My Word

by Tracey Flower

There’s a scene in the movie Eat Pray Love (it’s in the book too and, while I always prefer the book to the movie, I particularly like the way this moment is portrayed in the film) where Liz Gilbert, the author, is enjoying a fabulous dinner in Italy with some friends and they are discussing and debating what one word best represents certain cities and people. They conclude Rome’s word is SEX and New York’s word is ACHEIEVE. Liz says her word is WRITER and her friends immediately disagree, telling her that’s what she does not who she is. She agrees and spends the rest of the book, and the film, trying to figure it out. 

I’ve spent some time searching for my own word since I first read that passage and I think I’ve got it, in fact I think I knew it all along.

Liz Gilbert’s word might not be WRITER, but mine sure is.

Writing is not just something I do. I certainly hope to make a career of it, and I do, on occasion, get paid to do it professionally, but writing is much more to me than simply a degree or a paycheck.

I’ve been a writer my entire life. It’s always felt natural to me, always come easily to me. I wrote and illustrated my own stories as a child, loved writing essays for English class in high school and kicked butt in college creative writing. But for me writing is even more than just the fun creative stuff (which, I must say, can be fulfilling enough in its own rite). 

I feel most comfortable communicating through writing. As a kid if there was something I wanted to ask my parents, something I wanted to do, somewhere I wanted to go, especially something I thought there was even a chance they could say no to—basically anything I felt a little uncomfortable asking—I wrote the question down, folded the piece of paper up into an airplane and sailed it into whichever room they were in at the moment. It just felt safer, easier, that way. 

This is a habit I have held onto, except the older I get, the more complicated the messages tend to be. Throughout my teenage years and on into adulthood anytime there’s something that needs to be said, anything that seems impossibly difficult to ask or express, I write it down and send it off. Sometimes I say too much. Sometimes I hit send on emails that are hurtful, angry or just plain dramatic. I once wrote a letter expressing some really raw heat-of-the-moment emotions that I’m pretty sure ruined an entire relationship. Thing is, I’m horrible with expressing myself out loud, whether it’s saying “I love you” or “I hate you,” and I’m even worse when it comes to any kind of confrontation; I get all tripped-up and tongue-tied, but when I write it down, well, it all just comes out. Sometimes this is good. Sometimes this is bad. For better or worse it’s who I am.

There’s nothing I can’t say in writing, which is why it’s also therapeutic for me to write. This is something I’ve talked about here in the past. I’ve been keeping journals since childhood, not to chronicle events per se, but to work through emotions. Those pages carry some heavy things, and for that I am thankful because having those thoughts on those pages makes me lighter. I hope when I die those books will all self-combust in order to respect our doctor-patient confidentiality. 

While my journal pages may hold all my deepest darkest thoughts and feelings, I also have no problem being very honest in the writing I share (as you’ve all read here). I have no fear in writing. In fact I’m much more confident in my writing than I am in real life. I’m also the most proud of myself when I share what I create with others. And writing—reading my writing back to myself—teaches me all kinds of crazy good stuff about myself. 

And, finally, I just feel the most alive when I write. Period. 

WRITER is my word. And I could go on and on about more reasons why, but knowing when to stop is one of the hallmarks (at least in my opinion) of a good writer (and a lesson I’m still practicing to perfect). Also one of the very best things about writing is having written so I will stop now so I can bask in the rush of doing just that.

And you? What is your word?

Exploring Pure Michigan

by Tracey Flower

A few weeks ago I posted the following on my Facebook wall:

I wrote it after spending a few days in Grand Rapids, Michigan with my sister Susan. They were possibly the most fulfilling days I’ve had on a trip back to Michigan since I moved to Colorado six years ago. In fact the entire three weeks I spent in Michigan this past May were the most fulfilling weeks I’ve spent in Michigan since I moved to Colorado.

It’s because I made the decision when I stepped off the plane in Grand Rapids to treat the trip as if I were somewhere brand new. To explore, relax and re-discover in that very familiar place.

Here’s what I found:

Grand Rapids’ East Town community, where Susan and her husband live, is as totally rad as all the hipsters who call that area home. Susan and I spent two days walking around the leafy tree-lined streets, stopping into shops like Art of the Table  where locals can pick up everything from peanut butter made in Grand Rapids to tabletop accessories to chocolate and artisan cheeses. They also carry a selection of local-made beers and wines. We shopped for Indian cooking spices and browsed their unique selection of cookbooks. I left wishing there was a shop like it around the corner from my own apartment in Vail.

We browsed through a couple of Susan’s favorite consignment clothing stores to see what gems we could find, and though our search yielded nothing that day, Susan assured me that’s not always the case.

One afternoon we grabbed a bottle of Layer Cake Cabernet and a wheel of brie for a snack from Martha’s Vineyard, East Town’s friendly neighborhood wine and spirits shop. Then we picked up a take-out sampler plate from GoJo’s, an Ethiopian restaurant, and feasted on spiced chicken and lentils, sopping up our watt (Ethiopian-style stew) with lots of injerra (a pancake-like flatbread). It’s a meal I’m still lusting over.

