my right now.

..........................................


If you can change your mind, you can change your life. | William James


You are so good. So good, you’re always feeling so much. And sometimes it feels like you’re gonna bust wide open from all the feeling, don’t it? People like you are the best in the world, but you sure do suffer for it. | Silas House


All I really want to know is how other people are making it through life – where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside it. | Miranda July


She hoped that although he could not hear her she could somehow imprint her ordinary love upon his memory through all eternity, hoped he would rise thinking of her, we were each other, we were each other, not that it mattered much in the long run but what else mattered as much. | Joan Didion


Give me something real…
Something that makes my heart stand at attention…
Something that makes my spirit shriek…
| Steven R. O’Brien.


Let go? Hold fierce and fast? Ask for what you need? Claim it for yourself? What do you need, lover? What you do you want? Stop quieting that inner voice that whispers in the night? | Jeanette LeBlanc


And I will love with urgency / But not with haste | Mumford and Sons

...............................................

i want to melt.

Perhaps just settle in, knowing that whatever you're giving is enough. Whatever you make or eat or do or not do, is totally and completely and positively enough and totally beautiful.  

-- Stephanie Perkinson

Angelo comes in every day with his red-and-white Igloo lunch cooler and sometimes I walk in on him in the kitchen standing at the table scarfing down his breakfast, embarrassed. He's difficult to understand but I know he gets upset when his back goes out or when kids mess with the toilets or when someone steals his hat, and I know he's in every day by seven and out by three. He's the nicest man around (there's no one else around) and in a strange way I'm grateful for him.

He's like the man on the bus, the elderly one who hobbles on to face no empty seats (it's crowded at 5pm) until a younger man gives his up, without even hesitating, and stands holding the bar.

Or the woman sitting in the back shouting into her cell phone about hospital visiting hours and PriceRite and whether or not someone just farted. Or the little girl sitting behind me, dangling her feet and saying, "Weee!" giddily, quietly so as not to disturb her mother too much, as we pass through the Thayer Street tunnel. Or the Asian woman and her daughter I see every day, both donning backpacks and holding hands and hurrying to get off at their stop downtown.

The bad is good and the good is bad and in the end none of it really matters. Or rather it all matters. They all melt into one, into One, and soon there's no difference between the bearded guy in the Converse shoes smoking a cigarette outside his shop and the bearded guy begging for change on the sidewalk, showing his hospital bracelets as some kind of proof that he "just got out" and needs help, desperately. Soon there's no difference between gritting your teeth through family tension and drama as you breathe deep and count backwards from ten, and riding in the car in peace listening to This American Life amidst raindrops and heat coming from the vents, warming your face. Soon there's no distinction between happy and sad, loud and quiet, sleepy and awake, sunny and cloudy. It's all just as it's meant to be.

And I want to melt into all of it. I want to melt into life and make no more distinctions, no more differentiations, no more judgments and scrutinies and considerations.

I want to glide through life pain-free, seeing the trials as acceptable and the joys as fine, and even the pain as okay. (Because it will never be pain-free.)


Let's melt. Let's melt into a low, steady hum of being that neither drops too low nor rises too high, existing on a perfectly informed and satisfied plane of existence.

Reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn alongside the likes of Rumi and Mindy Kaling. Lying sleepily on an acupuncture table while the needles burn, for just a second. Proclaiming yourself gluten free and taking some bites of the pastry-wrapped brie because it's nearly impossible not to. Hitting the snooze button in a haze as your brain decides it'd rather be awake then snoozing, despite the available extra nine minutes and the warmth of the comforter and the lack of sunlight. Smiling down the sidewalk and frowning down the sidewalk.

The black, and the white. The gray.
The iron grip, and the release. The melting.

Like Angelo the custodian and elderly men on buses and little girls with backpacks.

I want it all.

I want to melt.

this year, I’m grateful for truth.

This year, I’m grateful for truth.

For that liquid, uncomprehending, wily and enigmatic thing that scrabbles out of your hands at the very last second and leaves you peering into your hands wondering how you could have just had it 

and then not, so quickly.

