i spent a few days in morocco last april.

i shared some photos with you, and told you a story about a little old man in a rumpled suit with two peacocks in his bicycle basket, but i haven’t really talked about my time there.

i didn’t tell you about all the beauty i experienced in morocco.

i didn’t tell you how we made friends with the boy who helped us find our hostel on the first night. he took us on a tour of the souks and i bought turquoise blue earrings from him for my sister.

or how we stumbled upon a beautiful oasis of a restaurant that fed our bodies and souls.

or how we made friends with the shopkeeper whose shop i fell into on the first night when a young boy thrust a fake snake at me and i jumped backward. we had a long chat with him that evening and then another one the next evening over delicious sweet tea – about languages and religion and berbers and parents and marrakech.

or how we moved into a single room in the hostel in honor of my birthday and it was two stories with a gorgeous blue bathroom.

or how i stood on a rooftop and looked at the atlas mountains and talked to a canadian political science major about my very own atlas far far away.

or how we made friends with the sweet elderly gentleman in the army green trench coat who sat just outside the alley that led to our hostel. every time we passed, he took out his headphones and we would chat. he told us about living in essaouira and hanging out with jimmy hendrix and bob dylan and before we left, he took us to see a shop with incredibly high ceilings and giant colorful rugs hanging everywhere.

or how i drank the most delicious orange juice ever.

or how the call to prayer with centuries of devotion behind it reverberated through the souks and echoed above the rooftops and filled my heart so full that i thought it might burst.

i didn’t know how to tell you about the beauty because there was a bit of disappointment in it.

i thought morocco would be a place where i would sit quietly and soak in the colors and patterns and inspiration, that it would be a place where i took the sort of photos that i return to again and again.

but then we arrived in marrakech – and were thrown into the chaotic tumultuous sea that is jamaa el fna, the main square – and i discovered that it was not a place where i could sit quietly and soak in inspiration.

it was busy and loud and overwhelming.

i pick up other people’s emotions and energy – and often forget that this is true – so busy and loud and overwhelming is hard for me.

some things take time to simmer, especially things that are hard and beautiful all at once.

i couldn’t write a post about the beauty because it didn’t feel complete. i care about honesty and vulnerability and it felt like i was deliberately leaving something out.

i didn’t want to tell you about my disappointment because i was so appreciative of my adventure and didn’t want to seem like i was complaining.

but i really want to say this: it’s ok to be disappointed.

it’s perfectly ok and perfectly normal to be disappointed if something doesn’t turn out the way that you expect.

even if that something is amazing and wonderful and there is something amazing and wonderful for you in the unexpected.

it’s only in acknowledging and feeling the disappointment that you make room for something else.

i didn’t realize i was disappointed until i returned home. when i explored why i didn’t want to write about my time there, i uncovered it.

when i acknowledged my disappointment and felt it, it left. in its place was a deep appreciation for the beauty and wonder that i experienced there.

i expected one kind of beauty in morocco. what i got was another.

morocco is my reminder that a thing can hold both disappointment and enchantment, joy and overwhelm in it.

morocco is my reminder that sometimes you have to give up how you think a thing will look in order to receive something even greater.

morocco did inspire me, but in a way that was chaotic and messy and unexpected.

it cracked me open and chewed me up and spit out all the pieces.

i have not been the same since.

For one thing, it hasn’t happened yet.

For another, it doesn’t involve travel.

But it is the story of a fearful adventure.

One of the many ideas that takes up space in my head is a photo series. The working title is “Dear Atlas, I’m sorry I loved William Wegman”. My vision involves a series of photos of people and weimaraners in which the people are beautifully and creatively costumed and the weimaraners are beautifully and simply themselves.

If you’ve been around for a while, you probably know that the idea was inspired by my love for William Wegman’s photos as well as by my dear Atlas and his extreme distaste for anything resembling a costume, like hats or antlers or twinkly lights.

My vision is clear. I know just the right photographer to bring the idea to life. My sense is that the idea itself is fun and creative and clever and has a great deal of potential.

And yet I have not done anything with the idea at all.

