The Retreat

The headlights pierced the murky, thick darkness revealing the narrow, gravel road and ominous cathedral of trees on each side. With each passing moment, my connection to the outside world faded into nothingness. The sense of isolation washed over me, and my heart quickened as I became acutely aware of my vulnerability to the lurking hazards. In a hushed voice, I found myself murmuring, "What were you thinking, coming here alone, girl?" The rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, a reminder of the real dangers that surrounded me.

Two months prior, I embarked on a unique journey—a weekend of self-reflection, gratitude, journaling, prayer, and meditation. I decided to disconnect from the bustling world and sought solace in a splendid log cabin hidden deep within the enchanting woods of Lake Lure, NC, with the assistance of a helpful co-worker. My goal was to immerse myself in nature entirely and be off the grid. However, I never anticipated just how remote this place would be, and it felt like stepping into the mysterious realm of the "Upside Down" from the TV show Stranger Things.

Navigating the winding road to reach the cabin was an adventure in itself. The dense forest on either side heightened the feeling of seclusion, but it also made me cautious. Any sudden misstep could lead to a dangerous descent down rocky cliffs and through thick trees. In those moments, I couldn't help but entertain morbid thoughts—imagining how long it would take for someone to find me or if I would become a meal for hibernating black bears and other woodland creatures. I even regretted not Googling whether bears had a taste for human flesh.

Despite these unsettling musings, I was thankful for packing an abundance of granola bars, which now seemed like a wise decision. They could serve as sustenance if I were to survive a treacherous fall and needed to rely on the provisions I had brought. And amidst it all, I couldn't help but ponder what I would wear during the inevitable circuit of morning talk show interviews, recounting the harrowing story of my survival. Such thoughts might seem bizarre, but at high altitudes and in intense situations, the mind tends to wander to unexpected places. 

Ultimately, this experience pushed me to embrace the thrill of nature and the solitude it offered. It provided an opportunity for genuine introspection and a deeper connection with the natural world. While the seclusion was unnerving at times, it allowed me to truly appreciate the beauty and tranquility of the wilderness.

When I arrived at the cabin, the outside light was the only illumination I had seen in miles. It was the beacon that signaled my safe arrival and home for the next two days. I was accompanied by my trusty, canine side kick, Jackson, and, let’s just say, appropriate “arms” to keep me safe. Thankfully, neither had to be discharged during our stay.

I awoke early the next morning, bundled myself in blankets, cradled a hot cup of coffee and sat on the porch to watch the sunrise come up over the mountain. There’s something beautifully stirring about watching God’s majesty unfold before your eyes. Amber and golden hues of sunlight cascaded through the trees coupled by a beautiful aria performed by the many species of birds heralding the days dawn. I could not have asked for a more perfect backdrop.

I spent the next several hours in prayer, meditation and journaling. I committed my heart and mind to be open to whatever this weekend would bring. I had come through a very difficult year off illness, depression, feeling lost, painful isolation, and having been deeply wounded by people I cared about. The last few months of the year brought a clean bill of health, direction, purpose, peace of mind, and healing in my heart. It's not been lost on me how blessed I am to go from a such a depth of low to living in my absolute joy. My faith and resolve were tested several times, but steadfast I stood, even in my darkest of moments. I truly believe the joy I am now experiencing is a result of my perseverance and faithfulness. My spiritual walk has never been stronger or more meaningful. The irony is I had to not only be broken but come humbly before God in my brokenness in order to become stronger and ultimately experience the blessings I’m now living.

Another intention during my self-imposed retreat, was to emancipate myself from negative conditions that served as stumbling blocks or were void of value. Pain, shame, regret, missed opportunity, judgement, loss, hurt, anger, empty or toxic relationships, etc. To symbolize this liberation I gathered several flat stones and, on each stone, wrote the name of something, or someone, I needed to free myself from.  I was surprised by how many stones I wrote on as I reflected on the weight these issues had on my life. Once done, I took each stone, placed them in a backpack, put the backpack on and set out on a hike. My purpose in wearing the backpack was to the feel their collective weight. To feel the discomfort. To reconcile with how they served no purpose but to do just that, weigh me down, hinder my journey and slow any progress toward my destination. 