For the words aren’t felt tumbling out of your mouth free-for-all and happy-go-lucky as if you were spinning around a carousel with a lavish grin and a loose grip.

No, it’s not that.

It’s not that the words are felt being held over the edge of a cliff, crying out and thrashing about in your hand begging to be let off, either.

There’s no forcing the truth, is there?

Sometimes it’s more like climbing that cliff from the bottom with nothing but your fingernails and a prayer. Struggling tremendously for miles, straight upwards, in search of the thing.

And even once you get to it, you might grasp it for a moment only for it to morph into liquid again and run through your fingers, despite your best attempts to clench your fingers together and pool it in your hand.

I want truth like friendships that you never need explanation for.

I want truth like words that are just as they are, words.

I want truth like clothes that hug your body in all the right ways.

I want truth like nights out till 4am laughing so hard your face hurts.

This year, I’m grateful for truth. I’m grateful for when it’s here and feels so palpable I could pick it up in my palms and squeeze it, and I’m grateful for when it’s slipped away and I’m suddenly wandering alone trying to find it again. 

It's a liquid, uncomprehending, wily and enigmatic thing, truth. 

That usually leads to freedom.

And I like that.

a little tattoo update.

*****************************

On Monday, November 18th, prices on my handwritten tattoo designs will be increasing.

It's time!

Digital file designs will go from $29 to $45.

Handmade package designs will go from $49 to $65.


But don't worry -- if you want to get in your purchase before the increase, you have until Monday to jump on it!

(And I'm thinking if you have a friend who's been wanting a tattoo and is ready to play around with a design, this could make a perfect holiday gift!)

The beauty is growing.....

the 26 fever.

The fever slipped in unannounced. One minute I was sleepily drinking coffee and readying myself for Persephone's wedding, the next I was shivering and sweating and generally feeling like falling over.

It was a sneaky thing.

But it knew what it was doing.

I made it through the wedding (alcohol helped quite a bit) and committed myself to the couch with blankets and tissues and tea for the entirety of the day Sunday.


And then on Monday, I turned 26. The fever was still passing through, but I knew what it was about.

It was the 26 fever.

The reminder that 26 will not be 25. That I will not be the same again. That I need to make space and clear the old.


The 26 fever is shaking me.

I'm still uncertain as to what 26 is about. (So far all I've got is the fact that I'm now more towards my late twenties than mid twenties...) But I'm ready for it. I'm ready for all that it has for me. 25 was a really fucking hard year that, while amazing, knocked me down time and time again.

I'm ready for peace in my body.
I'm ready for soul connection.
I'm ready for blazing confidence.
I'm ready for deep, deep love.
I'm ready for slow, deliberate aliveness.
And I'm ready to like my hair again.

The fever is passing. I can just barely see it making its way out the door, almost gone.

I'm ready.

I would really, really like to fill myself up.

I would really, really like to fill myself up on more things like

kittens, 

and sisters, 

and hot cups of tea, 

and crunchy leaves on the sidewalk after lunch,

and really good podcasts,

and clean bedrooms,

and fresh green juice,

and pure, pure honesty.

Filling myself up. 

One day at a time.

xo,

Ruth

living in the overwhelm.

I was having a conversation the other day and heard myself say the words, "I am getting everything I wanted."

I know, right? Words I never thought I'd hear myself say. Words I never really thought possible, especially from anyone in my family.

But I said them and they are true. I am getting everything I wanted. I wanted a job, I got a job. I wanted to move, I moved. I wanted a beautiful apartment, I got a beautiful apartment. I wanted soul-connected friends, I am making soul-connected friends. I wanted a better job, I got a better job. I wanted more money, I am getting more money.

And when I imagined those things before they came, it seemed like they were at some distant place in the future that looked like sunshine and rainbows and peace and happiness and perfection. I knew it was silly, and yet I half-believed it.

How could I not be happy once I'd moved out of my parents' house? How could things not be perfect when I was living in a gorgeous space of my own? How could I possibly be anything other than ecstatic once my life was not what it was six months ago?