I tell myself that I’m not doing anything with it because the time isn’t right, because I have more important things to work on, because I’m not inspired.

In truth, it has nothing to do with any of that.

The real reason I am not working on the idea is fear: I am afraid to be the person I would have to become in order to execute it.

I like ideas that involve just me. This idea does not. I would want to find other people with weimaraners to participate. I would need to crowd-source the money. I would want to ask William Wegman for ideas.

I like ideas that are small and manageable. This idea is not. It involves other people and clever stubborn energetic weimaraners. I don’t know what the end result of my vision should be (a book? prints?) which is something I would need to know in order to decide on funding reward options.

I like being the one behind the camera, not the one in front of it, and I am not particularly fond of costumes.

In order to execute my idea, I would need to grow, to become bigger and better. I would need to become more visible. These are not bad things. But just because something is good for you doesn’t mean it’s not scary.

I am sharing this story of my as-yet-not-taken fearful adventure in order to hold myself accountable.

The idea is in honor of my beloved weimaraner Atlas. He is not getting any younger. I want to take action on it now, even if my actions are small and even if the idea grows and changes along the way.

I also know what can be gained by acting on things that both inspire and scare me. I left a great job to be an artist even though I was absolutely terrified; I still feel a little bit of fear every single day but my world is so much richer because of it. I hiked the Inca trail to Machu Picchu instead of taking the train even though I was absolutely terrified I was going to die of altitude sickness; when I reached Dead Woman’s Pass on the second day, I felt exhilarated, and I knew that I would doubt myself and my capabilities a little less in the future because of it.

Even though I am still afraid, I am ready for this idea to change my world too.

This post is part of the My Fearful Adventure series, which is celebrating the launch of Torre DeRoche’s debut book Love with a Chance of Drowning, a true adventure story about one girl’s leap into the deep end of her fears.

“Wow, what a book. Exciting. Dramatic. Honest. Torre DeRoche is an author to follow.” Australian Associated Press

“… a story about conquering the fears that keep you from living your dreams.” Nomadicmatt.com

“In her debut, DeRoche has penned such a beautiful, thrilling story you’ll have to remind yourself it’s not fiction.” Courier Mail

Find out more…

it is unfortunate but true that marketing and selling are often perceived as evil, even if a necessary evil, particularly by people who are trying to make their living in a heart-centered way.

i don’t think of them as evil, but i do have trouble with them.

i care about you. i care about taking actions that come from a place of alignment and integrity (which has everything to do with how i feel about something and nothing to do with its actual or perceived wrongness or rightness). i care about creating an online space that feels calm and nourishing.

because of this, i have a hard time talking about what i offer, except in a very off-handed way.

i’ve said before that beauty is my touchstone. what is really behind that is a love for the world that sometimes feels like it will consume me and a deep desire to be of service.

i was thinking about this today when my brain went and rearranged itself on me.

it’s possible i’ve gotten this all wrong.

i am beginning to see that i need to really talk about the things that i offer in order to be of service. nothing i create does anyone any good if the people who will resonate with it and benefit from it don’t know about it or can’t find it.

i am beginning to see that one of the ways i can bring more love into the world is to talk about what i offer because the message behind everything is love: love for self, love for others, and love for the beautiful world we live in.

from now on, i want to talk more about the things i offer. consciously. deliberately. with pride and pleasure.

not because i want to convince you to buy anything, but because i am creating objects and experiences that i believe will nourish you, help you remember your own beauty & magnificence, and remind you of magic & delight & hope & possibility & wonder. and yet none of that matters if i am not willing to stand up and tell you about them.

it occurs to me that talking about the things i offer is also an act of love for my business and my offerings. how on earth will they know i love them and am proud of them if i hide them away and act like i’m embarrassed of them.

this is a messy ending. i don’t have a nice closing thought or a neat & tidy conclusion to offer you. i’m not even entirely sure why i’m sharing this at all; it feels too vulnerable. but for some reason, it feels like something that is important to share.

once upon a time, i was an engineer.

most of the time, i liked – and even loved – my work. it seemed like life was good, that i should have been happy and contented.