I carefully sought to find the right alter at which to leave the stones. After some time, I came upon this beautiful red maple tree who, much like me, looked as if she’d weather a few storms yet, despite them, stood tall, resilient and strong. I took each stone out of the backpack and placed it with intentional surrender at the trees base. Once the last stone had been placed in the pile this intense rush of emotion washed over me. I was not prepared for how powerful this moment would be. I prayed, wept and let each negative experience make their way out of my life. It was symbolic of leaving the past behind, forgiving myself, and, where necessary, others, and moving forward renewed. From a faith perspective, it was likened to leaving it all at the cross and completely letting it all go. I even left the backpack. I have no desire to fill it again!  

Later that evening, as I watched the sunset dance across the horizon, I felt radically transformed. Enlightened! I had this intense vibrational high from being so deeply connected with nature as well as with God. Giving myself the gift of being still and silent forced my other senses to take center stage and opened my heart and mind to a higher level of conscientiousness, connection and awareness. My spirit felt fully liberated, light, grounded, connected, inspired, and joyful. I was grateful for the opportunity to reset my soul and have a time of thanksgiving for all the year had brought me and taught me. I spent the remainder of the weekend in an immersion of reflection, mindfulness, spiritual communion, gratitude, and setting goals for the new year.

As I drove away and watched the image of the cabin that served as my sanctuary diminish in my rear view mirror, I savored one last glance, took a deep breath and then steadied my eyes forward. Forward to the new path before me; a path free from the burdensome baggage of the prior journey. A path that will take me to new experiences, new learnings, a deeper authenticity in my spiritual life, encounter greater joy and, most importantly, where I can breathe without a heaviness in my heart and be completely... backpack free.

©2019 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved

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The Kettlebell to Victory

I was recently in the sweaty throes of a killer workout with my coach. My sessions are typically after a 10–12-hour day in an HR role that, by nature, requires me to give much of myself to the employee population of my company. Emotionally, mentally, and physically I am drained by day's end. I love my work and the people I get to do it with, but it’s crucial for me to balance this depletion with activities that replenish me. This is where my training sessions come into play. These workouts serve as a vital restoration point in my daily routine. In a world where giving of myself is a professional necessity, these moments of receiving become invaluable. My coach's dedication intertwines with my determination, ultimately leading me to a healthier self.

In a recent session, my coach was focused on developing my upper body strength through alternating kettlebell pull-ups. He informed me the kettlebell weighed 10 pounds. I had completed three demanding circuits of exercises when I was rounding out my final set. With just two pull-ups remaining, a feat I was determined to conquer, I was facing the ultimate test of my endurance. Anyone who knows me knows I always go the distance. I push through the agony and always cross the finish line; I may have to crawl across it but cross it I will.  

But, on this challenge, I hit a wall hard. I barely eked out the second to last pull-up when my arms and upper body started to tremble and I felt the entirety of my strength evaporate, leaving me with muscles that felt like marshmallows. I struggled to find the energy to crush the last pull-up. Sensing my predicament, my coach, accustomed to clients encountering such plateaus, stepped in. He placed a reassuring hand on my back and then whispered in my ear, “You've got one more in you. You can do this.” Every ounce of my body wanted to stop, and I struggled to find the strength to pull up even a feather. But the moment my coach said I had one more in me, it evoked a moment reminiscent of Rocky, when Adrian tells him to go and “win”. It was game on. I turned to my coach and confidently said, "Oh no, I’m giving you two more," and nailed them! When I had finished, I discovered that my crafty coach had actually given me a 40-pound kettlebell, not the 10 pounds I had believed. Not only did I exceed my circuit goal, but I far exceeded it with a significantly larger weight. It reminded me of one of my favorite physical endurance quotes “Your mind will quit a thousand times before your body will feel the fear and do it anyway”. As I reflect on that intense moment, it's a testament to the power of our minds to overcome physical barriers and push beyond the limits we thought existed.

