Stay Curious.
Dig Deeper.
Nurture What Matters.
Be BoldHeart.
Enjoy Your Life.

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The BoldHeartMama desires to enjoy living out the choices that she’s made for herself and for her family. She is a relentless learner: curious, inquisitive, and open to the possibilities of her life and of the human condition. She understands that there isn't one right way—she asks questions that dig deeper to make sense of it all and to find her own path.

She pays attention to and nurtures whatever it is she really cares about, letting go of the rest (for now) knowing she can't do and be everything all at once. She embraces her imperfections in favor of "good enough"—her imperfect self, her imperfect home, her imperfect mothering, her imperfect desires—and she never stops evolving as a woman and mother. She is a BoldHeart, authentic and true to herself.

The BoldHeartMama knows there is only this one life and she's all in. She is present and engaged and making things happen. Her intuition is her guide. She seeks to be inspired and relies on her creativity and her resourcefulness to solve the big and little challenges that she and her family face together as they navigate their relationships and their world.

The BoldHeartMama is willing to take calculated risks to make her biggest dreams come true. She is living out her BoldHeart in the moment, making small moves and taking little steps that add up, and she's cultivating a good life for herself and her family in the process. Read More!

Friday, September 4, 2015

Traveling Solo

A favorite tree from our family travels earlier this Summer, South Carolina

I'm leaving tomorrow for four days in Louisiana. I've never been. A girlfriend of mine lives there with her family—we met in birthing class when pregnant with our first sons. She's since had three more babies the youngest of which I have yet to meet.

I'm looking forward to feeling the vibe of New Orleans: the jazz, the people, the architecture, the cemeteries, beignets and coffee, the French Quarter in summer, the swamps and the moss. I can't wait to be face to face with my friend whose life has both diverged from and paralleled mine over the seven years since we first met. We've stayed in touch through it all by way of shared passions for fitness, fermented foods, our careers, mothering, and most recently homeschool. Serendipitously, we managed to meet up last summer in Maine when we both just so happened to be vacationing in the Northeast.

I'm looking forward to carefully packing my bags tonight. Filling little plastic bottles with exactly 3.4 ounces in pursuit to solve the TSA's universal puzzle and make it all fit in one carry-on bag: a pair of flip flops and my running shoes; two pairs of workout pants and tops; a pair of jeans; running shorts; two shirts; my makeup organized in a tidy snapware case, and a bottle of Tocca's Cleopatra tucked in with my socks and pj's. I'll wear the only jewelry I plan to bring: gold heart studs, a bracelet I gifted myself today while out with the kids, and a thin gold band on my left ring finger. I rarely travel with my wedding set anymore for fear of taking them off and losing them forever. I have one book to pack away for the plane called the Opposite of Loneliness for which I've been sneaking "naps" each afternoon this week to lie in my bed and read under the breeze of the ceiling fan, while on the other side of the door my boys sit mesmerized by new video games. Marina's essays have piqued my emotion and curiosity for many things and I'm left even hungrier for the living and the writing of life. Here I sit yearning to stretch more, be braver, and even better with my words. I hope to finish that book on the first leg of my flight.

I'm looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning and neatly filing into the car. Sometimes, on morning's like I imagine tomorrow will bring, when everyone is high with anticipation for one kind of adventure or another, my little nuclear family of four feels so manageable. With windows rolled down, we'll stop on the way for two cortados and two vanilla steamers, then arrive at the airport with time left to spare for goodbye kisses that end with our cheeks pressed together until the very last moment. A long goodbye for my two little loves and a quick pass-off to my one and only, and they'll be on their way home for a long weekend of marshmallow cereal for breakfast, lego builds, morning passes by the river on their way to Starbucks' drive-thru for their usual, afternoons a mix of tv and video games and bike rides, and finally the uncommon dinner prepared by dad. But before we part, I'll breathe them in until next time, and turn the corner to set out on my own for a few days in a new place, with big eyes and an open heart for reconnecting with old friends and myself.

I'm looking forward to the roaring noise-canceling silence that can only exist at 36,000 feet. I'll read, jot down a few ideas in Notes on my phone. Maybe I'll close my eyes. As we near to MSY I'll look out onto the clouds and take in a slow heavy breath then let the exhale carry my hope for a safe touch down. A ding will confirm we've landed and the pilot's voice will come across in monotone through the speaker overhead to call out the time and a welcome to New Orleans.

For all that I'm looking forward to, a little tiny knot burrows into my gut for leaving the boys and flying away from them. When we are miles apart—me off on my own, with every good intention to take the time for myself and truly enjoy it—I feel even more intensely vulnerable. Unsettlingly aware of the time and space that separate us, and the tragic, however unlikely, opportunity for something to befall me and only me. The worst of my thoughts, of the boys left without a mother, I hate that part about exploring the world without them at my heels.

I'm looking forward to going, to resting some, to seeing, and doing, and living. All on my own. Just as I'm looking forward to returning home again, refueled and no doubt inspired, when the three parts to my one will be together once again, as we know and like it best.


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