only i wasn’t. there was a current of longing, a restlessness, a nagging sense of disquiet that was always running below the surface.

it felt like something was missing in my life – something important – and i couldn’t figure out what it was.

i wish i could convey how confusing and frustrating it was to always feel like something was missing.

i tried to fill the hole: with people, with activities. that didn’t work.

i tried to ignore the hole. that didn’t work either. every once in a while, the confusion and frustration would overwhelm me and i would decide that it must mean i was in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing. i would start researching other options: graduate school or the peace corp or other companies.

i thought it meant that i had to change everything.

but changing everything is a daunting prospect, and none of my ideas ever felt quite right, so i would eventually go back to ignoring it.

i did this for ten years.

the thing i know now, that i didn’t know then, is that something was missing.

i was missing a part of me.

the long hours and the stress and the busy days made it easy for me to forget all the parts of me that i didn’t need in order to do my work. they slipped further and further away from me. eventually, i forgot they were ever important at all.

the thing I know now, that i didn’t know then, is that we need beauty.

we need beauty and wonder and amazement.

we need to remember that we are more than our work.

we need to remember that there are other parts of us that need nourishment.

the thing i know now, that i didn’t know then, is that beauty is neither a luxury nor a frivolity.

beauty is a need.

beauty can nourish the parts of us that we’ve forgotten and that desperately need nourishment.

beauty can feel like a long cool deep life-giving drink to parts of us that we didn’t even realize were dying of thirst.

there are so many ways to add beauty to your day.

here are some of my favorites.

• minimizing all the open browser windows and programs and gazing softly at the tulips on my computer background
• a pause and a breath
• a glance out the window to watch the leaves wave in the wind
• chai tea in a favorite mug
• a quick doodle with fat colorful markers
• standing up and stretching
• sending a hello text to a friend
• wearing a favorite outfit or scarf or piece of jewelry
• (my personal favorite, the only one i couldn’t have done in my little cubicle) getting up from my chair to go over and kiss the pup on the top of his sweet furry head

i used to occasionally read something – on the web or in a book – that made me feel uncomfortable.

it almost always happened when i was reading something along the lines of this-is-how-you-should-do-x or this-is-how-you-should-be where i wasn’t doing the thing or being the thing.

for a long time, i thought the feeling meant that i had to change. in response, i would try to do the thing (or be the thing). if i couldn’t (or simply just wouldn’t), i would feel guilty and ashamed of myself for not doing the thing (or being the thing). i would also make the author wrong – either because i was doing something i didn’t want to or because anger felt better than guilt or shame.

this was so uncomfortable that i started to avoid anything i thought would contain advice or suggestions.

eventually, i realized that what the feeling really meant was that i was reading something that didn’t resonate with me. it wasn’t that i was wrong or they were wrong. the feeling was my inner guidance saying, “this is not for you”.

the interesting thing is that once i realized this, nothing i read really bothered me anymore. it became easier and easier to discern what resonated with me and what didn’t – and to take what resonated with me and discard the rest.

it took a long time for me to learn that i am an expert on me.

sometimes i still feel like i don’t know very much about myself, but it is indeed true that i know more about me than anyone else does.

that is what i want for you – for you to know that you are your own expert.

i was playing around with photoshop and made us a pinterest-friendly reminder. (i decided i can’t do this very often because i love fonts and playing with them makes me want to buy all the fonts in the world so i have them at my disposal. there are so many good ones out there!)

once upon a time, on a different blog, i compiled all my thoughts about reiki. i am posting it again, here, for the sake of posterity.

and just so you know, i am a reiki person, in case you are intrigued and want to try reiki for yourself.

yes. it’s true. i don’t understand how reiki works.

when i first explained reiki, i gave the explanation i heard in class: reiki is energy that is guided by a higher power and works by flowing through the energy field and healing any disruptions in the life force energy.

you know how you can tell when someone is saying something that they don’t really believe? that’s what i hear in my voice when i try to give that explanation.