What made the change? It was someone who not only believed in me but encouraged me to believe in myself. It was someone who had navigated through the same arduous moments in their own workout and understood the exact extent of my potential. It was someone who was intimately acquainted with the contours of my resilience and yet had the boldness to press me further. My success was the result of the harmonious fusion of external support and internal belief. It was pushing past the physical discomfort and quieting the chatter of I can’t and listening to the roar of I CAN!

It’s been said that you can push past your limits or suffocate in your comfort zone. I’ll take doing the heavy lifting, getting uncomfortable, dealing with the messy, and pushing past the pain of “one more” and fuel the fire of progress than be caught at the cross-section of regret and mediocrity. There’s a reason we experience elation when we reach our personal summit. We know the grit, doubt, exhaustion, pain, mental gymnastics, sacrifice, and repetition, repetition, repetition it took to get there.

When I left the gym that evening, an amplified feeling of accomplishment washed over me. It’s an experience that’s resonated with me igniting a wildfire in my soul in my future workouts. With each subsequent session, the challenges have intensified, testing, and strengthening my endurance. It’s pushing the boundaries of my mental tenacity and commitment to my goals - an endeavor that I find utterly captivating. 

Here’s to being our own champions, to showing up in beast mode, never quitting, and always finding the grit to push through one more kettlebell pull-up to victory.

©2019 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved

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28 and Great

Over the past week, I commemorated my 28th year in the Talent Acquisition and HR industry. It has been an incredible journey filled with valuable experiences and profound insights gained from navigating the challenging terrain of recruiting and HR. Throughout my career, I have been fortunate to encounter inspiring leaders who have challenged and supported me, pushing me well beyond my comfort zone.

While I could easily wax eloquent sharing numerous anecdotes about the wisdom I've accumulated and the invaluable guidance from my supervisors during my most challenging moments, I want to take a different approach to celebrate this milestone. Today, I want to introduce a remarkable group of women who continue to inspire me—the women pictured here! They are the giants whose shoulders I proudly stand on today.

When I set up my current home office, I found myself drawn to the captivating photos of working women from the early to mid-1900s. There was a profound connection with each of these women that touched my soul. Being a talent acquisition specialist, I naturally possess an insatiable curiosity about people's career stories, and these women were no exception. Their individual journeys resonate with me deeply, and I yearn to learn more about them.

These women live with me, serving as daily reminders of their incredible stories. The strength and resilience they displayed during a time of immense challenges and change are nothing short of awe-inspiring. As war and the industrial revolution unfolded, these women fearlessly entered the labor force and played pivotal roles in both endeavors. They were the backbone of the revolution, and their tenacity was nothing short of astounding. Their stories kindle a wildfire of admiration within me, as they come from a generation that exemplified unparalleled grit and fortitude. I can't help but feel inspired by their unwavering determination and dedication to making a difference. Their fearlessness in the face of adversity is truly commendable, and they serve as timeless symbols of empowerment for generations to come.

When I interview candidates, I often conclude by asking about their childhood aspirations. It's a question that elicits a gentle laugh, accompanied by a nostalgic sense, and yet, they genuinely enjoy reflecting on it. Witnessing the connection between their childhood dreams and their current career path never fails to intrigue me.

In studying each woman's story, my curiosity is piqued by the same query. I find it hard to believe that at the tender age of nine or ten, their dreams revolved around becoming factory workers, domestic servants, blue-collar laborers, or bomb makers. I yearn to sit down with each of these remarkable women and delve into their unique narratives. Who were they before the weight of societal expectations and circumstances molded their destinies? What untapped gifts and abilities did they possess? What inner forces drove them? What dreams did they hold dear? Equally important, what dreams did they perhaps have to relinquish along the way? What and who inspired them?

Although I may never know their personal stories, they have helped me write mine. In the presence of their legacy, I feel compelled to show up with fierce determination, embodying the fortitude and resilience that define their journey. Their unwavering strength propels me forward, even on the most challenging days at work, because I know that even on my worst day it would have been their best.

