I turned 40 last November. The halfway mark of me. I’ve learned a lot in those years. I’ve learned to function with depression. I’ve learned how to work hard. How to build a life. To watch it fall apart. To start building it back again and again. I've learned what I can live without. I've learned to be resilient. That I can survive most things. I've learned how to cope with the hard things my own head throws at me. I've learned how to make it through the day, but I haven't yet learned to love it. I haven't yet learned to be here. Sometimes 'here' is the most difficult place to be. It's where the hurt lives. Where the struggle presses in. But, there are glimpses of something better, in books, in art, in music, in creativity, in coffee. Maybe it's not the same thing as loving everyday or being fully 'here', but some days it's enough to start with...
Duane, I can't say enough how moved I am by your comment, and how humbled I am that you took the time and felt enough trust in this space to share it with us. I'm especially struck by what you said about how sometimes "here" is the hardest place to be -- you're exactly right, and I'm really grateful to you for bringing that into the conversation. I could say so much more, but what I most want to say today is thank you. Thank you for the poetry and poignancy of these thoughts 🙏🙏
I can't thank you enough for the beautiful and earnest pieces you craft and share with us. When you give with such honesty and openness I can't help but reciprocate. I'm grateful for your work, the space it makes, and the inspiration it creates. Thank you.
Marvellous piece. I am thinking about my own life right now. It seems to have been swamped by struggles, disappointments, nasty surprises, frustrations, and grief, of late. But underlying all of that, I have maintained a little ember of love for who I am, despite all of this chaos. I surprise myself that the little island inside my heart stays calm, like you in your chair by the fire. I am in love with myself, and these trials keep proving that my love is strong. It’s important to recognize and accept that, ultimately, we need to be here for ourselves. I toast you with my mug of coffee--three sugars, just the way I love it.
Jill, your comments these past few weeks have resonated with me in such a big way, but this one most of all -- wow. What beautiful and poignant words. I love what you wrote about maintaining a "little ember of love" for who you are, and the realization that we need to be here for ourselves. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and story with us 🤍🙏
Geez Candace- crying right along with you at the end there 😭gah, amidst the chaos of this move with every room in shambles right now, wading through boxes, I feel what you said so much. We’ve been trying to take our morning coffee or tea on the front porch and soak in these moments here while we can. Thanks for this!
Jen, I so wish I could come over this week, bearing chai lattes and cinnamon rolls to keep you fueled through the chaos :) But since I can't be there, I'm so happy this story resonated with you and the huge transition you're journeying through right now. Thinking of you and Mat as you each make your way to Denver! 🤍
Beautiful! The yurt sounds like the perfect writing retreat, something I could use right now. But, alas I will have to settle for a hot beverage for today. I'm so happy to have found your newsletter!
Yes! This spring officially marks ten years since I lived in the yurt, and it continues to be one of my favorite places I've gotten to work and create. I'll be hoping you can carve out some little moments of inspiration and retreat in your days this week -- I know I'm trying to do the same :)
Candace, this lovely essay is so well-timed for me. Home is Here - this means a great deal to me right now. (I was listening to your sleep story about the yurt very recently! Beautiful! What a magical place.)
"Home is here." Sandra, in just three words, I love that you encapsulated one of the biggest revelations I came to in this story :) Thank you for putting that so beautifully, and I'm so glad to hear it resonates with where you're at on your own journey right now 🙏🤍
Thank you so much for your beautiful words and illustrations, Candace. You’ve hit on something I’ve been feeling for a while but I couldn’t articulate it!
In 2016, I moved to southern BC, Canada (I’ve been to the island in your story, it is lovely indeed😊) and I’ve spent these intervening years wondering when I’ll feel settled, and seeking it outside of myself. It’s only been in the last 3-4 years that I finally understand - home is only partially external, it’s also an internal experience. I’m finally feeling like I’m finding home within myself and that helps me feel settled, wherever I am.
Thank you for helping put words and images to this! 🗺️🩵
Wonderful, Candace. I love the focus on the details. 23 steps, you'd even noticed and recorded that. You're the laureate of the poetry of simple things.
I’m in the middle of preparing for a long trek that will take at least five months. As I get my mind right, I search for answers to three fundamental questions that Candace’s essay spotlighted for me:
1) How is it a person of my advanced age can entertain the idea of a 2650 mile walk? Shouldn’t this kind of fool’s errand be well back in my rear view mirror after decades and millions of miles of journeys to almost a hundred countries? Shouldn’t I be more concerned with finding a good memory care home for myself, ensure I include adequate fiber in my diet, or keep my medical directives up to date? My answer: to hell with all that, because in the end, one must follow one’s heart, whether it’s to a Scandi yurt by a pristine lake or another filth encrusted night along some predator-ravaged trail, until that old heart stops beating altogether. Rage, rage against the dying of the light; crash at Mach 2 into a mountainside side with your hair on fire at the coming of the night.