later, i tried to explain it in another way. i said that i felt the original explanation made reiki seem confusing and inaccessible. (i still think this.) then, i explained that what reiki did for me was to help me feel safe and supported enough to start learning who i was and what i needed. (i still think this as well.)

even then, i didn’t come right out and say the thing i was thinking. i was afraid. i was afraid that people wouldn’t want to work with a reiki person who doesn’t know how reiki works and isn’t sure she believes the reason she was taught.

but that is the truth of it: i don’t know how reiki works.

sometimes i wish i knew how reiki worked, but mostly i don’t really care.

maybe it works the way they say it does – that it’s spiritually guided energy that comes through me and into the receiver.

maybe it has something to do with large clusters of nerve endings or accupressure points and somehow they can be affected even without direct touch.

maybe there are chakras or an aura and it has something to do with one or both of them.

maybe energy really does follow thought.

maybe there is something in quantum physics that explains it. i know i’ve read a few things that make me think, “hey! that could totally explain how reiki works!” (i immediately proceed to forget them which is why i am not mentioning any specifics.)

maybe it works because the power of the mind comes into play and we cause something to happen because we are expecting something to happen.

maybe it’s one of them or all of them or none of them. i don’t know.

hows and whys aside, i believe there is something magical about creating space for things to happen.

there is something to be said for setting aside time where your focus is on you and your well-being.

there is also something to be said for knowing that – for that same period of time – someone else’s focus is on you and your well-being.

our bodies want to talk to us. they are trying to talk to us all the time.

i do believe that even the simple act of giving them a space where they know we are open to hearing from them can cause something to happen.

and yes, even if i don’t know how reiki works, i do believe that it does work.

i have had many interesting experiences with reiki and have shared some of them. either they are direct experiences, or they are indirect experiences in that the practice made me more mindful and aware.

in the end, i don’t think you need to believe that something will work in order for it to be useful for you.

i didn’t believe reiki would work when i started and it has given me so much.

at the same time, i do think you need to be open to the idea that maybe something will happen. if you’re thinking of trying something solely because you absolutely positively believe that it doesn’t work and you want to prove that it doesn’t, maybe it would be best to save your money and your time for something that you feel a bit more positively about.

along with that, i don’t think it really matters whether you believe that something works how people say it works in order for it to be useful for you.

the hows and whys of things are interesting, but they’re not all there is. what is even more interesting is your direct experience with something and your feeling about whether it was useful for you.

just for fun, do you want to know how i really think reiki works?

i like to think of it as a little flashlight that’s going through me, shining a light into dark and dusty and dim spaces and saying, “oh, sweetie .. you really are ok. and if you’re interested, here’s something you might want to look at.”

yes. like that.

you know what i’ve realized? i am not a creature of moderation. i do not understand it. not that it’s not great for other people, i’m sure, just that it’s not really present in my life.

i think about this occasionally when i eat vegetables. maybe because i think about it occasionally when i eat chips. sometimes, when i am eating chips, i think, “hmmmm. i don’t eat these in moderation.” at the moment, this happens to be true of honey bbq fritos. anyway, when i eat vegetables, i think about the chips, because it occurs to me that everything evens out. i don’t eat vegetables in moderation either. as far as i’m concerned, a head of cauliflower or broccoli or cabbage is at most two servings. a bunch of kale is one serving, at least if it’s roasted. (when i am eating broccoli, i often wonder how much i would have to cook if i were cooking for a family.)

as it happens, i am currently in a sandwich with dill pickle phase, which means that i eat at least one a day, sometimes two. before the sandwiches, it was cauliflower. i was eating cauliflower every day.

(i just had a eureka moment! this is an exceedingly useful eating habit for me. i like to eat seasonally and locally. when colorful peppers or blueberries or cucumbers or tomatoes are in season, they are only available for a short time. it’s nice that i actually enjoy eating what might seem like a lot of them before they are gone for the year.)

recently, i realized that i do the same thing with tv shows. at the moment, i am obsessed with bones. i am happily (and speedily, did i mention i had trouble with moderation?) making my way through all the episodes. before bones, it was eureka. before eureka, it was psych. i kind of wish i could alternate, or slow down, but it doesn’t seem to work for me.

