The Good Stuff (part 2)

THE GOOD STUFF

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  Life can be rough.

We walk through spiderwebs, have run-ins with HOAs, meter maids, and speed traps. All too often we wake up to find that we have horrific zits, and wrinkles, and stretch marks, and that the cat has blatantly pooped on the floor (or maybe that’s just at my house). We’re surrounded by wars and shootings and migraines and breakups. We have car registration and rent and taxes and bills to pay. We breakdown, stress out, and mess up. Stuff happens. But I’m tired of focusing on the sad stuff, the bad stuff, and the downright crappy stuff. I want to again pay tribute to the stuff that makes us smile, the stuff that makes us grateful, the stuff that makes us LAUGH. Here’s to the good stuff (part 2)

Here’s to unseasonably warm weather, friendly strangers and the perfect haircut. To dropping your phone without it shattering, and being eligible for an upgrade when it does.  To front-row parking, front-row seating, and standing room only. To Bluetooth, Wifi, GPS, and DVR.  To online quizzes, astrology and crossword puzzles. To paddle boarding and doing yoga, and also to not paddle boarding or doing yoga. To hiking, and biking, and swimming. To relaxing, and lounging, and chilling. Here’s to Netflix and pizza and sweatpants.

Here’s to seashells, and dolphins, and salty hair. To green flashes, cold beer, and raging bonfires. To surprise parties, wine tasting, and theme parks. To karaoke, and fondue, and melted cheese in general. To frozen yogurt, and burritos, and brightly colored juices. To early mornings, late evenings, and cat naps. To dreamcatchers, cotton sheets, plush robes and sleep masks. To instant coffee, cartoons, and french toast with powdered sugar. To kittens. Just kittens. Here’s to having plans, not having plans, and when someone cancels plans you didn’t want to have.

Here’s to finally finding your keys, the open highway, and cruise control. To downtown and uptown and hometowns. To walking, and running, and standing still, and Ubering. To business trips, family vacations, and being bumped to first class.  To German Shepherds, Bulldogs, and mutts of all kinds. To Catfish: The TV Show, Law and Order: SVU, and The Office. To full batteries, and perfect internet connections. To hot showers, hot tea, hotties, and hot tubs. Here’s to guilty pleasures, healthy habits, and public displays of affection. To perseverance, and ambition, and achieving your goals. Here’s to gratitude, meditation, and faith in something more.

Here’s to dating apps, hugs, cuddling, and human connection.  To friends who hang out so much they look alike, new friends, mutual friends, and friends with benefits. To quick responses on text, emojis and, autocorrect. To putting yourself out there, swiping right instead of left, and finding “the one”. To engagements, and honeymoons, and newlyweds. To baby showers, epidurals and nuzzling a newborn. To anniversaries and birthdays, and regular ol’ Wednesdays. To being single, or being taken, or just plain being yourself. To promotions and raises, and “moving on up”.

Here’s to praying, and grinding, and realizing your dreams.

Here’s to David Bowie, Scott Weiland, Glenn Frey, Maurice White, Paul Kantner, Lemmy Kilmister, and Alan Rickman.

Here’s to San Diego, California, and The United States of America.

Here’s to sunrises, sunsets and every breath between. Here’s to the good stuff.

About Love

I love you written in the sandy beach

I had a chance to chat with a client today; she’s a really beautiful and kind lady, a 2 1/2 year cancer widow. We got to talking about Valentine’s Day and she mentioned that this year for Valentine’s Day she received a lovely bouquet of roses from a wonderful man. She was so touched and flattered but, she said, she only wished they had been from her husband. She told me her husband passed away in August, and come their anniversary that following October, she received a bouquet of roses from him. My eyes welled with tears.

That’s the thing about love…it’s so timeless, so earnest, so transcendental. And though life is fleeting — love is eternal. Love is both bliss and grief, togetherness and separation, beauty and inelegance. Love is the realization of tolerance and acceptance. Love is more than a feeling, love is an awareness of a deeper self. Love is literally everything.

