Only When You’re Emptied

Posted on May 31, 2011 by Krista

I watched the tide rise and fall for the better part of my day today. There’s not much else a girl can do in this sticky heat. Even blinking takes too much effort.

And as I sat, melting in the swelter, contemplating the ebbing sea, watching the mounds of mud gradually emerge from their hiding, I felt strangely akin to low tide—empty, exposed, muddy.

All I seem to have are questions anymore. What is this life I’m living? What am I supposed to be doing? When will I feel full again? When will the tide turn? When will I feel like me again? How do I get me back?

But today, it occurred to me—I don’t know that I ever will. Get “me back,” that is. At least, not in the sense that I will suddenly wake up and reclaim my old self—as if I were a lost shoe that I found under the bed one day. I don’t know that that’s possible. Or that I even want it to be anymore. And in fact, I don’t think that’s what this is, or has ever been. But that is what I’ve been trying to make it.

I keep saying, “I used to do,” or “I used to be.” I’ve been looking at my old life as if it were this thing that I lost, and now need to somehow find and reclaim. But nothing I try, in my reclamation efforts, seems to be working.

I’ve grasped and plotted and planned and ultimately fought the current, trying to keep my life at high tide. And I could say that that was the wrong thing to do, but I won’t discount my steps. I won’t berate the fear. I won’t belittle the struggle.

And I won’t feel bad for taking too long. Because what is too long? Who am I to say that I’m not following a perfect timeline? Who am I to say that there even IS a timeline?

On this island, the tide rises two times each day. But though the tide is on a schedule, ultimately it only rises when the Earth is ready—once all the creeks and canals have been sufficiently emptied. You can’t force a tide to turn. You can only wait.

And with the turn of the tide comes new water—completely different water to fill the empty, cover the exposed, and wash the muddy.

Today, I began to see the holiness in being empty. After all, wasn’t it an empty tomb that brought the promise of Life?

And I learned—it’s not an old me that I need to reclaim.

It’s a new me that I need to become.

My New Digs

Posted on May 30, 2011 by Krista

By the end of the day I’m wiped. The work is by no means strenuous, but dang, is it HOT. The sun sucks every little ounce of energy out of me and when the whistle blows all I want is foodshowerbed. Or showerfoodbed. Either way. But how can I complain with a view like this?

Straight ahead:

To the left:

To the right:

On Saturday, I crewed for dad on the Dolphin Watch Nature Cruise.

I’ll admit, the first couple days I felt a little disoriented. I missed my house, and my room, and my Frit, and my life. I still feel like I’m getting my bearings but I can feel myself falling into a more regular pace. And it really is a paradise here. This piece of Earth is good for me.

She’s a Runner

Posted on May 24, 2011 by Krista

My friend Laurel and I met up for breakfast yesterday morning. I love morning in the city. It’s one of the things I do miss about my old job–riding the train in, my newspaper tucked under my arm, the crisp mountain air and golden light spilling over the skyline, shops and food trucks opening up for a new day of business. Yes. A waking city is an invigorating place to be.

We sat on the sidewalk at an umbrella’ed table and reveled in the wholly spiritual experience of Bruge’s Liege waffles with creme fraiche, strawberries, and drizzled Belgian chocolate. We talked–catching up on lives, crying some, and laughing more. Tiny little birds jumped around, fluttering here and there–from the table to the chairs, then onto the sidewalk and back to the chairs, only to repeat their path again and again–jumping for joy at the promise of a new day.

After filling our bellies with wonder I pointed her toward the park across the street. “I’m taking your picture today. You need a better picture than the one you took with your cell phone in the bathroom mirror.”

I wanted to give her proof of exactly who she is becoming. See, Laurel is running her first half marathon in three weeks. And in the process, she is changing her body, and her mind. I guess you could say they are just catching up with her spirit.

When I look at these pictures, I see a woman who is sure. A woman who is fierce. A woman who is confident. A woman who is beautiful. A woman who is believing.

But above all else, I see a woman who is a finisher.

To read about her becoming and to cheer her on, click here.

You Were Born to Be in Pictures!

Posted on May 23, 2011 by Krista

(sneak peak at one of last weekend’s photo shoots)

Hi friends! This is a last minute shout out for a little bit-o-help … If you are female, live in Utah, and would like to have your photo taken, please read on.

I need women of all ages, shapes, ethnicities, and places in life (mothers/wives/grandmas/singles/working/stay-at-home/etc.) for a photo shoot tomorrow (Tuesday) afternoon in Bountiful, UT. Children are welcome so round ‘em up. And in fact, grab your friends, mothers, and neighbors while you’re at it.

The photos I take may possibly be used online for a company’s website. You would not be paid, but I will give you your edited images for your personal use.

If you’re interested, please email me for further details.

