Austin’s Greenbelt is a natural area that follows Barton Creek, with hiking trails that extend for about eight miles on either side. I hike sections of the trail regularly and it isn’t uncommon for me to spot a small snake squirming across the path as I approach. They are so fast and small that I typically see no more than a tail’s end as they slip into the grass.

I’ve been lucky enough to see this vibrant species of garter snake a few times; and became enchanted by its pattern and colors.

Interested, I looked up photos of and information about these small snakes. They are harmless to people, usually live near water, and like to eat worms, fish, and sometimes frogs. That orange stripe and those patterns are so beautiful, I had to paint it!

I decided to deconstruct the pattern a little, to make it more abstract.

When it came time to paint, I wanted to play with the color combinations and chose more complementary colors.

I decided to title it “Oh, Hello There!” after the feeling of surprise I get when I spot one of these beautiful snakes a few feet ahead of me on the trail.

Here’s to many more snake sighting (and may they be non-venomous)!

When your fight or flight response is going, it can be easier to get things done. You can zero in on the next step or goal and your surging adrenaline propels you toward it. I would have never guessed that loss and grief could induce drive.

The first year after losing my mother, I was filled with shock and anxiety. But as time flowed on, that surging energy dissipated and left me in a fog of sadness and depression. I felt angry and irritable as well. I was hard on myself, angry that I was angry, sad because of my sadness. Sometimes I took those feelings out on people close to me, but I mostly took it out on myself. I was so emotionally exhausted that I began to look for ways to escape.

I watched a lot of television and movies, ate a lot of comfort food and drank a lot of wine, and looked for entertainment and distractions, avoiding my own pain.

I started writing and talking to friends about what I was going through. But grief is personal and not many can relate (especially people my age, who usually haven’t experienced a major loss). One of the most surprising reactions I got was: “At least you had a mom that loved you.”

Through sharing my story, I realized even more how lucky I am that I got to be Glenna’s daughter. But I also began to realize how many people missed out on the sense of purpose, place, and stability I grew up with. And that brought me back to sadness.

I began to worry for myself, because, why did it seem to be getting harder?

I went looking outside of my circle and found some answers in online grief support groups. After reading the stories of others I learned that it is actually common for the second year to feel harder than the first. The outpouring of support stops – other people go back to normal. But I can’t go back to “normal”. My normal will never be the same again. I have to build a new normal: a new support system, a new sense of purpose, a new life without her.

Another surprising challenge is letting go of the pain of grief. That pain can feel like a way to keep her in my life. Letting it go can feel like letting her slip away. But as I am learning and working and letting the anger and sadness go, I see the fog lifting, and she is still there. I am learning to embrace clarity and am seeing that she is always going to be a part of my life.

I don’t need to worry about forgetting her.

It’s the beginning of Spring and a great time to make a new start.

I’m starting over personally with a new home on the horizon. My friend Laura is buying a house and has invited me to move in with her! I’m happy to be part of her dream and to soon grow a garden and maybe even get some chickens. I’m also looking forward to the opportunity to host parties and to sharing my daily life with three roommates (and a dog and two cats). Laura will be getting the house in April and I expect I’ll move in no later than May.

One nice thing about sharing a large house is that I will have space to have an art studio, which will help me start over in my professional life. After much heartache, difficulty, and consideration I have finally left my position with Whole Foods. Although I loved so much about that job and the people I worked with, the company and my team had changed in ways that left me feeling unsupported. This may have been just the push I needed to pursue my dreams.

Now I’m working on a plan to support myself making art that will benefit causes I believe in, like nature conservation. My goal is to begin making landscape paintings and sell them with a portion going to protect the environment. I’ll also be applying for artist in residency programs around the country. But first I need to get into the habit of regularly making original art and get myself to galleries and farmers markets to start selling and building relationships.

It is really scary going after your dreams. I’ve always wanted to paint, but always told myself that it wasn’t realistic. I told myself I wasn’t good enough or that it is impossible to make a living selling art. Reading “The Artist’s Way” helped me see a lot of this thinking for what it is: self-sabotage. This book has come up in a lot of my conversations lately and I’ve been sharing it with friends. I highly recommend it as it has been a positive influence in my life, making it clearer to me what my purpose is and what my strengths and weaknesses are.

One step at a time. This week’s goal: get on a routine.

