begin. again. and again.

oh boy.

oh boy.  oh boy.

twelve months have almost passed since i last wrote.

twelve months.

these past months i have done many things other than write.  many things.  lots of dishes.  laundry.  vacuuming.  (what a weird word that is.)  i have done lots of crying and lots of healing.  thanks to plant spirit medicine i have shed some of what i do not need.  i have experienced lots of loving.  i have watched my children continue to grow.  boom.  my oldest daughter has bigger feet than me.  boom.  both my children are in school all day.

i have experienced a lot of kissing these last twelve months.   more kissing than vacuuming.  which means there was a lot a lot of kissing going on (cause i really like vacuuming).  lots of exquisite kissing.  i have thought that maybe i should just post two pairs of lips touching so you would know where i was.  but really that wouldn’t have done justice to the complexity of my  year (or my days).  you might think it was all roses.  or dahlias.  or cosmos.  or green juice.  or striped yoga pants.  or you might think that i was only having the most incredible orgasms i have ever had.  (i think i will write a whole post about that soon!)  you might even think my year was spent lying on a beach in a bikini.  but that just wouldn’t be true.

this year has been about beginning again.  which is another way of saying that i have been learning to trust.  i have been letting a man love me.  sometimes this has been so easy and sometimes it has been so damn hard.  i have been letting myself really love him.  this too has been both sweet and simple and excruciating.  beginning again is another way of saying that i’m teaching my heart to become un-broken.  or maybe i’m not the teacher here.  perhaps the plant spirits, my children, and my new partner are my great teachers.

perhaps i am “writing” a new story.  my love story.  and maybe i don’t need to write it alone.  maybe i’m learning that we write together.  or as my partner might say:  “what are we going to dream into being?”  what are we going to co-create?

i’m not sure what has stopped me from writing here.  if i have time to scroll facebook….. i have time to write.

i decided to begin again.  right now.  i am grateful that i can.

can you almost see me press the publish button?  just after you watch me spell check!

and after i find that photo i wanted to show you!

P1020035love and new beginnings chantalle xo


all these days without you

when i was in university i would wander through new and used bookstores.  they filled me with awe, and hopelessness.  i would trail my eyes across the spines of books lining shelves; books stacked on floors, books propped in windows.  there were so fucking many.  so fucking many.  how could i add to that i wondered?  should i even try? 

DSC_0002before having children i spent lots of time reading novels.  i liked to line my own shelves with them.  i would make satisfying piles by my bed.  they were both comforting and distressing.  at university i studied english with a capital E.   i read so much.  and wrote about what i read.  but what i really wanted was to write a novel myself.

so before having children i braved the beginning of a novel.  i didn’t even know then that i would have children.  i spent years writing and researching.  i spent hours avoiding writing (maybe more like months!).  hours reading my own words aloud.  i spent days and days and days struggling and muscleing with words.  and then i stopped.  i got pregnant and stopped.  i piled the pages in boxes with lids.  i slid the boxes onto my shelf.  for years my words rested beside the words of my favorite authors.  somehow that was enough.  i made it be.

i will be forty in may.  most of the books i read these days are about horses; i read them aloud at night to my children.  i am fueling their fire, i know, but i don’t mind.  i am rather drawn to horses myself.  sometimes, just sometimes, i read just for me.  and when i do i am still equally overwhelmed and inspired.

i took the two small boxes filled with the beginnings of my manuscript and hid them under my desk.  they have been there for over a year now.  i don’t usually open them.  and only a few people have peeked inside.  i am not sure what will happen with this story.  for now i am not ready to begin it again.  maybe it is not ready for me.  i am not sure.

but something fresh is beginning.

DSC_0018i have been holding this dream and this fear of story writing for over 20 years.  i am choosing to breathe both into this dream and into the fear.  i have opened a new word document; and i am beginning again.

i haven’t written a blog post since november.  since my trip to the ocean.  since the winter took me into hibernation.   it is now nearing the end of march.  things are just hinting at thaw.  the feelings i often have in bookstores, the worry that there are too many stories and not enough room for me, explode when i go online.  there are so fucking many blogs, and articles, and videos, and facebook posts.  so much sharing.  so many wonderful things.  and so much nonsense.  sometimes in the midst of all these words i want to hide away.  sometimes i want everyone to simply shut the fuck up.

i suppose this is the balance i seek.  times of quiet.  and times of sharing.  the stories i tell myself and the stories i tell you.  maybe there are never enough stories?  maybe there is room for them all? 

and surely i need to spend more time with my new word document then on facebook!!!!