Dear Darling [12]

Posted on May 20, 2011 by Krista

If ever there were a song I wish I’d written.

All my love,

The One Thing

Posted on May 19, 2011 by Krista

One of the things I love most about Frit is that even though she has every reason to judge me and my pathetic, as of late, state of living–she doesn’t. I mean, she’s seen everything these last couple years–the days I don’t brush my teeth, the days I don’t get out of my pajamas, the days I can’t list even one productive thing I’ve done–and yet, she doesn’t judge. She just loves. Oh and she laughs. (Yes, at me, if you really must know.) Because sometimes this whole thing really is ridiculous.

Aaand I love her because even though she is older than me, she never makes me feel like she knows everything simply because she’s already been through it.

I hate it when people think that just because they’ve experienced something similar to you, or because they’re older than you, that that somehow gives them an understanding of who you are and what you’re going through. Or that they have the answers for your situation.

Yes. Perspective comes with age. I won’t discount that. Nor will I discount the notion that we all experience certain things to give us the wisdom to help others. I think we all have a built-in desire to help another soul. And I’ll be the first to sign up for a ladies night jam session where the talk is deep and the stories of life string together from one person to the next like telephone lines on a long Texas highway. I also very much appreciate the occasional, “hey, read this.” or “have you ever listened to this?” or “p.s. been thinkin bout you.” (In fact, just yesterday my dear friend Katie sent this, and this, to me. Love love love.)

But hurt is hurt. And grief is grief. And loneliness is loneliness.

And no matter what age or stage of life you’re in when you experience it, it sucks. And just because you’ve been in it deeper or longer or went through it first doesn’t give you a special badge of honor, nor does it negate what another person is feeling and experiencing.

I remember talking to my sister a couple years ago. She’s eight years younger and is engaged to be married this summer, but at the time she had just come out of a really heart-shattering breakup. And she was crying–crying about how lonely she was and how badly she wanted to be married. And then she looked up, almost with a tinge of apologetic guilt and remorse in her eyes, because, “who was [she] to be crying about this to [me].” I’d been “doing single” for eight years longer than her.

But instead of saying, “Yeah that’s right. Come cry to me when you’re still 30 and single,” and instead of piling all my advice and lessons learned on top of her sad-little heart right then (I did offer a few thoughts later, though she never actually read them and I think were more for me than they were for her anyway)–but at that moment I was reminded of Frit and a very similar scene a few years prior where I’d cried to her, my best friend six years my senior, about how lonely I was, and how much I hated dating and how much I wanted to “just be married already.” And I think I looked at her with a look quite similar to my sister’s when I realized who I was whining to. But she just looked at me and hugged me and told me to just cry … to just “let it all out. It hurts no matter what age or how long you’ve been at it.”

And so, I looked at my sister, and her teary eyes, and told her the same thing. Because. Frit was right. Just because I was older, and just because I had already been through the sadness she was feeling, and just because I’d felt it longer–it didn’t somehow make her hurt less real or even less important.

I fancy myself a smart person. I like to tell people what to do. I’m quick to make decisions and I always have an opinion handy. I also generally give awesome advice and counsel. (True story.)

However.

I have learned. That the life experience for each individual is so intensely unique. No one else has my answers, or your answers for how to deal, how to overcome, or how to thrive. Only you and God really know. And the majority of time people don’t even need answers anyway. They just need support. A shoulder to lean, or cry, on. A hand to hold. An ear to listen. And love. Genuine, honest, sincere, simple, from deep in your gut love.

That’s all.

I’m Coming

Posted on May 18, 2011 by Krista

It took weeks to finally decide. And countless drafts of a never-ending pros and cons list. But add a little prayer and a half-baked fast and you’ll find you have a decision made.

And right is the decision I’ve made.

In one week, I’ll be leaving Utah. I have decided to move back to South Carolina.

For the summer.

My dad offered me a job and I accepted. It’s the job I did in high school and I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say that, at first, I felt like a complete loser. What do I do, you ask? Oh, I’m 32, single, “jobless,” and moving home. (ohmygosh I hate typing all that.) I also wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say that the thought of moving back into my parents house may have freaked me out just a little. I mean, I left for college 14 years ago and haven’t lived there for any longer than a week (at the most) of vacation since 2000. i.e. The entirety of my adult life has been somewhat defined by a skyhigh level independence and a large degree of solitude. i.e. How does one “go home” (for an extended period of time) but not move backwards in one’s life?

But.

On the other hand.

It feels right to go. And so I go.

How grateful I am for parents who (despite dad’s best Bill Cosby threats that once we left we were never coming back) would allow me to come home (he’s such a softie). And how grateful I am that there’s a home to go home to.

And really–when else in my life could I just up and take three months to go live at the beach doing a job a 16-year-old could do? I’ve wished since college that I could shirk some of the responsibility of grown-up life and just be free. Now’s my chance. I’ve also always regretted not taking more advantage of the beautiful place I grew up in when I was in it. Now I can.