Though I can be self-centered, stubborn, and mischievous at times, I am generally a quiet, humble, helpful person. I have the inborn gift of a sensitivity to the desires and emotional states of others, and I try to use that gift to do good. I like to help people make connections – to show them new perspectives that might help them achieve their goals.

What can I say? I’m the daughter of a social worker and a psychologist…

Anyway, my point is that, generally, people find me approachable and just plain nice.

Sometimes too nice.

I’ve actually been told, multiple times, by different people: “you’re too nice.”

What does this mean?!

It’s not a compliment. It’s a warning.

Some people think that they need to remind me about dangerous people and the games they play.

Unfortunately, I am not so naive. I know that people can be cruel and selfish. That gift of intuition, it shows me the bad in people too.

And I’ve lived through many hardships: I’ve been hurt and abused. I’ve suffered traumatic losses. And I’ve fought my way back to myself and to peace over and over again.

And yet, I can still be nice. I can be trusting. I can be optimistic.

When we suffer we often have two choices: try to learn and keep moving forward, or dwell and become bitter.

We’ve all seen people who have cut themselves off from joy because of some long-ago inflicted pain.

Fear is the true culprit here.

If you fall in love and your lover hurts you. What do you do? What if the pain was so bad, the worst you’ve ever felt? Wouldn’t you want to protect yourself from feeling that again? Should you choose to never love, to never trust, again?

Hardly!

You’d pick up the pieces, try to figure out how to do it better next time, and get back out there. There is always another opportunity to find joy in this life.

Is the pain worth the gain? Who knows? It is up to each person to make their own rules about how to live their own life.

But for me, the key is to trust myself. I know that pain and failure are inevitable, but so is joy.

You can’t have one without the other.

If you choose to shut out pain, you lose out on all the good stuff that comes with it.

Recent events have inspired me to use my talents and energy to benefit causes larger than myself. I’ve let go of the feeling that I need to be one thing in my profession and am embracing the idea that my greatest strengths lie in the areas of my life where my passions intersect.

How can I create a more complete life where I work on projects that fulfill every part of me?

I’m starting to get ideas.

What if I worked as an artist in residence at a national park? Created a large body of affordable, original art and then sold it with a percentage going back to conserve the land?

What if I donated my time and design skills to help nonprofits who are fighting for things I believe in?

Things at my day job have become increasingly corporate, with the freedom to create original art decreasing. It’s a hard time to work there and has been since the cut-backs that started last year. This year I’ve seen the global offices get a facelift (espresso machines and expensive furniture have appeared) while labor continues to be cut in the store. The renovations are nice, but when you have felt the cost in terms of friends’ lost jobs and more stressful working conditions, the shine loses its luster.

I love my team, I am still learning, and the company as a whole does a lot of good work in the world…but almost daily I am struggling with the changes I’ve seen.

I’m looking for something that will more directly, more concretely give me a sense that I am helping to protect the world and its people.

How can I help to protect the environment?

Make people smile?

Cultivate understanding/education/tolerance?

Share the beauty and sense of awe I experience when  in nature?

How can I use my skills as an artist to do so?

Are there other strengths that I have that should be cultivated toward such ends?

The brainstorming continues…

(Originally written in mid-September)

Two weeks ago, I went to Burning Man.

I went for a wedding and to be part of a performance art piece, to honor my mother with a memorial, and to see it all.

I’m still going through my photos and digesting the entire experience.

What did it mean?

I’ve heard a lot of people talk about Burning Man as transformative. And I agree, the first year I was there, I felt awakened and changed by the feeling of freedom people enjoy there – and what they do with it. And I was delighted and challenged in my second and third year by various events. But I already felt that I had learned all I could and that going back was more for fun than anything else.

I wanted to be part of something greater than myself if I went back: a builder of art or infrastructure, doing something that would benefit others.

This year I had my chance by joining a friend’s performance troupe. We went out, almost daily, at dusk, to set up a stage and put on a “medicine show” (think snake oil salesmen). We had a variety of acts and sold “bonafide elixirs” for the price of a dream. We asked audience members to participate in a couple of the acts and to share their dreams with the crowd…an open and delightful question that conjured up all sorts of answers. Fascinating! And intimate.

We put on a good show, had a great time, and I felt a connection with the dream-sharers even though I was in character.

