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  • I found hope in Hope thanks to nature and my nieces.
  • Reminder: There is always light at the end of the tunnel(s).
  • Possibilities.
  • "After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains." Happy 200th birthday, Walt Whitman
  • Spring is always the most alive after the darkest and rainiest of winters. #hyggehouse
  • "There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind." C. S. Lewis. Or, as the Secret Sisters sang, "Tomorrow will be kinder."
  • "It was here in Big Sur where I first learned to say amen." Henry Miller

Friday afternoon I decided to take a last-minute trip up the coast. Every time I've driven it, I've  always had some place to be and up against time.

But not this trip.

Friday I spent time in Santa Barbara and Paso Robles.

Saturday I spent time in Steinbeck country (of Mice and Men is one of my favourite books) and finally drove the G16 across to Carmel before heading up for a quick stop to see of my friends who I would literally drive 8hrs for only to spend 2 hours with.

Today I got up super early and got a super big coffee so I could drive down highway 1, through Big Sur and hopefully beat the crowds.

Henry Miller is the author of some of my other favourite books so as I drove though Big Sur I thought of him and Steinbeck and how they wrote about what they knew, what they loved, and what they questioned. I've had this idea in my head for a new project and community that I know will resonate and mean something but just unsure how to begin.

So I made sure today to stop when I wanted to. Linger when I needed. Drive wherever for however long.

And, after all the times driving through Big Sur, I finally stopped at a beach. I spent two hours here practically alone and just was.

People say it but there is something magic about Big Sur and today was the first time I felt it. I felt the shift, the inspiration, the hunger. And I felt wet sand between my toes. 
I'm ready.

Amen
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  • Last week I drove through the area of Malibu that was most hard hit from the fires. It was completely devastated only last December but now, life is blooming again in a way I've never seen it before. The scars are there and it will take 20yeara to get back to where it was but life is back. That's the amazing, heartbreaking and beautiful thing about life. #malibustrong #earthday

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Everyday Hygge Wanderlust

Change isn’t always bad.

January 10, 2008
Carmel California Beach

My secret beach in Carmel had beautiful, tall trees and flowers that kept trying to grow amongst the white sandy beaches. It was quiet, peaceful and beautiful. I’d go here when I needed to feel the same.

Then last week rough weather approached and for a few days the secret beach was dark and clung to desperately to its winter beauty. The clouds rolled over the regular beach, too, creating massive waves and ominous skies. But the beach, though darker, was unchanged. Although the winds and waves were kicking up, the white sand tried so hard to stay, hiding things underneath while letting selective things grow. It wasn’t ready for the change and tried to pretend nothing was happening.

It’s just winds and waves said the beach and those who came – this is how it always is. You think something will happen but really, it doesn’t. We pretend to ooh and ahh and watch the show but truthfully, it’s just show.

But then a storm really came; trees were down, power was out for two days, hurricane winds pelted down over 6 inches of rain in 24 hours. The view from my flat was usually beautiful but I couldn’t see through the rain or clouds and at night it was pitch black with no solace from a candle. It was an isolating, scary and humbling three day period because no one was really prepared.

When the worst of the storm was over the dog and I were itching to walk and so to our beach we went, expecting just to see some big waves and dark skies as before. Yet when we arrived we found the beach very much changed.

It was bare – there were no people or beach; just new cliffs with a small bit of sand below full of seaweed. It wasn’t safe to walk on, it smelled bad from everything washing out – then back – to shore. It was in transition and no one – and nothing – wanted to be there. And so we left wondering if it would ever be the same as before.

Of course it wouldn’t. Nothing stays the same after a storm.

A few more days later I went back to the beach and found it once again transformed but this time, into something much more beautiful and interesting. The cliffs were still there but now gave way to a new kind of beach. One that lacked all the comforting soft white sand and instead now had boulders everywhere that were hidden for who knows how long. They were beautiful, mysterious, filled with life in all their nooks and crannies.

And they were slowly being discovered by people who had returned after the storm and wanted to see the beauty of change.

Usually it’s a quick walk on the beach but today the dog and I lingered, even played. We got trapped on boulders, walked through the cold water, talked with some surfers who loved the new waves. I marveled at how quickly it had changed.

Even though the storm was scary terribly scary to be in and the transformation of the beach was hard to watch at first (I was sad to see my struggling flowers die), it produced a dramatic change back to what it once was. It just did it; no gathering of people to dig away the sand, no permission to get, no questions asked if it was ready – it just did it.

And that doing produced an old beach that had been hidden for so long and made it new again for itself and those who came to it. It became a beach that truthfully, was a little more fun than the last.

  • Reply
    MegglesNo Gravatar
    October 11, 2017 at 11:44 AM

    This was so profound, and just what I needed to read today. I really appreciate your blog–I’ve read it for years–please continue blogging!

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