It’s like that but better.

I spent the entire cash option jackpot for last Wednesday’s billion dollar Powerball in my head as soon as I purchased the ticket: Trusts for all of my family members, a few financial and real estate investments, solar panels on the house, electric cars and bikes, all the business equipment I’d ever need with a ten year rainy day fund and the rest, I’d donate to climate change science. It felt like a plan.

And as you’ve probably guessed, I didn’t win. I folded up my lottery ticket to use as a bookmark and got back to the day’s work. Hope feels really good. In fact, I don’t think I could exist without it but there’s something that feels even more amazing than hope. When I indulge it, it’s like riding on a cotton candy cloud, all the cotton candy I can eat, it’s an edible cotton candy cloud of magical thinking and I could ride it for days and days, that is, until I was wake up in a confection stupor and realize I’ve done nothing but daydream for a week and I’ve not marked a single task off my list.

Not that a week of thinking is all bad (I’ll get back to this in a moment) but for me, I have to be mindful of the category of thinking I’m indulging in. Is it magical or is it productive? And do I have a plan for implementation? What are my actions to back it up? I don’t think time dreaming is time wasted however, magical thinking has a threshold where it can begin to feel like gluttony. Because of my many years of Enneagram study, I know my job as a 7 is to bring in emotions on purpose. When I’m feasting on all of my ideas to the point of making myself sick, the anecdote is to check in with my heart. When I allow my heart to have a say is when I get really juiced, I’m most alive, and I’m more focused on my purpose.

Allowing my heart to take the occasional wheel has give rise to a creatively fertile Summer. My heart has allowed me to grieve the change of the climate, sleep and nap (and I’m historically not a napper),has led me to early morning cold and soothing swims and has offered me some very viable solutions to some of my problems. I’ve really taken my heart to task, plying her with questions like, How can I continue to do what I love that is in flow with the current economy? How can I use my talents and skillsets to serve in the best possible ways? What offerings feel right on my conscious as the effects of climate change are pressing on us in real time?

I’ve worked out some answers. It’s still hope but it’s hope with a plan. I’ve teased out my new photo campaign but I’m not done yet. I’ll share a few more shifts in my business, creative work I already do but a shift in how I package my gifts to share with you and the world.

In the meantime, I’d love to know, what is making you feel hopeful right now?

Well that’s good to know.

“Where does it hurt?”

That’s the question Civil Rights legend, Ruby Sales, began asking at the beginning of her activism. She talks about this at length on an On Being episode with Krista Tippett, a conversation I’ve listened to or read the transcript half a dozen times. It’s a question that is meant to prompt recall, to help us tell the story about the choices we make. It’s all information.

This question came to me at the right time. It was 2016 and I’d already begun a personal excavation, but it helped me soften the experience. You can’t ask that question without compassion. It’s not asking about blame or regret, it’s just asking about the pain. Once I could identify it, create an environment for healing by wrapping it with love and care, only then could I mine it for the lesson.

Before this, if you’d have told me that my deepest fear could be my greatest gift, I’d have rolled my eyes so hard I would have injured myself. I wouldn’t have even been able to articulate what that was and certainly not without listing all the people who should be on trial for causing it. And while I now know that that is also necessary information, staying in the blame doesn’t help me heal the wound. And if I can’t heal the wound, I’m just busy nursing the wound.

So now I’ll ask you: Where is your most tender pain point? How did it get there? Mine it for information, what can you learn?

I can tell you mine. It’s rejection. And because I’ve been rejected and more painfully, my ideas have been rejected, just the fear of it can drive the bus. It’s good information. It’s why I want my work to be meaningful. And now, it’s the purpose of my service, I want your work to be meaningful too. This is my gift.

YOUR lesson is YOUR gift. And I hope you’ll share with those who need it too.

Next week: I’m on vacation! See you the following.

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My new campaign, creating images for creative women over 40 to support their transitions, their dreams, their new identities, is a joy. If you are changing careers, turning your hobby into your hustle, or just need validation that your are the artist you’re ready to say you are, I’m booking image sessions starting at the end of the Summer and into Fall.

While I’m working on refining my The Unruffled website, you can go to my online photography portfolio for more information and find a contact form for session inquiry. Not in the Austin area? Let’s have a conversation. I’d love to come to you!

The Middle-Age Gaze

As my personal new year approaches, I’m reminded how grateful I am to have a June birthday. Seasonally, I’m peak-idea manifestor. In January, the traditional NY, my ideas are soft, sleepy and slow, like winter mornings and me. In Spring, they have a shape, feel more seeded. But come Summer, they are fruiting. So birthdays, especially since I hit my mid-40s, are a ticket to change.

I had this idea to transition my photography career, put all of eggs in one basket and focus on one genre, solve one problem. And it’s a problem I share with my avatar: I want my creative work to be meaningful to me, I want cohesion but I don’t want to be bored, I want to serve up beauty on a platter to whomever wants to eat, I want to look how I feel and most days, that’s inspired, curious, satiated and yeah, beautiful.

I put out a call for volunteers because photography is one of those creative acts that just feels stupid to talk about. You got to show it, not tell it. I summoned women over 40 who were in a creative career, enjoyed a creative hobby or desired to transition from Not This, to This. Because I believe that women over 40 can resist the invitation, the invitation to step into an identity that they haven’t yet mastered, to answer a call even when they don’t recognize the voice, to want validation even while giving less fucks. I had a hunch I wasn’t the only one who needed this but I told myself I’d be grateful for 2 responses. I got 15. Validated.