Another source of connection: watching two of my friends get married in a spectacularly sweet and unique wedding! They met at Burning Man while building art, got engaged the next year, and now married under their own art piece, designed specifically for the wedding.

But the deepest sense of connection I felt was in creating a memorial for my mother at the temple and then watching it burn with hundreds or even thousands of other people (many of which had installed their own memorials).

This was one of the most spiritual experiences I’ve ever had.

The crowd was silent except for the odd sob or coyote-like howl (which we made as a group and was completely unplanned). My friends were around me, crying their own tears and crying for us all. I have never felt more human and more connected to my fellow man than I did sitting there around the fire. Mountains and a starry sky surrounded us and held us.

That night was my last night out in the desert. That was the culmination of my experiences there. Being at the fire and then after, sitting around camp with my friends.

We were silly and happy and ridiculous…just they way one should be after diving into the deepness of the soul.

We were giddy. Something new was coming. A change.

My life was already in the midst of change – I started a new job. I did it! I finally worked my way up to my dream position at Whole Foods. I am now working as a graphic designer for the store. It is what I’ve wanted and worked so hard for and I am very happy. And I got to return home to my new position. I’m still only half-way into my first full week but I am loving it.

Other things are changing too – I’m feeling a release from my bereavement and am looking towards my own future. I’m dreaming new dreams and making space for myself to grow. I’m re-learning what it is to be myself. I am reconnecting to my values and beginning again to put into practice the behaviors that will help me achieve my goals.

I feel cleansed, new, reborn. It sounds cliche, and I’m still struggling like everyone else, but I’m happy to be where I am – in the process of rediscovering myself…or as I once heard it put: “falling in love with myself all over again.”

It seems that every minute I overhear someone complaining, ever-louder, about something. Be it a coworker, the weather, our politicians, or even their own bodies…people just seem to be less satisfied and louder about expressing it.

It’s easy to blame. Harder to change. But blame is just a way of expressing that something is wrong, it doesn’t address or solve the problem.

When you blame your problems on something else, and then do nothing to investigate the cause and enact a change, you have given up your power.

While thumbing through “Boundaries”, I came across this, which I keep going back to:

“You only have the power to change yourself. You can’t change another person. You must see yourself as the problem, not the other person. To see another person as a problem to be fixed is to give that person power over you and your well-being. Because you cannot change another person, you are out of control. The real problem lies in how you are relating to the problem person. You are the one in pain, and only you have the power to fix it.

Many people have found immense relief in the thought that they have no control over another person and that they must focus on changing their reactions to the person. They must refuse to allow that person to affect them. This idea is life changing, the beginning of true self-control.”

A few weeks ago I realized that I was feeling down. The world seemed so chaotic. Every day brought more bad news. My friends and coworkers talked about how horrible these tragic events were. We even dwelled. These problems all seemed so big – what could I possibly do?

I became so overwhelmed that I decided to take a time-out from the news. I needed to censor out the bad stuff until I could get back to feeling like myself again…what good could I do for this troubled world if I was depressed?

After about a week I was feeling much better, refreshed even! Positive. But I got curious and tuned in to NPR…just in time to hear a new shocking story. I actually stopped and gasped; stood there with my mouth gaping open.

I turned the news off and put some music on.

And I’ve mostly kept away from the news since, with the exception of “The Daily Show”.

Of course I’m curious about the rest of the world. And I care about it. But if I’m struggling with taking care of myself (for any reason), how can I be expected to take care of others? Isn’t it actually a good thing that I have acknowledged my needs and am setting limits?

Maybe it’s time for a break from all the shocking stories…especially if you find yourself blaming the world for the way you feel. I’m going to cocoon as much as I need to, until I can see the world for its beauty. The beauty in, through, and despite the chaos.

For a few months now I’ve been dreaming about life on the road and how to incorporate nomadic wanderings into a life firmly rooted in Austin. After reading this article online I have fallen in love with the idea of the “creeper van.”

Those long white vans are common and now that I’ve started looking for them…they really are everywhere. And they fit inside a normal parking space…which means that overnighting in a van would be a lot less hassle than in an RV or trailer. If necessary, I could park it in a lot or neighborhood without much risk of offending or alarming someone.

The van has a lot less space and likely wouldn’t include any kind of bathroom situation, but that seems like a small price to pay for the increased maneuverability and parkability. Dealing with black water in the RV was no picnic anyway, and showers were usually taken in campground facilities.