Unlike the amenities and support systems we enjoy today, these remarkable women didn't have the luxury of ergonomically designed workspaces, structured career development programs, annual performance reviews, or generous benefits packages. They toiled through long and grueling hours of physically demanding and repetitive labor, often undertaking perilous tasks with courage and determination. Yet, at the end of the day,  they returned home to take care of their families and domestic responsibilities, bearing a burden that was beyond anything we can fathom.

Many of them endured the absence of their partners, who were away fighting in wars or, tragically, lost their lives on the battlefield. Despite such immense hardships, they pressed on, proving their unyielding strength and resilience.

As I sit here, contemplating the immense advantages of being a professional woman in today's world, a sense of unbridled gratitude washes over me, and I find myself in absolute awe of the women who came before me and their invaluable contributions. Their stories have left an indelible mark on my heart, and I am deeply humbled by their unwavering strength, relentless perseverance, and the personal and professional sacrifices they made to navigate the challenges of their time.

What truly strikes me is none of these women had foresight to know that on the day their photos were taken, that almost a century later they would not only have a profound impact on a scrappy, ambitious redheaded girl from the little town of Swansea, MA, but inspire her to empower and pass the baton to next generation of women taking their place in the workforce. 

In this journey of empowerment, I am but a link in a long chain of progress, connected to these remarkable women who walked paths laden with obstacles and triumphs. Their spirit lives on through me, igniting a deep fire within my soul to be a catalyst for change and to ensure that their voices resonate throughout history as a testament to the strength of womankind.

Here's to the women who blazed the trail before us and did the real heavy lifting; and to those coming behind who will carry the torch and boldly echo their stories and legacy.

©2019 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved

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You've Got This!

I’m fresh from my visit to LA to see my son. It had been eight months since I last had eyes on him and we were long overdue for some bonding time. Much had transpired in the past, almost, year. Stephen had transitioned from his former apartment to his father’s home and now a studio apartment. He moved on from a long-term personal relationship and landed an amazing job.  I moved from working in our family business to running my own talent acquisition consulting business, underwent two major surgeries, and started to move forward in my personal life. My son and I speak at least every other day and Facetime when we can. I’m grateful for modern technology to help keep us connected and see each other in real time, but nothing compares to being in the same space and breathing the same air.

When I first saw my son, I became “that mom”. After hugging him as hard as I could and taking in the moment, I bellowed, “You look way too thin. We need to get some food in you and now”. He laughed and said “Mom, I’m fine and I eat plenty”. And, then, of course, we headed off to lunch, followed by ice cream, where I attempted to fatten him up. 

That evening my son brought me to his apartment.  A week prior, and all on his own, he had moved himself in, purchased furniture and the necessary household accouterments one needs when setting up home, and worked feverishly in the evenings to set up what would now be his home. His home! No longer my home or his dads home, but a beautiful blend of both coupled with his style.  I was struck by how smartly, effectively and efficiently he used every inch of his space. I was proud of the environment he created for himself and even more excited to see how genuinely happy he was in his new space. 

We spent the next few days visiting friends and walking all over Culver City. We toured his new office, ate out, a lot, (see note on fattening him up), and spent time discussing how much he loves his job, the exciting projects he’s working on, how he’s managing his finances and putting money away each month, and new ideas for movies he’d like to write and direct.  Every part of this trip screamed of him being all grown up. Who was this kid? Who raised him and when did he get so savvy about navigating being an adult?

My move to Charlotte, two years prior, came as a surprise due to a great job offer. As a result, I sold our home in Pasadena and transitioned Stephen into an apartment. A friend of ours offered a studio apartment he had on his property.  I had one day to move him in and then hop a plane back to Charlotte. Everything was happening at warp speed and my son and I were in tactical mode, checking off all of the “to do’s”.  Then, on my last morning in LA, at the God forsaken hour of 4 am, as I backed out of the driveway of the studio apartment and headed to the airport, it hit me, and hard. Real hard.  All I could picture was my son fast asleep on the other side of the wall and knowing I was leaving him there. That he would awaken in a few hours and I would no longer be there. I didn’t just cry, I wept. Hard. Uncontrollably. I was unable to breath and questioned every part of my decision to move to Charlotte. 

