a quiet heart.

It happens.

It comes in seasons. 

And it can be quite possessive.
...writer's block.

For a writer, writing is communicating, writing is painting, writing is breathing. It's just one of the many mysteries of life, how specifically stitched a passion is to your soul and how in-sync a passion is with the heart it adores.

A season of writer's block, for me, is a wake-up call that my heart's in the middle of working something out. A quiet pen is usually the sign of a quiet heart. A heart that's reflective, a heart that's growing, or a heart that needs some time to take it all in.

I wish writing was as easy as picking a topic and piecing words together, and I guess for some, it can be that simple...but for me, it's not, nor has it ever been. If you were to ask an artist about some of their best work, they'd say there was much more behind their design than the preliminary sketches. They'd tell you much more went into their watercolor than the time spent mixing colors. They'd tell you their song was much more than a set of catchy, rhyming lyrics, because an artist's art is a portrayal of the heart.

But sometimes hearts are quiet. And when mine is, my pen is quiet, too.

In the meantime, this quiet heart experiencing writer's block will be where it loves to be, with the spectacular people who make my days much more than just a marathon of minutes. 

::

mexico.

Someone told Sara Bareilles that dreams live in Mexico. I guess I can see that. 

But for some reason, I don't think my dreams live in Mexico. I don't think my dreams have a permanent address. Scratch that, they do. They have their own place. They pay rent, utilities, water, and they even cut the grass after it rains. But they like to leave, they like to go, they like to get out. And then, with a souvenir, a lesson, or a picture, they come home.

My dreams are frequent flyers. They are madly in love with airports. They fly just so they can write at 30,000 feet. They're more motivated there. And so, they board planes as often as they can, they sit in window seats, they stare out into the sky, they reach out and touch the clouds. They get tattoos and don't care who objects, they have perfect hair, they have all the time in the world to get ready, and they exercise often. They dance and sing all day long. They're never scared. They crave big cities and all their mystery, but secretly long for the dependability of a wide open field in a small town.

My dreams play the piano. They hit one key, wait, and hit another one, one that's farthest from the first. My dreams string the first key together with the second, as if they belonged together, as if they were created to be played, together. 

My dreams get the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They don't have to worry about making sense out of two different sides, both with supporting evidence, compelling research, and fancy letters crediting their names. They ask a question and the answer is theirs. 

My dreams own a smoothie shop and make smoothies all day long. They hand out love letters and give two to disbelievers. They make amends with people from their past, ones they let go of after holding on for a long time. They speak out, they are strong, they are healthy {I guess the smoothies help with that part}, and they are constantly growing. 

After my last post on the magic of dreams, I hope you don't mind this continued dream rambling of mine but as I began to write tonight, I caught myself staring off into space, my head rested on my hand like this...which if you ask Joseph, is pretty typical for me. And while staring at one of baby girl's toys that creepily sings whenever the room is completely quiet, I realized that we're flying this weekend and I suddenly got really excited. There's something about airports, I guess you can say they live in my dreams. Well, baby girl's never flown before, so we'll see if she likes soaring through the clouds as much as her mama does.

I think my love of flying was born when I was sixteen and flying to New York for the first time. I had a paper due for AP English that I decided to write on the plane. I still think that essay is one of the best things I've ever written. I only wish I knew where it was hiding. I'm not sure if it was the actual writing itself that I'd categorize as some of my best, but rather, it's impact was incredibly unforgettable. It resonated confidence by redefining purpose, so much so, I wish I could have mass produced it's shimmer, only until I realized it's sparkle was due to it's rarity, and well, mass producing that sort of gem would only devalue it's worth. Impacts like these are hard to come by. The way my sixteen year old self felt when I clicked, "save," and closed my laptop, was like I could do anything, be anything, dream anything, or accomplish anything, as long as it was written within me. I felt creative. I felt capable. I felt worthy. I felt alive. It's that feeling that resonates within my dreams. And I don't know about yours, but as I alluded to above, my dreams seem to have similar habits, they tend to dress alike, and they like to hang out in the same hot spots.