And ultimately, I can’t deny the healing balm the ocean is to me. My soul is not unlike the dry, cracked desert I live in right now. It needs water. Lots and lots of water.

One summer on an island it is then.

And so.

I plan to …

Not plan.

Work on the docks all day, everyday.

Ride my bike everywhere.

Eat plates and plates of seafood.

Take in as many sunrises and sunsets as possible.

Learn to run.

Explore.

Write.

Heal.

Oh hello summer. I’m coming.

Holed Up

Posted on May 17, 2011 by Krista

I just had the strangest, but most revealing, revelation I’ve had in a while.

It was this: I. am. scared.

Yes. Scared.

It went down like this:

I was watching a TEDx event and thought, Wow. Wouldn’t it be cool to teach one of those someday? To have something worth sharing with other people that would inspire them and nudge them toward greatness?

And then I thought, I couldn’t. I have nothing to say. At least not confidently and passionately anyway.

That’s when the revelation came.

I am, scared to death of my life.

Any confidence that creeps out these days is feigned effort.

The thing is though … I used to be confident. I used to live with passion. I used to be strong and totally kick-ass. I used to have plans. I used to believe I was awesome. I used to be fearless.

Used to.

But the last 18 months I’ve been holed up in a dank cell of fear.

Fear that anything I try with any heart will collapse in failure like my job did.

I mean, the only reason you lose your job is because you’re not good enough. You’re replaceable. Someone can do it better. You failed.

I failed.

My biggest fear realized.

Seriously.

When I lost my job, the “boss” (intentional use of quotation marks) who did it stripped me not just of my position but of my fight, of my confidence, of my belief that I was someone with purpose, doing purposeful things with greatness.

I lost, so much that day.

And in the aftermath, I haven’t moved. At least not intentionally anyway.

Yes, I’ve tried this and I’ve tried that. I’ve done this and I’ve done that. And I have loved so many of the things I’ve done. I have. I also feel so blessed, please know, for the opportunities God has given me–signs, in a sense, that I do still have talent and creativity and greatness and ability.

But I’ve lacked any and all passion.

And pouring passion is what I fear.

I’ll have a Coke on the rocks with a twist of timidity, pleaseandthankyouverymuch.

Staying wrapped up in a cocoon of non-deliberate living means living a life of minimal risk, minimal hurt, and minimal loss.

Now don’t go all “advice-y” on me. I know that I don’t want that kind of life, or rather, this kind of life forever.

Passion is what I want.

For now though,

I’m still licking my wounds.

And just knowing why I’m cowering is enough for me right now.

Enter title here

Posted on May 16, 2011 by Krista

I made my bed and made a list.

Of all the things I ought to do today.

But all I really wanted to do was go to a movie.

And so I swept up my hair and swathed my lips in red. Bright red. The red that perpetually sits at the bottom of my bag because I’m too timid to actually wear it in public. But not today.

Today, I erased the list and went to a matinee instead.

Today, I needed romance.

Today, I needed red lips and red shoes.

And pretty earrings.

My new gold rosebloom earrings to be exact, thrifted from a secondhand store. Clip-ons from decades past.

When I bought them I couldn’t help but wonder about her. The woman who’d owned them first, I mean.

Who was she?

Where had she worn them?

Perhaps to the cinema? Perhaps on a date?

Perhaps.

“One ticket for the 10:50 show please.”

There I sat, in the pitch of an aging theater.

I laughed some. And I cried some.

(It seems that’s what romance does to me.)

I ate an overpriced bag of popcorn and chased it with a bottle of cherry-Coke.

Wearing bright red lips and shiny red shoes and pretty gold earrings clipped to the lobes of my freckled ears.

Empty seats all around.

Tutorial: Spring Wreath (as featured on Good Things Utah)

Posted on May 12, 2011 by Krista

Oh good morning! And welcome to any new readers who found me via Good Things. If this is your first time here, I’m Krista and I’m a photographer, writer, sometimes publicist, occasional manager of indie artists, creative junkie, hopeful romantic, and lover of good seafood. The order of those titles changes depending on the day, but feel free to browse around, read a bit, and stay awhile, won’t you? :)

Oh, and the RSS feed for these posts is here, the mailing list is over there on the right, and I’m also on Facebook here. I’d love to be friends.

So when I left for Idaho last week (to manage a couple concerts for singer-songwriter Mindy Gledhill) Utah was cold and gray. But when I came back, everything was green. The formerly brown mountains looked like they belonged in Ireland. Okay, maybe not Ireland (wishful thinking) but you know what I’m saying. The lifeless, spindly trees that I’d watched disappear in my rear-view had, within a matter of four days, sprouted blossoms and leaves. Green leaves! Spring sprang and what a welcome sight it was.

