When the controlling part of me dissolves.

My second e-book is out now!

This has to be one of my top five vision stories in my life thus far. It is the part where the grippy, controlling part of me dissolves - which has to be not only my fav part of this story but also, my life. If you follow me on the hellscape that is instagram (and yes I will link it, girl’s gotta eat), I did share a touch of it there when it happened in real-ish time. I add more depth and now share it in Chapter 4: How Do I Vision within my new (and out now!) e-book titled, Within Your Dreams: A Vision Experience.

If you are in a space of curiosity in what you want to do with your life, come on in and meet me on the digital pages to explore the practicality and whimsy of my second book all about crafting, feeling, designing, editing, grieving and becoming your future self, your vision. There is so much to consume out there and the distraction is real, I wrote this book as a portal to your own creativity so you actively design your vision (and not let someone or some platform do it for you).

I hope while reading this and the other chapters, it feels like sitting in a coffee shop with a friend who has had an extra cup and wants to connect deeper into what matters and perhaps she gets a little talk-y but it is how she shows love and support you to where you want to go.

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…Visions can appear in many different ways. You might envision an entire day, from the moment you wake up to the moment you close your eyes. You might step into a single room in a future home and feel around in the spaces you might not notice on a larger tour. You might see people. Perhaps outfits. Perhaps home decor.

I closed my eyes and saw a woman standing barefoot in front of her circle driveway, wearing ripped jeans. Her tousled hair was pulled back in a hair clip straight out of the 1980s—style always cycles back around. The jeans were loose-fitting, soft, and cut perfectly at the ankle.

When I opened my eyes, I loved so much of what I had seen. And I loved those jeans.

That entire year, I embarked on a quest to find the vision jeans. I would take six pairs of jeans into the dressing room, pull each one on, and immediately know—these are not it. Over and over. Store after store. I could not find them anywhere.

You cannot rush a vision, not even the outfit. So I gave up the search.

Four years later, life had reshaped itself. Another child. A cross-country move from Colorado to Maine. My body shifting almost yearly now. I unpacked all my jeans in our new home, stacking them neatly in drawers.

One morning at Summer’s end, I reached for my favorite pair and noticed a small hole in the right knee. Not one week later, a matching hole in the left.

I was constantly on the move, chasing three kids, kneeling to pick up the baby, bending, stretching, running. The holes grew and widened with time. One morning, I stood in front of the full-length mirror—smudged with tiny fingerprints—and saw something different.

The jeans no longer fit like they used to. The holes at the knees had loosened their shape. And after years of washing and wearing, the fabric had softened.

I turned to the side and gasped. Vision jeans!

These were my vision jeans. And I lived in a house with a circle driveway. And my hair—thanks to the ocean humidity—was a beautiful, tousled mess, most days.

I started to cry. Because I had spent years searching, forcing my body into jeans, trying to find this version of myself. And all along, the jeans had been in my closet.

Waiting.
Waiting to be stretched, softened, worn down, lived in.

Waiting to be ripped with the experience of being so damn alive in it all.

The jeans. I had them all along.

There they are.

And there she is.

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