2) A couple of Sundays ago, I slid my jeep over the edge of a 500’ escarpment that ended in a river. I did not end in the river, because of a lone tree, after I sheared off two trees early on in the plunge, that prevented me from dropping the last near vertical 200’ into the river. The car was wrapped around the tree and crushed the roof except where I was sitting. I escaped without a single cut or bruise. I believe this gives me absolute moral authority to answer question 1 as I did, but also without any trace of guilt. My decision to take a wild walk from Mexico to Canada is the best possible response to my missed appointment with the grim reaper.
3) So having abundantly established my moral justification for the trek, there is one remaining question for which I do not yet have an adequate answer and for what is probably the most important question of all. Must I spend my many months on the trail waking up every morning to the dreary routine of another cup of Nescafé? Sure, there was a time in my life when a cup of Nescafé in the morning was the one good thing those days would bring. But must I settle for that at this time of my life? What other options are there? How do I undertake those options when any extra weight on my feet must bring commensurate psychic rewards? This is the question for which I do not have an answer.
Are there any good hearted souls out there who can provide this poor wanderer and Ishmaelite a solution to the to Nescafé or to not Nescafé question?
I loved this last story! Most times, I am struggling to just get through each day. To be present and mindful is awfully difficult. I try to still myself with creating something, lately knitting. To honor the process, but I see now that I need to just honor the moment. Thank you the lovely insight. ❤️
So fantastic to read about the filter coffee as I visit family in southern India. I’m a chai drinker, but nothing beats the combination of coffee brewing against the perfume of jasmine flowers. Thanks for these postcards, Candace!
Learning to love the moment you're living. That is the key. In the moment, one can find peace, joy, motivation, appreciation, love and connection and so much more. Right here. Right now. Available.
I turned 40 last November. The halfway mark of me. I’ve learned a lot in those years. I’ve learned to function with depression. I’ve learned how to work hard. How to build a life. To watch it fall apart. To start building it back again and again. I've learned what I can live without. I've learned to be resilient. That I can survive most things. I've learned how to cope with the hard things my own head throws at me. I've learned how to make it through the day, but I haven't yet learned to love it. I haven't yet learned to be here. Sometimes 'here' is the most difficult place to be. It's where the hurt lives. Where the struggle presses in. But, there are glimpses of something better, in books, in art, in music, in creativity, in coffee. Maybe it's not the same thing as loving everyday or being fully 'here', but some days it's enough to start with...
Duane, I can't say enough how moved I am by your comment, and how humbled I am that you took the time and felt enough trust in this space to share it with us. I'm especially struck by what you said about how sometimes "here" is the hardest place to be -- you're exactly right, and I'm really grateful to you for bringing that into the conversation. I could say so much more, but what I most want to say today is thank you. Thank you for the poetry and poignancy of these thoughts 🙏🙏
I can't thank you enough for the beautiful and earnest pieces you craft and share with us. When you give with such honesty and openness I can't help but reciprocate. I'm grateful for your work, the space it makes, and the inspiration it creates. Thank you.
Marvellous piece. I am thinking about my own life right now. It seems to have been swamped by struggles, disappointments, nasty surprises, frustrations, and grief, of late. But underlying all of that, I have maintained a little ember of love for who I am, despite all of this chaos. I surprise myself that the little island inside my heart stays calm, like you in your chair by the fire. I am in love with myself, and these trials keep proving that my love is strong. It’s important to recognize and accept that, ultimately, we need to be here for ourselves. I toast you with my mug of coffee--three sugars, just the way I love it.
Jill, your comments these past few weeks have resonated with me in such a big way, but this one most of all -- wow. What beautiful and poignant words. I love what you wrote about maintaining a "little ember of love" for who you are, and the realization that we need to be here for ourselves. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and story with us 🤍🙏
That beautiful epipany - Here! How lovely to achieve it at such a young age.
I'm so glad to hear this resonated with you, Sue -- thank you for reading! 🤍
I love these journals so much. I click the second your post pops into my inbox. 💚
Thank you so much, Rebecca! That made my day to hear 🤍✨
Geez Candace- crying right along with you at the end there 😭gah, amidst the chaos of this move with every room in shambles right now, wading through boxes, I feel what you said so much. We’ve been trying to take our morning coffee or tea on the front porch and soak in these moments here while we can. Thanks for this!