So, on this Valentine’s Day, instead of doing the thing where we dismiss the holiday as a marketing ploy by greeting card companies, let’s just make an effort to honestly and truly enjoy love. Wrap ourselves in love. Bathe in love. Pray to love. Ask for love. Honor love. Cherish love. Give love. Be love.

Whether it be love of significant others, parents, siblings, children, friends, God, or love of ourselves,  let us promise to celebrate love so entirely that we all may have and be everything we’ll ever need

I love you all.

XOXO

Hannah

Flicker

I’ve always been an early riser. Not a 6AM early riser, or even a 5:30AM early riser — I’m a 4AM kind of girl. Maybe I’m a masochist, but really I just have a love affair with early mornings; each is reminiscent of my favorite Robert Frost poem, Nothing Gold Can Stay. I’m in love with the crispness of the air, the faint rustle of leaves as they eagerly await their brief chance to be golden with the rise of the sun. I feel peace on the empty roads and abandoned beaches, as the vestiges of natural landscape glimmer with whispering critters, most of which I long to cuddle and have as pets. I’m in love with early mornings because they’re not insistent; they don’t demand that I accomplish tasks, solve problems or make plans. Early mornings don’t expect me to look presentable, speak logically or even act accordingly. Early mornings allow me to just be. I’m in love with early mornings because they bring me as close as I’ll ever be to experiencing the world before life was so…busy, so crowded, so hurried and so complicated.

Early mornings offer me the opportunity to witness what I would otherwise overlook in the post-morning bustle. Like this morning; I saw a flickering street light — not the usual flicker of a bulb making its final stand before eternally burning out. This was a flickering that appeared as a deliberate, even strategic, dimming and brightening. As I drove by, I glanced in my rearview mirror, only to see it resume its ordinary glow alongside its streetlight companions. To anybody else this might have  been something explained away by the nuances of modern electricity. To me, however, it was a wink, a wave…a nod from beyond.

I’ll be the first to tell you I’m a skeptic when it comes to just about everything. I have a hard time believing in anything I can’t see, anything that hasn’t met my burden of proof, and anything that isn’t justifiably explained in a textbook from a highly verifiable source. With that being said…I see Hawks. Red-tailed Hawks, Cooper’s Hawks, seahawks, Red-shouldered Hawks. Hawks. Everywhere. Hawks on lampposts, Hawks adorning trees, Hawks circling overhead, and Hawks seeming to barrel  directly at me. This is a daily occurrence. The skeptic in me sometimes wonders if I just have a keen eye for spotting them, habituated by years of my dad’s conditioning. Other times, the Hawks are undeniably there for me. A Hawk will screech and swoop ceaselessly until I acknowledge it, speak to it — then it will appear to vanish. And just like the flickering streetlight, I know it’s my dad. I just know it.
redtail_hawk
Admittedly, instead of being comforted by these visits, I mostly feel frustrated and anxious; “I SEE YOU! I HEAR YOU! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME?!”
Recently, after again being accosted by a Hawk, I told my frustrations to my friend, Elyse. Without hesitation she said “maybe your dad is just trying to let you know he’s with you.”
Aha. How could something so simple (and seemingly, so obvious) have escaped me?
I had been so fearful and worried that he’s been here to warn me, it had never crossed my anxiety-ridden, skeptical mind that, of course, he’s here to love and comfort me, he’s here to watch over me, he’s here to swoop, screech, flicker, glow and to light my path. Most importantly, my dad is “here”, so simply and so beautifully, to remind me that he’s here.
And even when the Hawk flies away, the flickering streetlight returns to uninterrupted illumination, and morning gives way to day — my dad will still be here. And though Nothing Gold Can Stay, I know now that my dad’s love and presence will forever remain.

Nothing Gold Can Stay   {Robert Frost, 1923}

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.