Perception 

My daughter took this photo. She has my eyes.

Perception is a funny word.  I never really paid much attention to it.  I suppose I just figured that perception didn’t really matter.  There can only be one truth, and any deviation of it is just an opinion.  

Now I realize that perception is everything.  There are infinite truths.  Your entire life is just a collection of memories from your own perception.  All you know is just the download of information that you experience through your senses.  How do we know what the color red is?  It could be a completely different color in my eyes than it is in yours.  Our experience of perception is as unique as our fingerprint.  

Have you ever had an experience in life that felt like you were waking up from a dream?  Like, your perception bubble just implodes on itself and you are instantly transported to a completely different opinion about someone or something because your perception of them has changed?  Or maybe you just imagine that their perception of you has changed.  But that’s really just your perception of their perception of you.  

Perception is all we’ve got.  And if we ever realize that our perception can be manipulated by our thoughts…we start to understand how incredibly important it is to have control of our thoughts.  And that’s why I believe that meditation will save the world.

I smoked a lot of weed tonight…the good stuff.  

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Breathe 


I gave up smoking two weeks ago.  I’m feeling very dramatic about it.  I have smoked for about twenty years.  It has been a very painful process to say goodbye.  

I have always known that cigarettes are deadly.  Curiosity and a need to rebel introduced me to smoking and I quickly fell in love with the way smoking made me feel.  Cigarettes were my mother, they soothed me.  They were my friend, they listened to me.  They were my constant companion for two decades.  Filling my lungs with smoke was a way for me to feel human, to be aware of my own expiration date.  

Smoking was like every guy I have ever walked away from.  I loved him.  But he was hurting me.   I didn’t want to, but I had to let him go.  I will mourn the loss of this habit for a while.  And then, just like everything else, I will move on from the grasp of it’s chains.  I will be free.  I just have to breathe through it.

Eclipse Trips


My daughters and I decided to drive 539 miles to see the eclipse in totality.  It was a trip that I really couldn’t afford, but I couldn’t really afford not to see it either.  

My girls and I make a point to go out and see every full moon.  It’s our thing.   When we were living with my ex boyfriend on the prairie, the full moon was our saving grace.  We would gather out under the willow tree and stare in amazement at the beautiful clear sky.  And we would talk.  It was beautiful.  You could see the Milky Way so clearly out there.  But the full moon in that setting was a sacred sight.  It became our little tradition and we have kept it up even now that we live amongst trees.  We just drive around the prairie to see it.  This tradition is what I named this blog after.  Our ‘little moon talks’ were one of a few good things that came from the experience of moving my kids into a man’s home who had no intention of loving us or being a part of our family.  Ironically, my little family grew a lot closer because of that experience.  Those talks were the needle and thread, that stitched together the fabric of our bond.  

So this once in a lifetime eclipse was non-negotiable.  We had to see it in all of it’s glory.  On Sunday afternoon, we got in the car and started driving south.  It’s kind of scary to venture out on a big road trip as a single mom.  I grew up with a very safety conscious dad who used terrorism as a means to educate me about the world.  So my mind was repeatedly going through every possible disaster as I drove my old crappy car down the highway.

I had booked a hotel in a small town just a few hours from the eclipse destination.  I had googled the town and it looked adorable from the pictures.  We had our swimsuits packed and ready because this Southern Indiana hotel offered such amenities as an outdoor pool and continental breakfast!  It was a name brand hotel, so I figured we were safe.  Besides…I saw some pictures online and it looked cute! 

When we arrived to the hotel, a twelve year old boy took my credit card payment and advised that our room was around the corner from the office.  We drove around the building and my heart dropped.  The pool was full of trees.  Of the two cars in the parking lot, one of them was covered with bungee cords, duct tape, and spray paint.  I had the terrifying feeling that we would end up much the same way had we actually stayed there.  There were sketchy people inside one of the rooms, peaking out from the curtain, probably sizing up my children for human trafficking purposes.  We didn’t even go inside.  We went back to the office and asked for a refund, to which the twelve year old host acted as if he hands out refunds all day long.  I’m sure he does.  Unfortunately, he ended up charging my card again before issuing a double refund.

I panicked.  I was about 6 hours away from home.  I had very little money to work with, and the refund was going to take five days to process.  We drove around until we found another hotel that looked a little bit better from the outside.  When we walked in, an older gentleman with stained up sweatpants and a ripped up tshirt ignored us for a moment before looking up and offering a room for $68.00.  I didn’t see any other options, so we booked it.  This hotel smelled like burning garbage.  I’m not sure what a meth lab smells like, because I have never smelled one before, but I’m sure there were at least a few of them operating in that hotel.  We locked our door and I laid our own blankets on top of the bed.  I tried to remain calm, but inside I was panicking.  I couldn’t stand the smell, it was unlike anything I had ever smelled before.  

I posted my situation on Facebook, partly because I wanted people to know where we were in case we came up missing.  And partly because I thought my eight year old daughter nailed the situation when she said that hotel was straight out of the television show ‘My Name Is Earl.’  

I was ecstatic when my childhood best friend who I haven’t seen in more than a decade responded saying that she only lived 45 minutes from our hotel and to come over because she had spare bedrooms ready for us.  I had tears in my eyes from the relief I felt after hearing from her.  I didn’t even know she was living in Southern Indiana.  We gathered our belongings and b-lined out of that disgusting mess.  This time, a refund was refused.