Since the moment I knew I was going to have a son until that moment, we had been inseparable and now, I was leaving him to immediately stand on his own while I was 3,000 miles away. Nothing prepared me for that moment and, although I felt as if my heart was being ripped out of my chest, it was the right kind of hurt. We were both in a state of natural transition and progression. Him onto grown up things and me onto bigger career opportunities. Over the next few months, we’d find our footing with the new lives we had been thrust into. I’m always amazed at how adaptable we human beings are.

As my plane took off from LAX, my heart felt that all too familiar ache. I was comforted in knowing my son is happy, like really happy, He’s nailing this adulting thing, has a kick butt apartment that is wholly symbolic of who he is, he loves his job and living in the crazy that is LA, and, most importantly, he still enjoys hanging out with his mom when I come to visit. All of this confirmed that I, (we) made the right decision moving to Charlotte.  It was a bold and courageous move for us both and we’ve grown in our own necessary ways, but never apart.

As I returned home to Charlotte and settled in for the night, I couldn’t help but reflect on the amazing time I had with my son and for the gentle confirmations it provided. I realized that he’s got this thing called life; a life I spent the last 22 years equipping him for. I sent him a goodnight text that said, “I’m beyond proud of the man you’re becoming. As hard as it was to leave you today, I now know that “you’ve got this” and you’ll be just fine. Be good, stay true to yourself and your core principles and values and always make good choices. I love you more than you know. Mom!” And with that, I turned out the light, whispered a prayer of gratitude and realized that I too have, finally, got this!

The Restoration

I recently completed a special transformation project on the cabinet capture here.  When I moved from CA to the Carolina’s I was purposeful in ensuring it came with me. It had previously lived on my patio and soaked in the years of sunny, and, not so sunny, weather. She had taken a beating and, for all intends and purposes, should have been left on the curb for pick-up. Despite the years of wear and tear, I saw something far more beautiful. This cabinet held rich memories of the many years of sitting outside on my patio reading, praying, meditating, family time with my son and fellowship with friends and loved ones. I confronted several painful setbacks, worked through incredibly difficult life situations, as well as celebrated precious milestones and successes in this space.  My outside patio was my sanctuary and sacred real estate to me.  From the large white myrtle tree (see previous post My Giving Tree), to the flowers, gorgeous oversized clay pots and serene ambiance, the cabinet was the one thing I could bring with me as a cherished memento of a space that so beautifully occupied my life. I felt as if each grain of wood held one of my stories and we were far from writing the final chapter.

I started this restoration over a year ago with a friend of mine. I was excited about the concept of transforming her.  Having gone through several transformations of my own, it was not lost on me the comparisons. My friend and I discussed how to best salvage the cabinet. We spent time searching for the right color paint, bought the necessary tools and decided to replace the top with a mosaic of tiles. We carefully sanded and smoothed the weathered exterior, restored the broken pieces, and cloaked her with an exquisite jeweled blue coat of paint. I had such joy knowing I was bringing her, albeit our, story back to life.  And then, the project halted; for four months. Once we resumed, we created the top of the cabinet, carefully sealed the tiles, and then, sadly, the project halted… again! Eleven months passed. She sat in my garage as if she had not been completely dressed. I felt frustrated and it saddened me that this project of transformation had been abandoned. It simply just stopped! All the planning, care, hard work, investment of time, resources, and excitement to see how it would turn out, just died off.  The starting, stopping, pulling away from and fading interest, of something of such special meaning, caused me to contemplate if this served as an analogy of other things in my life, including that of my friendship with the person who started this project with me. As the summer months approached, I determined to finish what I set out to do, give this cabinet her rightful place back on my patio.

I washed off the dust, dressed her with, yet another, fresh coat of paint, cut the glass for the side doors, attached the hardware and crowned her with the mosaic top.  Then came the moment I moved her to her new and rightful home on the patio. The bridge from my former sanctuary was now in place. It was as if she’d opened her eyes from the long slumber of the past two years and was alive again, but in a far more beautiful way!