And now, now. Six months later. I am sitting in my new gorgeous apartment that I share with two amazing women. And oh yes there is sunshine and rainbows and peace and happiness, for sure.....

.....but not every minute. There is no station I've arrived at that instantly creates euphoria.

There is extreme overwhelm. There is intense transition. In the past six months, I've quit the job I'd had for the past five years, started a new one in a brand new city, commuted back and forth almost two hours each way for two months straight, had a really difficult surgery, met new roommates on Craigslist and moved in with them in Providence permanently, began a course of medication that severely fucked with my hormones for three months and still is, moved into another apartment, quit said job, started a brand new one. Aaaaaaand deep breath.

I've been deliriously happy, and I've been dejectedly miserable.
I've been on cloud nine, and I've been in the depths of despair.
I've felt sure and solid and purposeful, and I've felt lost and confused and scared.

My point is......it's okay to live in the overwhelm. 

It's okay to be feeling all these things. I mean, if we were going through major life transitions and not feeling a range of emotions, something would be off. This is okay. This is good.

There can be balance. There can be a softening. There is safety, always.


I'm not really sure why I wanted to blog all this. But I felt it needed to be said. I wanted it to be spoken. I wanted to share it. I haven't written here in a long time, and I finally just needed to force myself to do it. Because writing it helps. Talking to friends about it helps. The processing, the sharing......it's how I move through the overwhelm. (Along with quiet nights in with my Pandora cool jazz station...)

You know?

traversing twenties with: Joanna Macleod

If could reach back through time and have a heart-to-heart with your twentysomething self, what would you say to her? 

She’s in her twenties, that glorified period of life when she’s supposed to be discovering herself, deep in exploration, living her most defining decade. And yet.....she may feel like the exact opposite. Or exactly that. Or somewhere in between. She probably doesn't even know.

Maybe you pour her a cup of tea, look into her eyes, wrap her in a hug.

What do you tell her? 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today's letter comes from Joanna Macleod, a beautiful soul with an amazing letter. As I read this one, it felt like I really could have been reading it to myself -- she wrote just the words I needed to hear. Thank you, Joanna:


Dear Jo,

It's 1999 and you are twenty.  Just newly moved to a city so far from home that for the last two months, you've called your parents in tears.  Mum half wonders whether you'll give up on University and be home by Christmas.  You won't be.

If there is one thing I can tell you about yourself, it's that you are strong.  Strong beyond your wildest dreams and strong through your worst nightmares.  You won't always believe this, the road ahead may sometimes look impossible but I can say, from where I stand, you are strong enough for everything that comes your way.

I know you feel you are not enough (oh, you really are), you feel you don't fit in (everyone feels that way and you will be fine), and you wonder how you can fulfil your potential (be truthful, faithful to your heart and try very hard to rise above fear in all its forms).

Another thing I can tell you (and I am trying to play by the rules of space time continuum here), the people you have met and will meet in this 6 month period are special.  They matter greatly so cherish this beginning, it is a real starting point for lasting love and friendship.

I know that you often feel unsure of yourself and not good enough but just be open sweetheart and  if there is a lesson to learn, it is kindness.  Try not to give into that jealousy that holds you hostage or that rage that just takes over sometimes.  Honestly, just let go a tiny bit and you'll find that things work out (I know, eye roll, how clichéd).  I'm serious though, don't be a brat when you feel under attack or overlooked and cut people a little slack because they are just as unsure as you are.  Grown-ups are winging it too!  Importantly, be in the moment and embrace it.  Keep being present to everything you are involved in; you are a triumph!

I don't want to tell you anything to dampen your spirit so I've chosen things that will hopefully give you cause to show up; for family, for friends, for fun and for yourself.  Ahead of you lies a wonderful, bitter-sweet, challenging and rewarding slice of life and no matter the losses, the tears and the doubt that will come along through the years – you are perfect and your positivity only grows stronger.  At your core, we're the same wild energy and it's epic! So sitting here, I contemplate what I would say if you were in front of me and have a sneaking suspicion you may not listen anyway;). If you do feel like listening however, here are some top tips!