Although we're not going to Mexico this weekend, we are flying, and that means if baby girl grants me a quiet second, I will probably meet my dreams somewhere in the clouds, think with them, pray with them, and catch them at some of their favorite surroundings. Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll write with them on the plane, like I did my junior year of high school, but my mama self knows that's probably a little unrealistic with a 10 month-old wiggle worm sitting on my lap. But one thing my mama self's got that my sweet sixteen status lacked, is a little one tugging at her leg asking mama to show her the way. Maybe, on one of baby girl's next plane trips, we'll stare out the window and talk about her dreams and what they look like and where they live. Maybe, her dreams will wear princess pajamas and mismatched socks and camp in forts made out of pillowcases and towels. Maybe, hers will wear ribbons in their hair and eat cereal for dinner. Maybe, hers will be even more random than mine. And maybe, just maybe, her dreams will live in Mexico. But on the off chance they don't, my dreams have first class tickets to wherever hers are.
::

rest assured.

We're back from our family road trip and unfortunately, we didn't run into any baby bucket swing relatives but all of us, including baby girl, somehow managed to get sick.

And whenever we're sick, we love playing any of the whiny - "I don't feel well," "hold me, please," and "I just want to sleep" cards. So, what happens when everyone in the family feels entitled to play any or all of these needy cards at the same exact time? We throw a welcoming pity party and delegate sleep shifts, soup shifts, cuddle shifts, tea shifts, and even more sleep shifts. Welcome to our sick world...what can I say?

Since baby girl's sleep shifts have required mama's company, (please, don't leave mom - I sleep better when you're near), I've had lots of extra thinking time about life, writing, and this little blog of mine. Like I've mentioned a few times - I've really come to love this blog and to all of you who have reached out in your own special ways to make it a point to let me know how much you love reading - your enthusiasm for my writing makes me want to write more, more, and even more. So, as always, thank you for keeping me company along this writing journey of mine. Rest assured, your company is the kind that I feel safe enough to throw on my favorite sweat pants, put on my glasses, tie my hair back, snuggle up on the couch and just write it out...which, in this commonly superficial world frequently lacking authenticity...me feeling encouraged to write and just be me, is a huge gift you all have given me and I will always, always, always thank you for that.

With that said, I will continue to write here because of how much Marie Tea has meant, not only to you but to me, but there may be less frequent posts {in the next few weeks}, as I aggressively work on finishing up my first book. Rest assured, it's not because I'm not writing, but it's actually because that's exactly what I'm doing...writing. As much as blogging has been incredibly enjoyable, I also have to be faithful to my lifelong book writing dreams...because like I've mentioned here a few times, if we're not faithful to our dreams, who will be?

So, rest assured, I will continue to write blog posts and share parts of my heart here with you, just like I've done from the very beginning. I only ask you to be patient with the frequency of my next few posts. I have a baby girl and a dream and neither one of them are getting any younger...so that means I've gotta chase them both now, while I still can.

Have a great weekend - I'm sure ours will look something like this.

 ::

brave.

You may have noticed that I've been writing more frequently these days. Not sure how I find the time, but this little blog has become really important to me. I've realized it helps my heart breathe {inhale in & deep breath out}, it helps my heart heal, and it helps my heart process all the gravel covering the broken roads. It helps keep me grounded and it helps me believe in the power of bravery. For in life, being brave is half the battle.

I sometimes arrive at this grungy place some of you may be familiar with, the hole in the wall I like to call discouragement. And once you arrive, it's one of those situations where you wish you had bought insurance to secure your refundable tickets because the run-down place was infested with rodents galore. The stench makes you shake in your boots (well, mine are still in storage) but if I were wearing my boots, they'd be shaking. And the worst part about discouragement is it's caretaker is this mean, scary, and intimidating boogy monster named doubt. And his odor is incredibly toxic.

