Only just begun.

a song to set the scene // my church by maren morris

I wept when the plane took off from the plains.

Big silent tears made their way down my cheeks as we made our way up into the sky.

Goodbyes are never easy. Goodbyes are never fun.

Even now, still, as I sit at my keyboard weeks after coming home, I struggle with finding the right words to say. I’m grappling to articulate just how fulfilling this particular trip was, and how damn difficult it’s been adjusting back to… regular life.

From the moment we touched down in Anchorage, to the minute I turned my phone back on, I was greeted with the harsh reality of what I left behind.

Work drama, anxiety, deepening depression, and the brittle Alaskan cold were just a few of the things that flooded me upon landing.

My vacation was officially over and I was coming down from that high.

As the woes of my day to day manifested themselves back into my daily routine, I fought with adapting back to what it was before.

I was plagued with post-vacation melancholy, and I avoided writing about my trip because I didn’t know how. In the state I was in, how could I write about a time in which I felt so happy, so young, so full and satiated?

So I thought back to my trip, and why this specific vacation made such an impact on me.

Was it the Black Hills themselves? I mean, it is a very spiritual place.

Was it the fact that I was work-free for a week? Definitely had something to do with it.

Could it have been perhaps due to all the shopping, dining, and drinking that was done? There’s some influence there.

But I think what really made this trip so meaningful was the company.

For the first time in forever (yes, I am 100% quoting Frozen), we traveled to a place I call my second home as a full family, significant others and all.

It was a first of firsts, and it struck something deep within.

I had never felt so close to my siblings, bonding over beer during late night couch sessions. I had never seen my brother light up as much as he did, or laugh so hard playing the game What Do You Meme.

I had never felt so much appreciation for my dad when he made us all put our phones in a pile for a family meal so we could really be there, in the present.

I feel like I really got to know my grandma, and every time we were over at her house, all I wanted was to know more: about her, her family, our history.

I was unencumbered with worry, and life in Alaska felt distant and dark compared to this Wild West.

So what was I really missing here, sitting at my keyboard, depressed as hell? If the company I enjoyed so much was back with me in Alaska right now, in a radius of less than fifteen miles, then do I even need to be somewhere else in order to feel happy, young, full and satiated?

When one travels, one experiences diversity and variety. Exposure to new places, faces, and encounters changes us, and we grow. We’re not the same people when we come home. Sooooo how are we expected to fall back into the same pattern, the same routine when we are inherently not the same as we were before?

I’m discovering that those feelings of happiness and satisfaction I felt on my trip (in part hugely due to my family) are within reach, here, in Alaska. I just need to incorporate and adapt to what I experienced in the Black Hills back into my life here at home.

This trip inspired me, there is no question about that. But the vacation didn’t end when that plane took off from the plains. If anything, my journey had just begun.

Sunflower.

a song to set the scene // found by michael giacchino

It was the sunflower that stopped me in my tracks.

First of all: what is a sunflower doing growing out from the side of my house? I don’t remember planting sunflowers.

And then I looked up: at the bird feeder where many of my flying friends liked to litter, yes, sunflower seeds.

I mean we’re in September here.

How did such a pretty plant grow before my very eyes without so much as an acknowledgement of her existence?

And though slug ridden and dirty with lint from the dryer vent, there she bloomed, despite it all.

It’s time to write. You need to write, my heart whispered when I saw her sunshine color.

Because somehow, and against all odds, there stood this representation of happiness, this embodiment of joy and strength, right outside of a home… struggling.

I was struggling.

On the heels of one lackluster “summer” (weather wise, that is), I’ve lately been saddled with holding some rather heavy weight.

It’s substantial, emotionally.

As someone close to me went through what I know all too well as the “low lows”, I struggled with finding my footing. I wanted to be supportive and caring, but I was also trepiditous with getting too involved in someone else’s battle.

Heavy is the heart of the empath, my gem often told me as I wept in his arms.

Heavy is right.

Stunningly though, something beautiful blossomed out of it.

I believed for the longest time that my sensitivity and depth of emotion was my weakness. People didn’t know how to “deal with me” when I was emotional, and so I was raised to believe that my intense feelings were bad, shameful, and uncomfortable for others.

But now, I understand and accept that being this “keeper of emotions” is actually my superpower.

And it was now what those around me needed.

Everyone was coming to me.

Fix this

Help them

Do something

I’m lost

This is draining me

Having been in that dark place before meant I had experience there, and it didn’t scare me. Chairs toppled over on the floor, thrown pillows, and talk of worthlessness and nobody caring was a mood I was all too familiar with. And so I opened my heart and offered what I knew they needed.

I gave them what I never got: love, care, support, empathy, even just a shoulder to cry on.

I was there, even to simply sit with them. Because I knew how it felt to have people run away from me when I got like that.

I’ve often gotten warned about getting too involved in the deeply messy and intricate personal parts of people’s lives. Whether it’s family, coworkers, friends, or employees, I’ve always been drawn to helping people, and I’ve found that there’s a way to be there for someone without taking on their burden as my own.

Heavy is the heart of the empath doesn’t mean that one’s heart is burdened or weighted with strictly bad things. “Heavy” to me is full and rich and overflowing with all emotions and experiences, good and bad.

It’s not a burden, but a blessing to courageously be with someone who is going through a rough time.

I was able to access that mascara smeared, fidgety kneed, anxious, depressed, and lost person in front of me because I am that mascara smeared, fidgety kneed, anxious, depressed, and lost person.

And so much more.

The day I saw that sunflower, was a rough day. I had been thinking to myself: here we go again.

But seeing that yellow blossom growing outside of my house in the middle of September goes to show that we too, can bloom, blossom, and grow, even in the harshest of environments.

Heavy is the heart of the empath.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.