Just a spoonful

just a spoonful one Dear Reader,

I think of you a lot. I think of what you are doing and how you are feeling. I think of how you came to this little space on the web and decided to stay. [I am really glad you did]

But more than all of that, I think of all the things I want to tell you, the ways I want to encourage you and hug you and lift you up. And it can leave me a little frazzled.

All these thought bubbles in my head and nowhere to put them.

So, I am thinking I'll start with just a spoonful.

You see, I want you to know about this recipe I served for guests, that actually worked, that I think you might enjoy eating and sharing too. I want to talk about what happens when we break bread around the table.

[Chances are, most recipes I share, you'll be able to eat with a spoon]

I want to tell you about this man I met while waiting for my car to be fixed and what he taught me.

I want to share what I am learning about life and love. About how hard and good loving another human fully is. About how waking up early on Tuesdays and sharing coffee with him isn't really about coffee. It's about setting aside space to love the people you hold dear, really well.

I want to push you and me to dream more, dream when we feel stuck and purposeless and completely confused.

I want to recognize when things are hard and messy. I want to celebrate how strong we really are, how there is a fire burning in our hearts - it is alive and well.

Sometimes, we just need someone to remind us that it's there.

And while I try to do all those things on my blog it just doesn't feel like enough. I'm beginning to wonder if it's less about words and more about showing up.

That's what I want to do. Show up as best I can, with all that I am.

We might not know each other. Or you might be one of my dearest, closest friends. For this, it doesn't really matter. I am promising each one of you the same thing.

Just a spoonful.

So, here's the deal. If you comment below with your email, an email from me, will come directly to you, once a week. [At least, that is my hope]

You might be wondering...how is this different than your blog? Great question.

They're sort of the same but sort of different.

These emails will be short and sweet and to the point. They'll be right in the moment. They'll be honest and real.

They might be a few words of encouragement or a challenge or recipe.

They might be completely random and silly, like requesting you to have a dance party in your kitchen - TONIGHT. [Side note, we did that last weekend. It was awesome. HIGHLY recommend throwing a dance party in the kitchen]

You might also be wondering...if I am already subscribed to your blog will these just come to my inbox already? 

Sadly, no.

While each email might be different. Each one will be, you guessed it, just a spoonful.

Comment below so I can snag your email and we'll be spooning. [That's not really true. I just couldn't hold back a good spoon joke.]

...Are spoon jokes even a thing?

Mmk. That's all.

xoxo,

Maeve

p.s. The first email might include a recipe for ice cream....made from frozen bananas. That means you can eat all you want and not feel bad about it. Just sayin'....

Why I Write :: Part 1

IMG_2803 I won a D.A.R.E writing competition in the 4th grade.

We had just spent the whole year learning about drugs and alcohol and were asked to write a letter to a "friend" struggling with a substance abuse problem. 

About anytime anyone sipped a beer during that year I'd be on their case. Which to someone who does not have a problem could be a wee bit annoying. 

"You sure you want to do that Dad?"

I'd be nearly standing over you reciting statistics and facts, while your patient, loving self would just smile, listen to me sweetly and take another sip once I got off my soapbox.

Sorry pops.

I'll never forget when my teacher told me that my letter [that I admit, I worked really, really hard on] had been picked and she wanted me to read it in front of the entire 4th grade class. A local police officer handed me a microphone while a bunch of kids sat cross legged on a carpet made of blue, red and yellow squares.

The boys fidgeted while the girls sat in lines braiding each others hair.

It was as if I had won the lotto.

It wasn't the fact I got picked and was asked to read. That part actually made me pretty nervous. Elementary school was full of awkward, hurtful moments. Anyone else?

What mattered more was that someone thought I had something that should be shared. Someone told me, "You are a good writer."

And still to this day, nearly 18 years later, it sticks. I remember that moment as if it were right now; typing on these keys, just returned from yoga, sipping my coffee and getting a second helping of oatmeal bake.

Those moments stick y'all. Those moments of feeling all filled up. Like maybe you're flying and standing on solid ground all at once.

They stick to the core of who we are and what we're made of.

Some moments are good, we hold on tight and grip them with all our strength. Moments like riding in the car with my mom, telling her that I thought Grandma should live with us instead of that big building full of people she doesn't know. I didn't know it then, but I look back now knowing full well my life changed drastically for the better.

There are those other moments that stick and we'd like to see them go. We'd gladly take a giant eraser and get rid of the parts that make us cringe or ache.

Regardless of being good or bad, or if we even dare to remember - each one shapes us. Each one is part of a map, drawing in detail where we've been and where we might want to go. They are a reminder of home, of truth, of where we get filled up.

Writing is my chance to come home. It's my sacred spot. It's my surrender when I have a hundred stories floating around my head and I have to put them down. It's my challenge when I get stuck and think I have nothing to say.

You always have something to say. Even the days you feel completely ordinary and simple. When it feels like life is on repeat. You still have things to say.

I imagine this blank white space as a dear friend, "How are you? What did you learn this week? What are you proud of? What are you willing to let go of? Tell me about the best cup of coffee you had."

You have a gift, that when shared, makes you happy. There are days we forget what it is and our feet are confused where to land. But think back, be it yesterday or 15 years ago, when you felt full and purposeful. When you felt like you were living out loud. Write down what you were doing, who you were with, where you were and how it all made you feel.

The sweetest thing I've found is that circumstance and age and location never have to dictate joy. That fullness we get to keep and carry with us, if we choose.

So I write. I keep on writing. Even when I don't know what to say. Because I know it fuels me and reminds me of where it all began, when I was nine years old and heard, "Maeve, you are a good writer."

And I don't say that toot my horn. I don't say that I've arrived. Because most days, if I am being honest, I don't think I'm a very good writer. I forget when you should use a comma or semicolon. I mix up there, their and they're. [Have I left any out?!?] I worry my words are way too emotional and think, "Do folks know I am silly? Do they think I take life and myself way too seriously all the time?"

But that attitude is paralyzing folks. That attitude is what took me 5 years to start a blog.

So I encourage you to think back. I encourage you to ask yourself the question - what can  I share? And if you can't answer that question [it's okay] ask someone who can.

Chances are, the things you are good at bring you a lot of joy. And that joy brings other people a lot of joy. And Lord knows, we always need more joy.

So start dear one, start right where you are - practice it, fight through it, get messy, start over, and do it all again.

xoxo

p.s. Tell me, why do you write?