As I sit and reflect on the lessons learned through this project, I am humbled by the experience. I am struck by the parallels between what was once a beat-up piece of furniture, ready for the trash heap to now a treasured masterpiece; and how we too get beat up, feel abandoned and ready to give up, only to undergo a transformation that awakens us to a new beauty. For transformation to happen we must first allow the change to take place.  We must be fully deconstructed to be reconstructed. For me, I believe in a God that daily renews me, and despite the not so pretty in my life, chooses to see the beauty in the ashes and what I can become. Who doesn’t toss me to the curb, but rather, like the sandpaper to the cabinet, refines me, mends the broken pieces, restores my soul, and brings me to a place far more beautiful than I could ever imagine. It’s ironic that as I was in the long process of transforming the cabinet, God was unconditionally and lovingly transforming me and bringing me to this new and incredible season in my life. 

I look forward to the hours I’ll spend on my patio with this newly transformed piece from my past, and move toward, and embrace my future me. In some ways we’ve breathed a new life into each other. We’ve both gone beyond our original form and emerged from the chrysalis anew. Here’s to new discoveries, continued growth and a fresh library of stories and experiences yet to be explored.

Another Shooting Took Place Today

Last night, my fellow Carolinians and I bore witness to the heart-wrenching horror of yet another school shooting, unfolding tragically on our television screens. This time, the somber event unfolded in our very own backyard, at UNCC. Just last week, we marked the passing of a year since the Charleston, SC tragedy, and despite the passage of time, the wounds remain painfully fresh. The events of yesterday have only deepened an already gaping wound, leaving the Carolina community in a state of emotional triage.

While I don't typically find myself commenting on current events, my heart now pulses with raw emotion. The knowledge that two more sets of parents have been cruelly initiated into a club they never sought membership in weighs heavily on me. These parents woke up today facing the gut-wrenching task of arranging a funeral for their beloved child – a child whose life was callously extinguished by a sick and twisted individual, devoid of any regard for the sanctity of life. On what should have been the last day of classes, tragically, it became the last day of life for two innocent victims. In the coming week, we will lay to rest two young adults whose lives were senselessly and brutally cut short. The scars carried by thousands of students and faculty will persist for a lifetime. The families and friends connected to the victims will forever bear the burden of this unfathomable trauma within their hearts. And our beloved Carolinas, once again, bear witness to the sorrowful stain of yet more bloodshed upon our community's fabric. 

What adds to my distress is the fact that national morning news shows allotted only a fleeting few minutes to cover the shooting before briskly transitioning to the weather report. Have we truly reached a point where school shootings are tragically normalized within our culture? Have we become so desensitized to these unspeakable tragedies that we readily move on to the next news item, scarcely pausing to reflect? While thoughts and prayers are offered by many, and while their intentions are commendable, even as someone who firmly believes in God, I recognize that thoughts and prayers alone do not shield innocent bystanders from the onslaught of bullets. We are in dire need of actions beyond mere thoughts and prayers.

We are meant to be a nation embodying greatness, yet regrettably, the truth is starkly different. When our schools, places of worship, workplaces, and public gatherings transform into grounds for violence and vendettas, we cease to be a land of greatness; instead, we are becoming a realm of perpetual mourning and a chamber of execution. We must acknowledge the depth of our brokenness and the fractures within our society. How much more bloodshed must accumulate before we engage in a civilized and unbiased dialogue – one that transcends personal agendas, egos, and political affiliations? It's high time we address the ugly plague that has transformed this nation into a killing field. For my part, and perhaps for yours too, I yearn for a day when our mornings do not commence with the grim headline, "Another shooting took place today at…"

Surrendering to the Solitude

One of the most difficult things about relocating to the Carolina’s has been the day to day loneliness. I honestly had not anticipated how incredibly lonely I’d feel. I was accustomed to always having friends and family around who were ready for a get together at the drop of a hat. I went from growing up in a large family, getting married and starting a family, raising my son on my own; but with a village to support me, to now living alone.  I’m a people person and thrive on the energy of those I enjoy hanging out with. I have an amazing network of friends; however, they are mostly, all, thousands of miles away.  Migrating through my days in total isolation has been an adjustment I was not prepared for. There are countless articles that speak to the epidemic of loneliness and its grim collateral damage; and I feared I was becoming a statistic. There were times I felt I was on the brink of emotional collapse; however, I forced myself to lean into the learnings and embrace the loneliness. As with most circumstances that challenge me, I seek to understand the teachings in the discomfort and take heart in knowing there’s a greater purpose in the pain and process.

