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Things Weren’t in the Right Place

Before I took this photo, there was a lot of clutter on this desk. Things that I thought were more important than writing.

I removed them.

I moved them to my former writing desk.

Now, I can appreciate each item that belongs.

The Significance of Each

Nature Connections – Daffodils – Today, I went up the hill in my backyard and picked the first daffodils in my landscape. They represent my paternal grandmother’s love of gardening and birds. She picked the daffodil as an affectionate name for me. I think it was one way for her to preserve her happy memories from the Wisconsin farm of her youth in contrast to her Florida reality.

God Connections – The Bible scripture, Romans 5:3-5, reminds me why I write, and the two different translations reminds me of the importance of my personal connection to God in contrast to the interpretations of others.

My small candle serves three purposes; cementing my connection to God, my sister, who gifted it, and how long I turned away from truth by storing it away in a box marked ‘Other Stuff’.

Parental Connections – There are two reminders of my father; the Damascus Steel letter opener he crafted for me and the mug with his nickname, “Swede”, in gold letters.

The antique German coaster reminds me of my mother’s heritage along with the white cedar chest at the foot of my bed, under the comforter.

Colorado Connections – Three items stand out; the mug scene of elk against the backdrop of the San Luis Valley and Sangre de Cristo mountains, the box from Rare Things in Creede, CO, and the items I bought at Rare Things – my rhodochrosite pendant and earrings. When I place the pendant around my neck, my second husband, Pablo, whispers in my ear, “Don’t forget that you saw my face when you first felt the cold, pink stone.” [He reminded me of his likeness, forever etched in the pink stone.]

North Carolina Connections – The gold rimmed mug with colorful pens, reminds me of my best friends, Sam and Nolan, who stand with me, watch over me and lend a helping hand.

Pinecone – The seeds of the Slash Pine remind me of the potential that lies within my words. Pinecone seeds have two main functions; food for animals and the potential of future generations dispersed by the protective conical structure, which releases the seeds when conditions are just right.

Plants – The orchid spray peeking out reminds me of my Florida roots. Next, zygocactus, aka ‘Christmas Cactus’ reminds me of my neighbors who brought the white one as a housewarming gift while the more distant pink zygocactus, a gift to myself reminds me of the importance of self-care.

Antiques – A few pieces made the move with me from Florida. The tall chest houses memories of days gone by with costume jewelry from the 1940s, my parents’ wedding bands, dulled from six decades of use, and a pink brooch in the shape of a starfish worn by my maternal grandmother.

The three-legged table is the first piece I bought. My lifelong friend, Marilyn, taught me about antiques. While visiting her in north Florida, we shopped at her favorite haunts. This piece was stacked on top of slightly larger tables like a grown-up toy display. Together, we carefully moved it down to the shop’s grey concrete floor. Gently pressing the latch just below the smooth top surface, I gazed into an unexpected cubby hole. A faded cloth created soft interior surfaces where my imagination conjures all the treasures previous owners kept there.

As My Gaze Moves Inward

Next, seeing my dog Sugar, always brings me back to why I’m sitting here at my desk.

My past is intertwined with my now.

The heartache of loss, although always present, is balanced by the sweetness of memories, the softness of Sugar’s fur, and the smiles of friends and family.

Thank you, for smiling today, friend.

Do You Feel Different Too?

How often do you find yourself knowing—deep down—that you’re the outlier?
The one who sees differently.
The quiet elephant in the room.
In other words, do you feel different too?

That feeling has followed me more times than I can count.

But my time in Teri Leigh’s Creator Retreat Cohort has helped something settle. It clarified who I am. Who I’ve always been. And instead of resisting it, I’m finally at peace with that truth.

As I began writing this post, I noticed something unusual outside my window.

At first, it looked like a hornet’s nest with a strange flare beneath it. Curious, I stepped onto my front deck and snapped a photo with my iPhone. That’s the first image you see above.

Then I moved closer and took another shot. In that second photo, she’s turned her head—not toward me, but toward something else entirely. I imagine a mouse or rabbit held her full attention, not the giant human quietly observing from afar.

Hoping for a better photo, I slipped back inside to grab my Canon. As expected, the battery was dead. So I reconnected the battery pack and plugged in the charger.

“I’ll be ready next time,” I thought.

And then it clicked.

My final Mayan animal guide is Eagle, but before fully becoming Eagle, I identify as Hawk—watchful, focused, a little uncommon. If you’re unfamiliar with Mayan animal guides, I’ve written more about them (with links to discover your own) in My Mayan Animal Spirit Guides on my website and here on Substack.

Seeing the hawk while writing felt meaningful. Hawks aren’t common visitors here. She stood apart from the familiar songbirds—different, singular, unmistakable.

Being an outlier can feel lonely. But it can also be a gift.

The hawk was intent on survival—on finding her next meal. And in that moment, I realized I was doing the same thing in my own way: focusing on my life’s purpose.

