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My dog passed away a few months ago. This is why my blog and Instagram posts have been absent. I haven’t really had the heart to generate anything from the many things my mind has been circulating. My time and attention have been tied up tending to the daily necessities of life and tending to the pain of loss. The journey of grief is different for everyone, and different every time we move through it. This time, I’ve become more reclusive and internal, and I’m okay with that.

When my heart breaks and I can no longer bear the pain of the world, I go and stand among the trees— their upright strength rooting my faltering faith. On that holy ground, I feel the press of ancient air, always here, circulating, breathing me through time, selflessly sustaining me and innumerable others, letting me know I am safely held. When my heart breaks and I can no longer bear the pain of the world, I walk to the water’s edge to listen to its roaring rhythm that washe

I’ve been thinking lately about linear things—especially now, in January, when our calendar turns over to a new year and the cycle of counting days, months, and years begins again. We humans seem to like measuring things. We mark time, anniversaries, holidays, property—the list is endless, really. There’s a kind of dependability and efficiency in this straightforward way of marking our lives. And yet, there’s also a sense of certainty and possession that can come with this ki

There are seasons in life when we find ourselves at a threshold—when we can’t clearly see the path ahead yet feel an inner nudge urging us to explore new terrain. These transitions can be both exciting and a little intimidating. This blog, In The Open Field, is such a threshold for me. Although I’ve always had a writing practice, I have never written a blog before. And honestly, there is a part of me that feels some trepidation about it all. But then I remember that growth re