And so it feels only appropriate that I share a happy, flowery, colorful craft with you today. Que the Spring Wreath. Here’s how you can make your own:

Supplies: 1 14″ straw wreath . 5 strips (3 to 4″ wide, 45″ long) of colorful fabric . super moss . 2 crocheted doilies . embellishments (birds, flowers, lace, ribbons, etc.) . hot glue gun . scissors

Steps:

1. Wrap the fabric strips around the wreath, securing with hot glue.

2. Hot glue one doily to the wreath.

3. Hot glue the moss to the wreath, overlapping the doily.

4. Hot glue the 2nd doily, overlapping the moss.

5. Add embellishments. I used singed fabric flowers (see my tutorial here), a craft bird and pink lace tied in a bow. You could also use butterflies, rolled fabric rosettes (see my tutorial here), beads, buttons, pearls, or ribbon. There’s no right or wrong way to embellish.

6. Tie a ribbon to the top and hang.

All done! Seriously easy craft.

**For an added measure of fun if you have children … add a small gift box to the wreath. Doll it up with ribbon and lace and leave presents inside for your kids “from” the fairies and gnomes that live in your garden. Just little things like gemstones or shells or pebbles or butterfly wings. The kids will be so excited to see what surprises await. Heck! I kind of want to leave mySELF presents from the fairies!

Have fun! I hope you take some time to be creative today.

p.s. in honor of the sunny warmth we’re enjoying here today please enjoy one of my favorite songs:

Lori

Posted on May 11, 2011 by Krista

(with her first grandchild)

Her birthday last month was hardly celebrated due to the fact that it fell during Kaycie’s graduation week. And Mother’s Day happened while I was on the road last weekend.

It seems, doesn’t it, that Mothers are so often overlooked.

They’re just always there.

Add to that the tug-of-war between apron strings and adulthood, and you sometimes get a tightrope-wire of a relationship that all too often I find myself falling off of.

But I was thinking yesterday.

And I am so very grateful for a mother who loves.

And even though the love has, at times, been hard to hold as I’ve staked my independence through the years, to consider the alternative is unfathomable.

My mom.

She loves until it seems as though there ought to be nothing left.

And then she loves some more.

Roadtrippin’ with Mindy Gledhill: Our Southern Idaho Tour

Posted on May 9, 2011 by Krista

There are some people in my life that I would do just about anything for. Mindy is one of those people. So when she called last week and said, “can you?!” I said, “most definitely!” It was only two days away, but I’d move hell and high water (or is it hill and high water? I never know.) to road-trip it with MG. And though I’m constantly reminded of my un-cool-ness when I’m with her (She really is so much cooler than me. I mean hello. I still use the word “cool”.), she makes me laugh and feel creative and I find my dreams growing wings just from being around her. I feel so lucky that I can call her friend.

I went as “manager,” which means I was the go-to for publicity, set up, travel & lodging, venue contacts, all tour/show related questions/needs, etc. and just generally kept things running smoothly. The key to being a good manager/publicist? Think ahead. Imagine every possible scenario for how things will go (good and bad) and have solutions at the ready for all of them. And then everyone will love you. And everyone will be happy.

So the tour started off in Rexburg, Idaho in the Kirkham Auditorium which we totally sold out the day before the concert. Hello 1,000 screaming fans and a standby line that wrapped around the building! Awesome–is an understatement.

I’ve been with Mindy since she debuted her first album seven years ago. I’ve seen her shows; I’ve seen the audiences. And I can say, unequivocally, that this was my favorite show ever. The band rocked. Mindy rocked. And the crowd–mm hm–rocked. Oh and the orchestra! Did I leave out that detail? Yes. Mindy and her band were backed by the fantastic Teton Chamber Orchestra. And they too–you guessed it–rocked. I mean … as much as an orchestra can “rock.”

It is so fulfilling to help make a live show (that I also happen to personally love and adore) come together and then have an audience come to it that boomerangs the energy pouring off the stage right back up up there. And I’ve said this before, but Mindy’s music makes me so happy. Like I’m dancing on clouds. It was such a fun night.

Guitarist, Joe Corcoran, was incredible–what a talented musician. I was in awe. He was the guitarist who actually recorded on the album and came up from LA to play these shows.

Andrew Burton was on bass and might just be one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Not to mention a fantastic bassist.

And Jay Tibbitts, our drummer, is, to quote myself “one of the best drummers I’ve seen in a long time.” And, as I’m sure you can see in the pictures below, he’s absolutely darling. If he were like, oh, ten years older, I might’ve gotten a wicked crush on him this weekend. But as it stands, I think I’ll just be the president of his fan club. (He’s also the drummer for Parlor Hawk–another band definitely worth checking out.)