Here’s what I’ve learned in surrendering to the solitude.

• The quiet calms the internal chatter and allows me to have deeper clarity.
• My personal relationship with God and meditation practice has been dramatically and beautifully amplified.
• It has motivated me to be more creative and opened my eyes to untapped skills.
• It has taught me patience and then retaught me again!
• I’ve learned to be more accepting of myself.
• I’ve learned there’s freedom in doing what I want when I want… like eating ice cream in bed at midnight while binge watching “This Is Us”.  Bring it!
• I am more present and appreciate time with friends and loved ones more.
• I am much more in tune with my surroundings.
• I’ve discovered the power and value in the silence.
• I’ve learned that it’s a gift to sit quietly on my porch and listen to nature's symphony as the day begins to dawn!
• I’ve learned that it’s alright to make new friends and build new bonds.
• I’ve become really good friends with the Amazon delivery guy.
• I’ve learned to self-care more.
• Speaking of self-care, I’ve learned that three days is the max I should go without a shower. Especially if I’m expecting an Amazon package between day three and four.
• I’ve learned that my dog is a great listener.
• I’ve learned that I am fierce, and nothing holds me back.
• I’ve learned that even when I see friends and families together that many of them are still alone.
• I’ve learned that those whom I’ve helped in their times of difficulty or periods of solitude, won’t necessarily be there for me in mine.
• I’ve learned to take time to properly heal when hurt by those I never expected to be hurt by.
• That I’ll drive hundreds of miles for a hug and to be with a cherished friend or family members.
• That although I’ve come to accept my season of loneliness, I know that it has been good for just that, a season, and not intended long term.
• I know that I do not want to grow old alone.

Spending time alone can be healthy and has its benefits, yet we are not designed to be alone long term.  I remember when I was in bible college being struck by Genesis 2:18 The Lord God said, "It is not good for man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him." Of all the amazing things God created, the first thing He said that wasn’t good, was that we should not be alone. Connection and companionship is vital to our survival. I mean, so much so, that even God felt so strongly about it that he took measures to ensure we weren't alone.

I am grateful for my time of solitude, albeit as difficult as it has been from time to time. I am grateful for the lessons I’ve learned. They have refined me and re-purposed my soul, and, in an unexpectedly beautiful way, prepared my heart to be open, accepting and deeply appreciative when someone special will occupy my space again. 

Home Sweet Home

A year ago today, I sent a picture of my house key to a friend of mine with the caption “precious metal”. Moving into this home was precious in so many ways. As I reflect back over this past year, I do so with gratitude and a measured sense of accomplishment. It was scary leaving everyone and everything I knew in Los Angeles and start over not knowing a soul in the Carolina's.  It was the right kind of scared and I’m thankful for having the guts to have done so. I purchased this home on my own, with my money and resources and single-handedly unpacked every box, filled every cabinet and closet, hung every picture and decorated every room. When all was said and done, I was pleasantly exhausted and beyond grateful. It's never been lost on me how blessed I am to be a homeowner and especially the owner of this home.  

 When we think of a home, so many things come to mind. For me I think about the story it tells when friends and family visit. I have a sign over my front door that says, “Love is spoken here”. It is there by design. It is my hearts intent that while here, my guests feel that they are home and that within these walls is a place of love, acceptance and respite.

Having lived in LA for 22 years, I had become accustomed to the congested living, noise pollution and countless utility wires strung across my yard. I now enjoy scenic country roads, a sprawling yard with lush trees and flowers, and wide-open skies with zero obstructions.

My greatest joy came about six months after moving here. I had come home from work, made a cup of tea and went out to my patio to pray and meditate. I looked up at the sky and perfectly placed was a cloud shaped like a dove. I was overcome with a sense of peace and felt a liquid love pour over me. I took a deep breath in and realized that I was now… truly home.