It was surreal, arriving to my old friend’s house in the middle of the night.  Her house was beautiful and she had two safe, clean bedrooms ready for us.  I was so thankful.  I was also excited that my girls got to meet her.  The last time I saw her was at my baby shower when I was pregnant with my fourteen year old.  

In the morning, we headed out early.  We took all the back roads through rural Kentucky.  We drove through the mountains and down curvy roads that wound around through mountains and rivers.  We saw endless horse pastures and golden yellow tobacco fields and homes that should be in magazines.  We listened to good music and had conversations about the meaning behind their lyrics.  It was a glorious day.

When the eclipse came, we were in the parking lot of a high school in Bowling Green, Kentucky.  We had our glasses ready and spread a blanket out in the shade of some pine trees.  It was so cool to watch the sun disappear.  When the moon had covered the sun completely, and darkness fell into the daytime, and the birds went silent, and the crickets started chirping, I looked over at my girls.  They were smiling and enjoying the adventure of it all.  I thought for a moment about how far we had all come, not just in that crazy trip, but in life.  I got really emotional and started to cry.  I’m not sure what exactly I was releasing there in the big shadow hovering over Kentucky, but it felt good to let go.  And my girls got a good laugh at their sometimes overly sentimental mom who drove eight and a half hours to cry through the Great American Eclipse.  

The trip back took an extra four hours because of the heavy traffic.  My girls never argued.  I never had to yell at them.  They only ever complained about that hotel room, which was completely understandable.  

In the past couple of months, I’ve had certain people in my life question my abilities as a mom.  My own mother told me that driving to Kentucky was irresponsible of me.  My ex husband had tried to demand custody of my younger daughter, saying that he could do better than I do.  Sometimes I let these people get into my head.  But after taking this amazing trip with my girls, I really don’t care what anyone else thinks. Those little ladies are my family and I couldn’t ask for a better tribe.  We are complete and content, just as we are.  

Empath Love 


In my experience, people in general can be selfish and shitty, even if they do smell like roses. If you ever happen to catch my attention, you should know that I will hold on fiercely to every wicked thing about you. I will polish your dark side like fucking diamonds. I will rearrange the aesthetics of your very essence, pushing back your demons and pulling forward the pillars of light around your soul.  

And you will see yourself through my eyes, and for the first time, you will fall in love with the scenery of your own shadow.  But sadly, you will assume that my perception of you is only the result of my own ignorance, because deep down you believe that you are nothing more than shit. And even though I can only smell the sweet fragrance of roses inside of you, your focus will remain on the stench of everything you think you are hiding from me.  

And you should know that you can’t hide those hideous treasures from me. I have deep caves inside of myself that are darker than anything you could ever imagine. And that gives me the power now, doesn’t it? You will mistake my kindness for weakness. You will feel my graciousness and then believe that you are somehow entitled to it. You will think you have me on lockdown.  You will assume that I must be under your control because all you can feel is the warm light that I have painted you in.

But you can’t win a game that you aren’t familiar with. My eyes, and the way that they see you, are my own. You don’t own my focus, or my power. And as soon as you start to believe that you do, I will set a fire to the garden of roses that I had so graciously planted in your piles of manure. And I will walk away with one last picture of you, seeing you as nothing more than a pile of shit. Your delusion will become mine. And my delusion will fall into your precious little box of big regrets.  

If you ever learn to plant your own damn roses, I would love to stop by and smell them. 

The Captain Or The Carp


My friends and I have always compared dating to fishing. We considered ourselves the captains of our fishing boats, searching through vast waters of bars and websites and sporting goods stores, searching for that big catch. We’ve wondered if maybe there was something wrong with our equipment. We’ve blamed the weather, the water, and the boat for a low harvest. We have caught fish that left a bad taste in our mouths. We have caught fish who weren’t big enough. We have caught smelly bottom feeders and the coveted King Salmon and everything in between.  

Then I realized that I am the fucking fish. I keep biting on these damn catch and release lines. I keep getting reeled in, sometimes because I am hungry, and sometimes because that bait tastes so damn good. The thing about good bait though, is that it’s always tied to a hook. After being hooked a few times, I’ve learned to be more cautious with my lips.  

I’m torn between wanting a passionate love and a love that will last forever because it’s safe. In my experience, to find a love that is both magic and mundane, is even more rare than seeing a fucking narwhal.  

I have however, found magic inside of the mundane. I am very skilled at creating my own love stories out of relationships that consisted of everything but love. Sadly, those stories were never enough for me. When the fog cleared and reality rolled in, those stories left me drowning in disappointment.  

Maybe the key here is to search instead for the mundane inside of the magic. Perhaps catching that elusive fish who doesn’t want to be caught is the fish most worthy of catching. When he thrashes in the river, fighting for freedom, but incapable of ignoring my bait… that is the fish that captures my attention like no other. I need passion. I need to feel pulled in against my own will. But I also need to know that I have caught something good and trustworthy. Once again, I am transformed into the angler.  

And this is why I’m single. I need to be the fish and the fisherman. This is essentially a balance of power. I want the big fish, the smart fish, who has spent his life avoiding being caught. I also need to be the fish. I need to know that we both put up a fight, because that is the only way that I know how to tell when it’s real. When we want so badly to resist…when we both grow tired of tugging on the line…but neither one of us is capable of giving up…and then all at once, we both surrender. That is the only process I know of falling into something that is worthwhile.  Love is a war of the heart and I have nothing but respect for the battle.    

Today, I am a fish out of water.