The Big Wave

Yesterday, in celebration of another beautiful southern California day, one of my oldest/dearest friends and I decided to pay a visit to Venice beach, our old stomping grounds. It had been a long time since she had made her way to the Westside from her newlywed home in the valley, and even longer since I had last made my way home from the east coast. We were both ecstatic to be away from our respective sweltering homes, and comforted in each other’s company in the way that only old friends with infinite shared childhood memories are.

Laying out as best we could on our narrow beach towels (why do we always forget the large blankets?!), we breathed in the ocean air (and much too much whirling sand) and reminisced about the good ol’ days: long bike rides on the beach, backyard pool parties, sneaking out to buy candy from the corner store, meeting silly boys with sillier agendas at the neighborhood park, and countless other shenanigans growing girls encounter. With each memory came the silent mutual understanding that every moment from our childhood had to happen in the exact way that it happened for us to become the twenty-somethings we are today. We shared a knowingness that every single life experience we’ve had, both “good” and “bad”, has contributed to the lovely women we’ve grown to be. And I felt enormous gratitude for just being.

Sitting in that moment of clarity, the ocean breeze rushing by, the waves crashing just yards from my wiggling toes in the warm sand, I saw a glimpse of children building a sandcastle and remembered one of my earliest visits to that same beach. I must have been no more than 5 years old, and I was playing in the sand with some beach toys. I remember very distinctly that the red shovel and matching bucket were my tools of choice for all my hard work beach digging (so much sand, such tiny hands!). I remember marching so bravely into that freezing ocean, waves crashing at my little knees, in an attempt to collect muddy water (and hopefully some hidden sandcrabs) for a sand creation of my own. I had just filled the bucket halfway when the angry current sucked the mighty shovel right out of my tiny hands. I tried to run in after it, but I was no match for the thieving waves pulling my beloved red shovel further and further from my grasp. I watched helplessly as it quickly disappeared into the abyss, never to be seen again. And no matter how hard I cried, that shovel never did return to me.

It was in that moment that I learned my first hard life lesson: “Life sucks”, literally. Oceans suck up shovels, favorite toys are lost. That’s just the way it goes. But the magic happens afterwards, when we decide how to move forward with the suckiness just presented to us. We can continue to cry about it forever, lamenting that lost shovel and all we could’ve built with it, or, we can wipe our tears, bid that loyal shovel adieu, and start digging with our hands. I don’t think I ever dug a better hole than that very day when my lovely shovel disappeared.


You Can Always Come Home Again

Good (Early) Morning, Lovelies!

I am writing today, at 7:30am PST, while sitting on my bed back in my childhood room in my hometown of Santa Monica, CA. I don’t usually get up this early, especially not while on vacation, but something urgent woke me this morning and moved me to write this post. My head is spinning with recent memories of some of the most incredible experiences on my trip thus far, and I thought it might be nice to share some thoughts with you. So here I am.

First off, let me apologize for taking such a long hiatus from this lovely blog. (I missed you, I really did!) For the past couple weeks, I have been busy planning for, working hard to take the time off, and then enjoying this trip – and there’s still more to come. I know when I started this blog, I made a promise to my fellow lovelies to be consistent in my blogging – but I also made a promise to myself to be kind to myself whenever I feel I have made any “mistakes” (i.e. not blogging for such a long time). So, in this moment, I honor both promises and begin anew, as we all get the chance to do each morning when the sun makes her brilliant ascension to command her throne among the infinite skies.

I hope my upcoming posts about my journey on this trip will mean as much to you to read as it meant for me to experience. Enjoy!


The Gift

This morning I received the most unexpected gift.

I had just been scrolling through endless posts on Facebook, jumping from page to page, clicking on link to link, reading the innermost thoughts and opinions of my friends/friends of friends/friends of friends of friends, and contemplating articles about life’s many happinesses and tragedies. While trying to make sense of it all, I was beginning to grow a little overwhelmed…

“Did that man really swim with crocodiles…more than once?”

“Oh…so that’s what an all natural water birth in the rainforest looks like…”


Just as I was getting sucked deeper and deeper into the infamous Facebook vacuum that causes one to lose all sense of time and place, I got an email from a good friend that snapped me out of my daze.

My friend told me she was gifting me with a ticket to an event that we both really wanted to go to, but that I wasn’t sure I could afford at the moment. She told me that she understood my current financial situation, but that she couldn’t imagine me missing out on such a cool experience. She had recently gotten some extra money and decided she would use it to buy this awesome gift we could both enjoy together. My heart swelled. I had put all thoughts of attending this event on the backburner until I could save enough money to go, never once imagining it would ever be gifted to me, let alone by this friend of mine who had her own set of worries to manage.

I am so deeply moved by my lovely friend’s thoughtfulness, amazed by the extent of her generosity, and grateful for her kindness and deep unconditional friendship. Seeing how much she cares about me, my friendship, and my happiness has inspired me to be a better me today – to give more, to love more, to be more – in the hopes that sharing my gifts with the world may inspire someone else to do the same.

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