Another factor: unlike the RV, I don’t expect to live full-time in the van. Austin has firmly (and wonderfully) tied me down and I’m seeing any potential time on the road in the frame of “long trips,” with Austin as my home.

This idea is quite a project which would take months to complete. I’d want to build the interior myself and get a basic understanding of how to care for the engine and body of the vehicle. I’m still in the dreaming phase of the project and, who knows, I may change my mind…but the open road is calling.

This year is going to be full of big changes, all already in progress. I’m entering a new chapter and am at a point where I am examining different options and asking myself, once again, “what do I want?”

Art is going to play a bigger role in my life. Opportunities to create and make a living off of my work are beginning to present themselves. It helps that I live in Austin and happen to know some pretty badass, independent ladies who also happen to be artists. But that’s for another post.

I’ve been questioning how to live, where to live, what to do. The process of grieving opened me up to question everything…but especially such concerns as “what is a good life?” and “how should I spend my lifetime?” I joke that everyday I have a new five-year plan.

I’m feeling much more settled and restored now than I did a month or so ago. My natural interests and rhythms have returned, signaling an end to the depression. And when I ask these deep, philosophical questions, my answers are more fun.

The possibility of changing my home has sparked fond memories of life on the road. Nostalgic and intriguing conversations with friends who currently live on wheels have only stoked the fire. Recently, I eagerly read along as my favorite blogger took her RV to Joshua Tree National Park (a place I have wanted to visit for years). Then, during the SXSW music festival, Austin was inundated with nomads of all types. I’ve been daydreaming about the possibility of getting my very own rig and driving into new adventures.

Though it doesn’t jive with my art plans and I really just don’t want to leave my people, it is fun to think about. Maybe one day…but not now. So, for the time being, I am content to chart out spots I might want to visit later.

I saw a lot of amazing places on my travels out west but, despite my energetic adventuring, I missed out on a lot of great stuff (mostly transportation-related as driving an RV twenty miles down a dirt road isn’t usually a good idea). So I kept a running list of reasons to come back:

Antelope Canyon
On Navajo land near Page, Arizona. One of the most photographed slot canyons, only accessible via private tours (reservations required and should be made ahead of time).

Rainbow Bridge National Monument
In southern Utah, also near Page, Arizona. A 290 foot-tall land bridge accessible by a 2 hour boat ride or a 2+ day hike. Permits are required from the Navajo Nation and should be applied for in advance.

Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument Slot Canyons
Deep, narrow, secret folds in the earth you can hike into and through (if you can find your way there). Requires a 4WD/high-clearance vehicle and long hikes, sometimes climbing.

Waterfalls In The Grand Canyon
There are a number of waterfalls at the bottom of the canyon and along the way down. I’d love to visit one I could swim in.

Carlsbad Caverns National Park
Guided and self-guided tours. Reservations recommended.

The Wave Rock Formation
Sandstone rock formation in Northern Arizona. A permit is required to hike in the area and permits are limited to ten a day, rewarded with a lottery system.

And then of course there is the coast of Northern California, Joshua Tree, and Saguaro National Park to see…

I was recently given a wonderful little book about finance that was written in 1926. It is an easy read and I recommend it to any and everyone.

The Richest Man In Babylon has much to offer but the most important lessons can be condensed to:

Seven Cures for a Lean Purse

1. Save one-tenth of your income.

2. Budget your expenses so that you have money to pay for necessities, enjoyments, and desires without spending more than nine-tenths of your income.

3. Put your savings to work so that they multiply. Invest.

4. Invest wisely. Invest only when the principal is safe, where it may be reclaimed if desired, and where you will make a fair rental. Seek council from wise men who are experienced in the handling of money.

5. Own your home and improve it so that it can be a profitable investment.

6. Insure a future income. Provide in advance for the needs of your family and yourself in old age.

7. Increase your ability to earn. Pay your debts as soon as possible. Do not purchase what you cannot afford. Take care of your family. Make a will. Have compassion for those who are injured and who are smitten with misfortune and aid them within reasonable limits. Do deeds of thoughtfulness to those who are dear to you. Cultivate your own powers, study to become wiser, to be more skillful, to so act as to respect yourself.

Self-respect, compassion, wisdom…these are tools that could benefit anyone.