(wow, do i love bones. i love the characters and their relationships, and i think booth and brennan are hilariously adorable. i will say that the show is not helping my nightmares. one night, i found myself in a lake full of sharks and then was beaten by a mob of teenagers. fortunately, booth saved me just in time; i hope i can thank him someday.)

the same thing is true of songs, hikes, what i’m interested in working on ..

(this reminds me of the time i joined a rowing club and then decided to add in a cycling class and then was convinced to take karate lessons. let’s just say i was very tired and then i died.)

this feels like the sort of thing that, once upon a time, i would think i needed to change about myself. they do say that moderation is the key, you know.

today, it feels more like something i want to embrace. yes, it’s true, i am really not a creature of moderation. i love that about me.

with that, i bid you adieu. i have a bag of honey bbq fritos and season 4 of bones waiting for me.

a few weeks ago, i redecorated my bathroom. i now have a grey linen shower curtain, new art, and nothing on the sink except for a candle, soap, and the occasional flower. it is very calming.

the previous art – a photograph of a fall scene in michigan, a gift from my sister – is in a closet, waiting to be taken to a framer. i love the photograph, but i have never fully appreciated it because i do not like the frame i chose. i went into a store to find a frame and a mat; they didn’t have the right frame; but i didn’t feel like going to another store so i just bought a frame that was sort of ok. it has been bugging me ever since. the little things do make a difference.

after much deliberation, the art i decided on included one of my photographs. as usual, i ordered it from shutterfly. if i am ordering prints for myself, i almost always order them from shutterfly. it’s fast and easy and i am always happy with the result.

i was thinking about this, because when i order prints of my photographs to sell, i order them from a local print shop. i do this partly because i like to support local businesses, partly because i like the quality of their prints, but partly because in the back of my mind, i think of words i see listed in the description of prints for sale from other photographers/artists, words like “premium”, “archival quality”, and “good for 100 years”.

who knows, maybe those same things are true of prints from shutterfly, but i don’t think they are a lab geared toward the professional photographer.

the reason i was thinking about this is because i realized that longevity and the idea of heirloom quality art – something you will pass down to your children – aren’t important to me when it comes to art. in fact, i suspect that thinking about longevity (maybe not in terms of how long it will last, but in terms of how long you will love it) is yet another factor that stops people from purchasing art, especially if they are someone who is learning how to identify and honor their own unique style. if you’re not sure whether you love a piece today, trying to determine whether you’ll love it forever on top of that is a fool-proof recipe for decision paralysis.

our tastes change. what we love and are drawn to today might not be what we love and are drawn to next week or next month or next year.

i might need to write more about this, especially since one objection to honoring this is related to money and there are many ways to take that into consideration.

for now, i just want to wish you permission and courage, so that, as rumi says, you can “be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love”, even (and especially) when it changes.

speaking of art, i have an 8×10 print of my photograph (pictured above). if you want it, leave a comment letting me know, and i’ll draw a name from the responses.

i feel so quiet lately. i also feel rather like a bear; this has been a winter of hibernation. i’m not sure why, but i am embracing it rather than questioning it.

i am doing less thinking and more feeling. deep inside, something is stirring, rising, calling.

if i had to put words to this experience, i would say that i am deepening my practice in following inner guidance.

the trouble (for me, at least) is that this requires an even greater level of trust – in myself and in the universe – and the practice of continual surrender. both of which, i must say, are practices not for the faint of heart. this is especially true when one’s guidance says “be still” over and over and over again. part of me really wants to shake it and say, “i’m not as brave as you think! i’m ready to be done! just tell me what to do!”

but i don’t. i let the feelings rise, and i breathe into them, and then i sink into the resulting stillness. over and over and over again.

someone asked me for advice on inner beauty. specifically, they wanted to know how to acquire it.

i told her that, in my opinion, inner beauty isn’t something you can (or need to) acquire. it’s a quality of the soul. we already have it. we can’t gain or lose it. it just is.

our real work is to accept and believe and own that.