Be kind, don't judge others too harshly
Love but don't give your heart away too easily
Watch that jealousy
Be open
Be faithful to yourself; game playing and acting the part others wish you to be only betrays yourself
Rise above fear; it does nothing to serve you
Believe in yourself

And... okay, one spoiler...

One day, for a few exciting years, you'll play in a rock band and it'll be terrifyingly amazing – but really, you knew that one already right? ;)

You always wonder whether you will matter; well, you do.  Immensely. So just keep going. Enjoy the next thirteen years and I'll see you when you get here :)

Love,

Jo (age thirty three and a half)

_______________________________________________________________________________________

 At thirty three, Jo lives in Glasgow, Scotland and prides herself on being a mixed bag nationality of New Zealand and England with a years of Scottish living under her belt.  Married to her husband Calum, lucky in friends and family she blogs about food at joannayumyum.co.uk and about life at thetreesandthestars.co.uk, works the 9-5 as a marketing manager and spends time procrastinating about developing her Swedish massage and Reiki skills.



***

Read past posts in the series here.

Interested in writing for Traversing Twenties? Submissions are open! Email ruth@ruthpclark.com for more details. 

and so I learn balance.

"Listen -- are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?"

Mary Oliver

I bought a fall bouquet and a pumpkin for the apartment.

I walked into Trader Joe's and saw them and needed them.

Because just then the table was bare, the last bouquet long since dead.

And the fall equinox needed the beauty to go along with it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I made a trip home, and was looking forward to it for days.

Which always confuses me, since I tried so hard and for so long to get away from home.

I spent three days with my sisters and brother and mother and friends. I needed it.

I went home and it was strange coming back to this other "home."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 I spent a weekend at The Loft, helping with a retreat, and forgot where I was for a time.

I saw new faces and slept in a different bed and didn't have to cook in my kitchen.

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"You need that," she told me. "You get stuck in a daily rhythm so easily, getting out and away and doing something different is what you need."

A break from the routine.
Fresh flowers and a sugar pumpkin.
A weekend back home.
A few days at The Loft.

Because there are only so many days and weeks and months that you can do the same things. Think the same thoughts. See the same sights. Travel the same roads.

Before you begin to feel crazy.


I do need the routine. The groundedness is necessary.

And so is the break.



And so I learn balance.

traversing twenties with: Hannah Marcotti

If could reach back through time and have a heart-to-heart with your twentysomething self, what would you say to her? 

She’s in her twenties, that glorified period of life when she’s supposed to be discovering herself, deep in exploration, living her most defining decade. And yet.....she may feel like the exact opposite. Or exactly that. Or somewhere in between. She probably doesn't even know.

Maybe you pour her a cup of tea, look into her eyes, wrap her in a hug.

What do you tell her? 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today's letter comes from Hannah Marcotti -- dear friend, gorgeous mentor, and super businesswoman. Since moving to Providence Hannah and I have become so close, both in friendship and business. I knew her letter was going to be good, and of course it blew me away. There's power, right here. Thank you, Hannah:


Letter to my twenty-something self to be opened on your 39th birthday.

“God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches by means of opposites, so that you will have two wings to fly, not one.” ~ Rumi

Hello sweet one. Happy fucking birthday. The first one you will have celebrated the way you want, desire, need.

You are tattooed and gorgeous. Really, you never thought we would say that, did you?

There are days you look in the mirror and wonder how you wound up with back fat and size C cup boobs. I remember the AB boobs that didn’t need a bra.

You nursed for 7 years. Thought at 125 pounds that you needed to lose weight. You now have 3 kids. I know. Your boobs rock now. For real. You have curves. Yep.

We always knew that 38 would be a transformative year. We never saw 39 as a vision of real. And now, we are here together. I am so fucking grateful for you because in the year of 38 when everything got turned upside down and was more beautiful and scary than you thought you could handle, I turned to you. You saved me. You lifted me. You were my guide.

