ease. Plugging in our cars at night was normal. (I already lost some of you, didn't I?) Subzero temperatures, sledding and snowmen were just a part of this season we call winter.
I moved to Colorado after high school. As you may know, Colorado embraces winter as well. I have fond memories of blizzards and snowy outdoor recreation.
Before Oregon, I also lived in Chicago. Snowy? Yep. Cold? Um, yeah. Winter? Absolutely.
Nevermind all the other moving around I did...
I ended up here in Portland, Oregon. The land of no winter.
I remember reading somewhere that the average annual snowfall here is less than 6 inches AND that the record low was 5 degrees. To me, this is crazy. Oh and don't be deceived by six inches. It basically turns to water the moment it hits the ground.
Perhaps I haven't expressed the fact that I love winter. Or maybe its more that I love experiencing true seasons. There is something about everything going dormant while a white blankets the earth and then a bursting out with new life in the spring that just gets me. I love it.
And this brings me to my recent heartbreak. It was supposed to snow. And it did...a little bit here and there. But then it was really supposed to snow. All night and then heavy in the morning. I had a hard time going to sleep as the snow glow brightened the sky and I dreamed of sledding and frosty photos. My alarm woke me up early (I told you...I was excited), but before I could look outside, I heard it.
Raindrops.
That BIG northwest storm that plastered the news for several days?? Yeah, Portland didn't get that.
After I watched the weather channel lustfully for an hour, I got to thinking about my cold attitude. I love living where I do. I hardly ever have to deal with icy roads. I rarely feel the need to bundle up. And even as I write this I marvel at the mild January day filled with green grass and sunshine. I really can't complain much about all that.
But once, just once (each year), I'd love to break out a sled in this winterforsaken town and experience some true snowy glee!
I grew up in Montana where we used to build snow tunnels in the back yard with ease. Plugging in our cars at night was normal. (I already lost some of you, didn't I?) Subzero temperatures, sledding and snowmen were just a part of this season we call winter.
I moved to Colorado after high school. As you may know, Colorado embraces winter as well. I have fond memories of blizzards and snowy outdoor recreation.
Before Oregon, I also lived in Chicago. Snowy? Yep. Cold? Um, yeah. Winter? Absolutely.
Nevermind all the other moving around I did...
I ended up here in Portland, Oregon. The land of no winter.
I remember reading somewhere that the average annual snowfall here is less than 6 inches AND that the record low was 5 degrees. To me, this is crazy. Oh and don't be deceived by six inches. It basically turns to water the moment it hits the ground.
Perhaps I haven't expressed the fact that I love winter. Or maybe its more that I love experiencing true seasons. There is something about everything going dormant while a white blankets the earth and then a bursting out with new life in the spring that just gets me. I love it.
And this brings me to my recent heartbreak. It was supposed to snow. And it did...a little bit here and there. But then it was really supposed to snow. All night and then heavy in the morning. I had a hard time going to sleep as the snow glow brightened the sky and I dreamed of sledding and frosty photos. My alarm woke me up early (I told you...I was excited), but before I could look outside, I heard it.
Raindrops.
That BIG northwest storm that plastered the news for several days?? Yeah, Portland didn't get that.
After I watched the weather channel lustfully for an hour, I got to thinking about my cold attitude. I love living where I do. I hardly ever have to deal with icy roads. I rarely feel the need to bundle up. And even as I write this I marvel at the mild January day filled with green grass and sunshine. I really can't complain much about all that.
But once, just once (each year), I'd love to break out a sled in this winterforsaken town and experience some true snowy glee!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
rolling with the credits
I have a hard time walking out of a movie theater before the credits end.
Most of my friends know this about me. It's just a thing I have. It feels awkward to me, possibly comparable to screaming uncontrollably at a concert when a song pleas for silence or dancing wildly around a posh (and perhaps slightly uptight) art gallery. And the awkwardness is only heightened by the discomfort I sense from those around me as they try to understand why I am still sitting there. I am there because art deserves reflection and those five minutes are a gift.
For one thing, every single name on that screen had something to do with what just happened. I find myself catching a name or two along the way and wondering who that person is. How did they become a part of this? What does their life look like? How much passion did they devote to this project? They probably deserve the credit they are getting. Even more than that, though, I cannot escape the reality that whatever film I just gave part of my evening to had some sort of impact on me. It doesn't matter whether I feel annoyed or sad or inspired, I FEEL something and really appreciate the time to actually process those feelings. And they give you a mostly dark, mostly empty room with a specifically chosen song filling the void to do so...
I can't walk out on that.
Most of my friends know this about me. It's just a thing I have. It feels awkward to me, possibly comparable to screaming uncontrollably at a concert when a song pleas for silence or dancing wildly around a posh (and perhaps slightly uptight) art gallery. And the awkwardness is only heightened by the discomfort I sense from those around me as they try to understand why I am still sitting there. I am there because art deserves reflection and those five minutes are a gift.
For one thing, every single name on that screen had something to do with what just happened. I find myself catching a name or two along the way and wondering who that person is. How did they become a part of this? What does their life look like? How much passion did they devote to this project? They probably deserve the credit they are getting. Even more than that, though, I cannot escape the reality that whatever film I just gave part of my evening to had some sort of impact on me. It doesn't matter whether I feel annoyed or sad or inspired, I FEEL something and really appreciate the time to actually process those feelings. And they give you a mostly dark, mostly empty room with a specifically chosen song filling the void to do so...
I can't walk out on that.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
to new york on a train
watched a sunset * hugged a friend * made a new one * read a lot * wrote even more * rode a blizzard * walked familiar city streets * woke up to vineyards * gazed again * found inspiration * laughed with old friends * cheered in central park * had a drink or two or ten * opened eyes * headed north * heard traveling stories * heartbreaker * ate a cupcake * wrote again * skipped rocks * laughed again * said too many goodbyes * wrote again again * headed home and left * again
Saturday, March 5, 2011
heart right now
walking the void with bittersweet distraction
fading into glances
and hazy love
corroded by loss
pounding strong with an ache
only waves can wash away
fading into glances
and hazy love
corroded by loss
pounding strong with an ache
only waves can wash away
Sunday, December 5, 2010
ideas are ideas
I've been pondering the idea of ideas lately. I have lots of ideas. I even feel passionately about them. However, all they will ever be are ideas floating around in my head until I turn them into something else. It's time for me to take some action. I've taken all kinds of little steps here and there and cannot deny the footsteps of progress I look back and see. I've even walked right up to the edge and allowed myself to become familiar with the vastness of my passion and desire for change, but it's time to jump. It's time to shed these last layers of weight holding me down and truly free myself to take my ideas and make them a reality. Because ideas are just ideas...until they become something else.
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