Jen, I so wish I could come over this week, bearing chai lattes and cinnamon rolls to keep you fueled through the chaos :) But since I can't be there, I'm so happy this story resonated with you and the huge transition you're journeying through right now. Thinking of you and Mat as you each make your way to Denver! 🤍
Beautiful! The yurt sounds like the perfect writing retreat, something I could use right now. But, alas I will have to settle for a hot beverage for today. I'm so happy to have found your newsletter!
Yes! This spring officially marks ten years since I lived in the yurt, and it continues to be one of my favorite places I've gotten to work and create. I'll be hoping you can carve out some little moments of inspiration and retreat in your days this week -- I know I'm trying to do the same :)
Candace, this lovely essay is so well-timed for me. Home is Here - this means a great deal to me right now. (I was listening to your sleep story about the yurt very recently! Beautiful! What a magical place.)
"Home is here." Sandra, in just three words, I love that you encapsulated one of the biggest revelations I came to in this story :) Thank you for putting that so beautifully, and I'm so glad to hear it resonates with where you're at on your own journey right now 🙏🤍
Hi, I'm from Tamil Nadu. Glad you visited the place and tasted its flavor and hope you liked it.
Love that last line - learning to love HERE. That is really everything ❤️
Thank you so much for your beautiful words and illustrations, Candace. You’ve hit on something I’ve been feeling for a while but I couldn’t articulate it!
In 2016, I moved to southern BC, Canada (I’ve been to the island in your story, it is lovely indeed😊) and I’ve spent these intervening years wondering when I’ll feel settled, and seeking it outside of myself. It’s only been in the last 3-4 years that I finally understand - home is only partially external, it’s also an internal experience. I’m finally feeling like I’m finding home within myself and that helps me feel settled, wherever I am.
Thank you for helping put words and images to this! 🗺️🩵
Wonderful, Candace. I love the focus on the details. 23 steps, you'd even noticed and recorded that. You're the laureate of the poetry of simple things.
I’m in the middle of preparing for a long trek that will take at least five months. As I get my mind right, I search for answers to three fundamental questions that Candace’s essay spotlighted for me:
1) How is it a person of my advanced age can entertain the idea of a 2650 mile walk? Shouldn’t this kind of fool’s errand be well back in my rear view mirror after decades and millions of miles of journeys to almost a hundred countries? Shouldn’t I be more concerned with finding a good memory care home for myself, ensure I include adequate fiber in my diet, or keep my medical directives up to date? My answer: to hell with all that, because in the end, one must follow one’s heart, whether it’s to a Scandi yurt by a pristine lake or another filth encrusted night along some predator-ravaged trail, until that old heart stops beating altogether. Rage, rage against the dying of the light; crash at Mach 2 into a mountainside side with your hair on fire at the coming of the night.
2) A couple of Sundays ago, I slid my jeep over the edge of a 500’ escarpment that ended in a river. I did not end in the river, because of a lone tree, after I sheared off two trees early on in the plunge, that prevented me from dropping the last near vertical 200’ into the river. The car was wrapped around the tree and crushed the roof except where I was sitting. I escaped without a single cut or bruise. I believe this gives me absolute moral authority to answer question 1 as I did, but also without any trace of guilt. My decision to take a wild walk from Mexico to Canada is the best possible response to my missed appointment with the grim reaper.
3) So having abundantly established my moral justification for the trek, there is one remaining question for which I do not yet have an adequate answer and for what is probably the most important question of all. Must I spend my many months on the trail waking up every morning to the dreary routine of another cup of Nescafé? Sure, there was a time in my life when a cup of Nescafé in the morning was the one good thing those days would bring. But must I settle for that at this time of my life? What other options are there? How do I undertake those options when any extra weight on my feet must bring commensurate psychic rewards? This is the question for which I do not have an answer.
Are there any good hearted souls out there who can provide this poor wanderer and Ishmaelite a solution to the to Nescafé or to not Nescafé question?
I loved this last story! Most times, I am struggling to just get through each day. To be present and mindful is awfully difficult. I try to still myself with creating something, lately knitting. To honor the process, but I see now that I need to just honor the moment. Thank you the lovely insight. ❤️
So fantastic to read about the filter coffee as I visit family in southern India. I’m a chai drinker, but nothing beats the combination of coffee brewing against the perfume of jasmine flowers. Thanks for these postcards, Candace!
I drank my fill of truth from Jean Giraud.
Now you too fill that place...the texture of the paper,
and pull of water.
The endless rolling color.
Perfeecto!
I have eaten too poorly.
Thank you.
~
* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airtight_Garage
Learning to love the moment you're living. That is the key. In the moment, one can find peace, joy, motivation, appreciation, love and connection and so much more. Right here. Right now. Available.