Do you know the band Elephant Revival? I was introduced to them last summer in the Breitenbush kitchen and have been thoroughly obsessed with them ever since.

And then this winter, while I was in the swampy depths of heartache–both for the painful way a lover and a friend treated me and the way I treated a friend–I heard these words: “Let the fires burn tonight, let the jugs of wine get drunk. Let the truth be known tonight, don’t go let yourself hide….”

Those words became a prayer I haven’t stopped singing since. So now I’m going to evangelize and share the love with you. Check out one of Elephant Revival’s live recording of Sing to the Mountain here. And then keep listening to the whole damn set. They’re so good.

And if you can play the guitar at least as mediocrely as me, you can use the chords I wrote…

I am going through an accelerated period of growth. And it’s as expansive as it is awful.

My body never grew quickly as a kid, so I have no idea what growing pains feel like to the bones of people who’ve actually gotten more than five feet off the ground, but the kind of growing pains I’m experiencing feel like a ride through a washing machine—fast, wild, out of control, yet impeccably timed and cleansing all at once.

I’ve lived a pretty self-monitored, self-controlled, goody-goody life for the past 38 years. But recently I made a big, hurtful mistake. I fucked up in a way I’ve never fucked up before and hurt someone very dear to me in the process. And it suuuuuucks.

It sucks knowing that I made a hurtful choice that cannot be undone. I hate it.

And yet, this is what is. I made a bad choice. I hurt someone I love…

For years, I thought that being in love was the exclusive domain of two individuals who had pink hearts shooting out of their eyes at each other. Two parallel, yet one-way, vectors. And if I didn’t have a lover, then I didn’t get to be in love. Wah.

Screw that! Once again, I am lover-free. And I refuse to wait until I have one to experience being in love. 

So, instead of grasping for love by reaching for the affections of someone else, I’ve been thinking about love as something that surrounds me and is available to me at any moment in time, should I choose to be in it.

I like to think of love as a substance–something contained in the “empty” space within every atom, in the wind that brushes my cheek every time this cafe door gets opened, in the smell of coffee wafting over from the espresso machine. This sip of coffee is…

This week, I’m living in a trailer. A super snazzy trailer at the Sou’Wester Lodge and Trailer Park on the Washington coast. They give discounted rates to artists for short residencies, so here I am! [You should check it out too… it’s awesome.]

Of course I had all kinds of grand visions about finally writing all the stories that have been accumulating in the backlog of my brain; procuring invitations to teach creative writing and mindfulness workshops at schools and organizations all over the country; and creating a clear and crisp timeline for manifesting all my goals for the week, month, year, and life.

I have an evening and a morning left, but the truth is that I have done a lot more walking than writing. Partially because I lose track of time and accidentally walk much farther than I intend, and partially because my creative mind depends on it. I don’t know why this feels…