As I breathed in the lethal fumes of discouragement and doubt, the gravity of the dangerous situation hit me and I knew I had to...Get up. Leave. Fast. Now.

There are quite a few things I'm passionate about, but one devotion I'm completely invested in is writing. As much as I love knowing how much it influences other people, like I mentioned in the beginning of this post, it helps my heart breathe. But when it comes to disappointment and doubt, they're scariest when the mirror shows your own image in the reflection. "Am I good enough to fulfill my writing dream?" "Are you really cut out to be a Doctor?" "Do you have what it takes to walk away from him forever?" "Can you truly forgive her for what she did?" "Will they see the good in you or will they stare at your flaws?" These discouragements and doubts may break down our strength by attacking our bravery, awarding them victories in a few ammo-less battles, but no fear - we're not letting them win the war.

I get discouraged and doubt things more often than I'd like to admit. I dwell on things not worth my time. I focus on frivolous meaningless concerns and I let them break me down. It all boils down to the realization that I'm not perfect and I never was, nor will I ever be. I'm me. Imperfect. Flawed. Me. I know me is more than enough for Joseph, but is me good enough for me? Is me good enough for all I want to do and all I want to be? Is she? This girl who's made more mistakes than she can count, who finds it difficult putting herself together these days, who can hardly believe she's really a mom, who stresses out whenever she's late, who analyzes the smallest vain things, who secretly wishes she had all the answers, who struggles with not feeling good enough, and who wants to be better than she is. She needs someone to believe in her, she needs someone to forgive her, she needs someone to be brave for her. Why not the beautiful woman in the mirror staring back in her eyes? She needs to believe in her own dreams so the world can feel her passion, she needs to forgive her own disappointments so she can experience true freedom, and she needs to be brave for her own sake because her imperfect, flawed, and beautiful heart and it's maker are holding their breath.

letting brave win.

::

fire in my heart.

The fire in my heart that I'm pursuing at the moment - mentioned previously on the blog here and here - is intensely building. Thank you for your continued prayers, to say I'm experiencing the inspiration behind them is a ginormous understatement.

When your heart moves, follow it, always. Your heart is equipped with a Mary Poppins bag of all necessities required to reach it's destination, no matter how long or challenging the journey may be. Your heart's a power only you can employ and when utilized with personal conviction, watch out world.

This picture's a teaser of the book I'm working on, not much I know...sorry. I promise I'll give you more when I can. While waiting, I challenge you to be more aware of your deepest desires at the moment and I dare you to be faithful to the fire in your own beautiful heart. Because like I said before, when your faithful to your heart, watch out world. And that's real stuff my friends, no fiction present here.

::

fueling the fire.

Wow. All I have to say is, wow.

Have you ever felt that fiery urge to do something? And if you ignore your gut, you're really only fueling the fire because it just keeps building stronger, stronger, stronger.

For a while now, I've had an urge like this but it's gotten to the explosive level where even if I continue to ignore it, it's going to erupt and massively take over by annihilating everything in it's path. Wonderful. I'm on the brink of a protruding landslide and there's nothing I can do but let it take over while employing its convicting power.

For those of you who know me, I'm finally doing it. I'm finally writing the first book. No more excuses. And even though my time is kinda limited, playing with sweet baby girl and loving her Daddy all the while, time will find me. It has to, because my heart's being summoned and there's no ignoring that invitation.

There are not many songs that aren't distracting while writing, but this one's been particularly insightful lately.

The house is still a mess and me blogging rather than packing isn't really helping the situation. Ah well. Back to labeling, boxing, and taping. "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's back to work we go..." If only a team of dwarfs wearing some serious nightcaps could do our packing...how crazy awesome would that be?

As for baby girl, she says goodnight in the sweetest of ways.

 

goodnight.

:: victoria marie