I asked you what you needed. I went back in time and held your hand. Or you held mine.

We started at 19 and moved slowly through the years together. My thirty-something confidence and need for pleasure mixed with your desire to know you could support yourself, care for yourself, feed yourself, fill yourself. Those questions always left unanswered because of fear and the need to protect those you loved.

Those questions became our guide.

And now 26 days before you turn 39 I write to you. Because we are going there together. As I write this letter the woman who will read it and the girl who it is written to don’t exist in this moment in time but have never been more alive. Their presence, their shadow, their love is felt and real and the reason.

26 days before you turn 39 you will sit in the lobby of a funky hipster hotel in Portland Oregon, a city that has captured your heart, and you will write this letter. Men wear pink socks here and it is adorable.

26 days before you turn 39 you will drink wine on a couch in a lobby that holds a photo booth, bike rentals, vinyl records and wine and you will be amazed that you made it here. It is 2 o’clock in the afternoon. You will feel immense fucking joy. You still say fuck a lot. OK, more.

26 days before you turn 39 there is a space inside of you that you have been seeking since you were a child. A space that holds your needs.

26 days before you turn 39 you will have learned the art of holding another’s gaze. Really pausing, holding, looking, feeling. Not turning away.

26 days before you turn 39 you have your own bank account. It stays on the positive side. Your gifts have become your work. You will check your paypal account 5 times today and shop at an antique shop buying old books and metal letters and small white handkerchiefs. Your balance will go up.

26 days before you turn 39 you will pay for your hotel on your own. And you will sink into the gentle power of what you have created. You will remember that feeling free was your young desire, one that scared you because it meant changing everything. You weren’t ready. This is so totally OK. You still aren’t quite ready and you are doing it anyway.

26 days before you turn 39 there will be a moment when you want to cancel your trip to Portland, that you’ll feel fear of that freedom. You will release your fears and pack your bags. Close your eyes and feel the tears. This is your new truth.

26 days before you turn 39 you will eat carrot soup with thai basil and basil oil while sitting in a window sipping Pinot Noir. This is your favorite wine. (Oh, you are gluten-free and feel so much better.)

26 days before you turn 39 there will be a piece of you that still wonders if you can have a pure-joy-happy-bubbles life.

26 days before you turn 39 a true co-parenting life has begun to show itself. Your need to do it all yourself, that story that was never yours, is disappearing. You are writing your own story every single beautiful day. This feels so simplified for me to write. I know you will get how major it is.

26 days before you turn 39 you will have learned to flirt with bartenders, understand that your body is constantly under change, fallen in love with air plants and have eaten octopus and beef heart. (So yeah, you aren’t a vegetarian any more.)

26 days before you turn 39 time will stretch before you. You’ll only have a few pages left in the book When Women Were Birds, with almost every page dog eared with importance. I remember how you held Women Who Run With Wolves and highlighted sentences but never actually read it. You will read it this year.

26 days before you turn 39 you will walk down the street wearing the most vibrant red lipstick and loving how it makes you feel.

26 days before you turn 39 your birthday dress will be on its way to your house. It hugs your curves. Did I mention you have curves?

26 days before you turn 39 life will hold more unknowns than knowns. This will challenge your Virgo need for security and control.

26 days before you turn 39 you will try to control those unknowns.

26 days before you turn 39 you will be remembered with such love and tenderness.

26 days before you turn 39 I want to thank you, I want to see you, I want to honor you.

26 days before you turn 39 it is ok to be scared.

26 days before you turn 39 know this…

"We are Fire. We are Water. We are Earth. We are Air.
We are all things elemental.
The world begins with yes.
Changing Women. We begin again like the Moon." Terry Tempest Williams

P.S. That tattoo that says ‘yes’ on your wrist? That was for you baby.


_______________________________________________________________________________________

Hannah Marcotti is a quietly impassioned motivator. Highly sensitive truth seeker. Tattooing joy on the spirits of many.