Not everything is what it first appears to be.

About the Mayan Animal Spirit Guide Eagle, it’s said:

“These people are happy-go-lucky, generous, and intelligent. They create their own destiny and take full advantage of opportunities.”

That feels true to me.

I am emotional—and I am resilient.
I was valedictorian of my high school class.
Joining Teri Leigh’s cohort arrived unexpectedly, and I said yes.
I enjoyed a successful career as an IT professional.
My oil and watercolor paintings now hang in homes beyond my own.
Though I later studied computer programming, my undergraduate degree is in biology.

Different threads. One life.

Perhaps that’s what being an outlier really is—not fitting into a single box, but learning how to honor all the ways we are made.

Do you feel different too?

Do you notice nature like this too?
Does it help you listen more closely to yourself?

If this reflection resonated, I’d love to hear about it. Please consider becoming a subscriber—free or paid—and feel welcome to share what spoke to you in the comments.

Is Fear Ever Useful?

My snowy driveway illustrates the answer. And no, it doesn’t look bad at all. But what I had to go through to arrive home was another matter. Did my experience answer the question, is fear ever useful?

Fear is an emotion we are all familiar with. We even purposefully bring it forward when we watch scary movies or read books by authors like Stephen King. We like being afraid when we feel in control.

In the past month, I’ve experienced abject fear. It happened when I was caught in a snowstorm driving home from a doctor’s appointment and physical therapy in Boone, North Carolina. It was my birthday, and I planned to celebrate with dinner out. 

As the first flakes hit my windshield in the restaurant parking lot, I reassessed my plans and drove to the grocery store. There was no time to consider possible menus. So, I picked up a box of frozen stuffed clams for a celebratory dinner at home.

Stepping out of the store, fear pierced my gut as I saw snow blowing against a dark sky. 

Evaluating my drive

Normally, it takes less than thirty minutes to arrive home. I knew tonight would be different. Memories of another snowstorm over twenty years ago momentarily flashed before me as I sat in my car in the grocery parking lot. 

In Park County, Colorado, an unexpected storm arrived early Sunday afternoon on November 21, 1999. Although we were seventy-seven miles from home, it was impossible to get there. We were turned back in Jefferson, Colorado, as we saw the emergency lights through the blowing snow at the bottom of Kenosha Pass. Eventually, we arrived back in Fairplay and found a room at the historic inn.

I released the memory and said aloud, “This is different. I’m at just over 3,000 feet, not 10.000 feet. The snow has just started, and I’m eighteen miles from home.”

This self-talk turned down my anxiety as I buckled up and slowly navigated out of the parking lot.

After I made my third turn

The first test of conquering my fear came as I approached a steep hill with a stoplight at the bottom. Thankfully, the other drivers were very cautious. I kept an eye on my speed and never exceeded 30 mph until the four-lane divided highway straightened. 

Even then, I kept below 45 mph. With my concentration focused on the speedometer, there was no room for what-ifs.

Almost home

As I moved farther away from Boone, eventually, I was the only car on the dark highway. Still, in a place of fear, loneliness wasn’t a concern. But there are two routes I can take as I am near home. I opted for the one that has hills but no curves. It seems more open, with many Christmas tree farms on either side. However, there are areas with tall stands of native white pine on the side of the road, keeping the road in the shade most of the day. And shaded asphalt can mean icy conditions.

After scaling the first hill, I saw another vehicle in front of me. They touched their brakes as the decline increased, a reminder that braking on icy roads is a tricky maneuver.

Immediately, I backed off the accelerator. It was just enough to avoid breaking until I was over the final hill before the turn onto my street. By then, the vehicle in front was long gone.

The last quarter mile

My street’s familiar, easy curves gave me a welcome respite from the hour of gripping the steering wheel. My shoulders relaxed a little as I also noticed that there was almost no snow. 

I released an audible sigh as I pulled into my gravel driveway. As I neared the garage door, I saw my dog, Sugar, at the window. Feeling her joy, I pressed the opener and carefully pulled in. My only thoughts were to retrieve the groceries out of the back of my Subaru and scale the stairs. 

As I neared the top, I saw four paws covered with fluffy, white hair in the opening below the door. Naturally, I smiled and said, “I’m almost there, Sugar Baby!”

I stopped short of the top stairs and opened the door to keep my balance. My face was at the same level as Sugar’s, and she cleaned my face with doggie kisses. 

The answer to my question

Yes, fear has a purpose. 

It is essential to our survival when we are in situations that could be life-threatening. Fear can hone our attention, clearing away any unnecessary thoughts or distractions. Also, it helps when you experience difficult situations often. I routinely find myself analyzing road conditions when the weather isn’t ideal. 

Does that mean I create difficult situations, or do I practice how to react when the stakes are lower?

How do you deal with fear?