I’ve been having the most affirming consultation sessions with these women and I’ll have my first session in two weeks, the week of my new year. Launching this, everything else I do falls right in line. Writing about middle-age, passion, transitions, recovery, craft and art in this newsletter, making garments that reflect the vibrancy of the feminine mystique while also honoring my commitment to live less harmfully and creating imagery under the middle-age gaze that serves women in their most dynamic years of their lives, feels, yeah…this is it.

I’m excited to take you with me in my transition. I’ll see you every Monday! (Yes, I said it!) I look forward to sharing more of my insight into middle-age, creative purpose, and rewilding beauty into my everyday.

I’m looking at you, 54.

PS. As always, the shop is open! A few silk dusters have been added and lots more coming this week. Check my instagram periodically for drops (via goofy dance reels, most likely).

The Big Ask

When I was finishing up my second college stint for Photographic Technology, I was working as a bartender but eager to get out of that industry. Not eager enough to have a real plan, mind you, but it was a time that I would say yes to any and all photo jobs that would come my way, with few questions and hardly any negotiations. So when a friend of a friend who was a Make-Things-Happen-Guy approached me about photographing an industry party for a popular week long music festival that happens once a year in my city..."you know, just walk around and snap party pics, two hours tops"...I said YES. I gave him a price (which was always under-valued and would never move me anywhere closer to leaving my bartending job), he gave me a time and place and that was that. Until I was driving there on that Saturday did I realize that I was driving to a pretty exclusive venue and 'industry party' was actually hosted by a pretty big record label at the time and did I bring the right film for this (yes, pre-digital)? All very good questions I should have known the answers to had I asked the right questions, or any questions for that matter.

Mr. MTHG found me right away and immediately handed me a check made out to the amount we had previously discussed, which was for my time only. Oh well, I thought, we'll hash out the rest...film cost, development, editing...later, I'm sure. Again, no questions, nothing was in writing. Driven by one hundred million forms of fear was my constant mode of operation. I started shooting the party scene while a band played, beautiful people milled around talking about what bands were showcasing at this party, booze was flowing, then another band played and another. Just when I thought it was wrapping up, Mr. MTHG came up to me, "Welp, time to move inside!" Inside, I thought, WTactualF? If you don't remember what film was like, there were different types for various environments, specifically, film suited for outside shooting and film suited for inside shooting. And film wasn't very flexible. I started panicking internally for fear that I didn't have enough of the right kind, but down the elevator I went.

When I got inside the venue, I find out that no flash photography was allowed, I would have a very tiny space in which to place myself while avoiding a moving cameraman and there would be five bands including a top secret special guest closer. I just went to work trying to act like I knew what I was doing and that I wasn't scared shitless which meant, you guessed it, faking it and not asking one single question, much less a cry for help. And forget that my shift for this job should have ended before I got on that elevator. I just couldn't state my needs. Hell, I'm not even sure what I wanted in that situation, or any situation at the time. I won't detail everything that happened the rest of that night, some of which is a complete blur, but I will tell you that the 'special guest' was Patti Smith. She, by the way, spits when she sings and I don't mean that saliva randomly falls out of her mouth but that she intentionally clears that passageway. And I, being stationed underneath her, was the direct recipient of a Patti Smith shower.

When it was over, I wish I could tell you that I took all of my film, ran straight to my car and held it hostage until I was paid more for the work I did that I did not originally agree to. I was angry and a little stunned, but when Mr. MTHG jumped on the same elevator and gave me the strong arm, I begrudgingly relinquished then ran to my car and cried. And I'm sure I couldn't get booze in me fast enough. 

If you think that this magically fixed itself when I stopped drinking, you would be wrong. I always thought that asking for help was a sign of weakness but true humility is only telling the truth about yourself and your needs.  Pride is a big, fat liar. But you have to know yourself and if you are numbing all your emotions to their lowest common denominator, how could you? 

I just got back from a vacation with my Mom and kids. I can do Mondays, I've got the fucking weekends down, I can even navigate a party but I do not know how to be on vacation. There were many, many times I had to ask myself...what is the appropriate emotional response to this? What would a grown-up do here? WHAT WOULD MICHELLE OBAMA DO?? It took me half the trip to realize that my point of discomfort was a result of my failure to ask for help. Becoming aware of this changed my entire outlook mid-week and I found myself saying, many times, "This is me, enjoying the moment!" 

So what did I do differently? Well, I asked my Mom to keep an eye on the kids while I took advantage of the workout room, or took a walk, or excused myself and inserted my earbuds. When it was time to engage, I dug down to remember what I liked to do when I was a kid on vacation, back when I knew better what it was that I liked. 

There was much Scrabble.

When you get up for the bathroom and your Mom plays FELD, TURD is open game.

And gem hunting.

I could have done this for several days, it was so fun.

Another thing I like to do is walk off to take photos, phone or camera matters not. Not only do I look for things that interest me visually,

Always looking for the sign that says, Come In, Explore! Never found it.

but also for cool textures or patterns that I can later use on social media.

Progress, not perfection. This shit takes time.

The other discovery I made about myself is that I am resilient. Different than being a martyr or throwing myself a pity-party, I know I can do so hard shit and get to the other side with most of sanity and all of my sobriety intact. Perhaps I've always been. Actually, I have always been. This I know.