Hannah guides women to fall in love with themselves and through that love see the possibility of what they can create. This is where the magic happens.

Sign up for her new free offering Goodnight Beautiful Day and visit her at hannahmarcotti.com.

***

Read past posts in the series here.

Interested in writing for Traversing Twenties? Submissions are open! Email ruth@ruthpclark.com for more details. 

traversing twenties: with Lisa Gendron

If could reach back through time and have a heart-to-heart with your twentysomething self, what would you say to her? 

She’s in her twenties, that glorified period of life when she’s supposed to be discovering herself, deep in exploration, living her most defining decade. And yet.....she may feel like the exact opposite. Or exactly that. Or somewhere in between. She probably doesn't even know.

Maybe you pour her a cup of tea, look into her eyes, wrap her in a hug.

What do you tell her? 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today's letter comes from Lisa Gendron, my mentor and friend. We believe the Universe orchestrated our meeting and connection -- we both showed up for each other, right when we needed it. Lisa is a talented photographer, amazing doula, and beautiful friend. Her letter touched my 21-year-old heart. Thank you, Lisa:



Dear Lisa,

You are about to turn twenty-one.

You thought you had some notion of what your future would be. You  lived a couple of wild beautiful years and your first year of your twenties taught you to be free, brazen, to take risks. Now you are pregnant, a single mother- your body and soul transforming. It feels like a storm rolling in from the ocean. You are afraid. You are inadequate. You are strong.

You will birth this son in power, you will fight to grow. You will be terrified. You will be reborn… maiden to mother.

You will know love, you will know comfort-but first you will be lonely… lonelier than you could ever have imagined. You will know confidence, but first you will be timid. You have a quiet voice, but you will learn to roar. You wanted to travel- you won't, but you will travel the landscape of yourself. You will go further then a plane could ever take you.

You will birth three children in this decade. Two sons first. All of them will be children born in strength… they will teach you how to love yourself. You will feed them with your body. Your heart will kindle their hearts. They will love the sound of your beating heart. You will love the sound of their beating hearts. This will be the great love you think you will find in a partner. You will find love with men- and with their father- but their love will be the transformation.

You will find yourself. You will be magnificent. You will make mistakes. Nothing unforgivable... You will be forgiven.

Your third child will be a daughter. She will make you more fierce. You will fight hard to bring her into being. It will be worth it.

Things get better. Things get harder. Things get easier.

You will marry their father, but not until you are well on your way to thirty. You will learn that partnership is about so many things. Love is woven into the fiber of who you are, with all its nuance, texture, history. This will be a slow growing love. Passion may have always been there, but this is only a small part. You will learn to trust. You will learn that love only works when you are whole. Broken hearts cannot hold love, you will have to heal. You will heal.

Take time to stand in front of the mirror. Look at your face. You are beautiful. You are young. You will never be perfect. You are perfect. Truth is in the paradox. Be in your truth. It will evolve with you. It holds your future.

Dear Lisa. You may be angry as you grow. Rage is energy, own it. Use it. You will be really fucking angry. You will be really fucking angry!!! It's ok. Let it out, let it be transcendent rage. You will become wise in your forgiveness. You will become wise in your acceptance. You are growing.

Dear Lisa, love yourself as you love others. You love others so well. It is a gift your have been given. Let it serve you.

I love you twenty-one year old Lisa. You are a beautiful woman. Peace and blessing on you. Blessed be.

Love,
Almost 31 Year Old Yourself

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Lisa Gendron is the photographer behind Agroterra Photography and Agroterra Birth. Lisa recieved her BFA degree from Rhode Island School of Design. She has been photographing children and families for over ten years. She has developed an approach that emphasizes comfort and authenticity in her photography and engagement with families.

Lisa is the mother of three children, and lives and works in Rhode Island... She loves all things creative- When not behind the camera, she can be found conjuring up beauty in the kitchen, garden, with handwork or conversation.

***

Read past posts in the series here.

Interested in writing for Traversing Twenties? Submissions are open! Email ruth@ruthpclark.com for more details.