It was a thoroughly satisfying couple of days and, if nothing else, just nice to be out of the mountains and in a city for a moment (not that I’d trade my mountains for Grand Rapids, but it is enjoyable to crawl out of them every now and again and see what the rest of the country is seeing, eating and doing). I expressed my satisfaction to Susan and she shrugged off my compliments to her city, saying it seems quite small to her now, after living there for a couple years. I guess I can see her point (Although I’ve always been a small town girl and any place with more than two different coffee shops is a city to me), but, really, big city or not I was charmed by Grand Rapids on this trip.

I was also charmed by South Haven.

With its beaches and lakeside condos it’s easy to be charmed by my hometown. That is, if you didn’t grow up there.

It’s taken me a little more time than some (twenty-something years) to get here because I had to figure out how to separate the issues I have regarding my hometown, like hating high school and other issues relating to awkward teenage dramatics, from the charm of the town—I had to learn how to not hold those things against it. I worked especially hard on this during this last visit, and discovered a lot of cool stuff along the way. But scraping away high school angst is a tedious and time-consuming job, so that, my friends, is another story for another time.

Don't miss Holland

by Tracey Flower

A friend of a friend once shared this story:

A couple was in a plane on their way to Italy for their honeymoon. Due to some sort of random technical difficulties they were forced to land in The Netherlands, and for whatever reason, ended up stuck there for the duration of their trip (no I don’t know why they didn’t then just scrap the plane and hop on a train). They were less than thrilled with the situation and, while they spent their time sightseeing in Holland, they complained about everything and fretted over what they were missing in Italy. Thing is Holland isn’t so bad; in fact it’s pretty cool in its own right, but these guys were so worried about missing Italy that they didn’t get to soak any of it in. Catching on to the moral here? Don’t miss Holland, folks.

The South Pier Lighthouse, South Haven, MI

(From the Flower family photo archives)

I love to travel. I want to go everywhere and I want to see everything. So far my travels have only made a teeny tiny pine beetle-sized dent in that dream so I recently made a promise, no, scratch that, a commitment, to myself to simply travel more. To take and make every opportunity I can to go somewhere I’ve never been before, whether it’s Texas or somewhere slightly less foreign like, say, Morocco. (My apologies to the handful of Texans I know and love, I did have to go there).

This commitment won’t be difficult to stick to. I live in a place where it’s almost expected, if not encouraged, to take a month or so off each spring and fall (in seasonal job speak we call this the off-season). I’m not afraid of a little credit card debt and I love going on vacation. My head’s already spinning with all the options of where to go next. Hawaii? Italy? Costa Rica? Holland?

Ah, yes, Holland. Here we are again. And I’m not talking The Netherlands this time.

I’m currently on vacation in, wait for it, Michigan. Not exactly an exotic spring getaway. Not even somewhere I’ve never been before. This is where I’m from. It’s my (first) home and it’s where my family lives. This holiday was born out of a two-parted necessity, to catch up with friends and family I haven’t seen in a year and to celebrate the marriage of two dear friends. I’m thrilled to do both of these things. But, man, no offense to anyone (expect, maybe, the aforementioned Texans) but there are about a billion other places I’d rather have gone and spent my precious pennies (and, er, Capital One credit) this off-season.

Thing is Holland isn’t just a country in Europe. No siree. In fact it’s also a city in West Michigan. My grandparents live there. I was born there. And it comes complete with wooden shoes, windmills and a tulip festival.

And here I am smack dab in the middle of three weeks here. And, while I’m having a fabulous time catching up with friends and family (who I miss too much when I’m away and always leave wishing we lived closer) and that is probably enough to make this trip worthwhile, I also made a decision when I stepped off the plane at Gerald R. Ford International airport in Grand Rapids, Michigan to treat this trip, at least parts of it, as if I'm somewhere totally new; to explore, relax and re-discover this oh so familiar place. Those Pure Michigan commercials make this place look pretty damn inviting, right?

There are a billion amazing places to visit in this world. And I intend to make my way around the globe discovering them, even if every now and then I end up somewhere I’ve already been. Cities change. So do people. And because of that there’s always something new to discover. Even in Holland.


Stay tuned next time to read about what exactly I discovered, and re-discovered, on this trip.

Just a Haircut?

by Tracey Flower

I got a haircut a few days ago.

It was possibly the most significant haircut I’ve ever gotten. Not because of the style—mid-length, long layers and Heidi Klum bangs—but because of what I saw when I looked in the mirror as I studied my stylist’s handiwork when I got home. The thought I had then materialized spontaneously and was unexpected but so wonderfully and warmly welcomed that I haven’t stopped smiling since I heard it.

I look like myself again.

What? How is that possible? When did I stop looking like myself?

Allow me to explain.

Me sans makeup but loving my new (old) 'do. 

I wrote in a post a little over a year ago that I didn’t recognize myself at that moment.

I have returned home in poor shape. I’ve lost weight and sleep and I have a bad cold. Every time I look in the mirror at the moment I’m shocked to see the person looking back at me. I don’t recognize her, she looks drained, this person, she looks pale and weary and it’s hard to believe this person is me, I wrote.

I wasn’t in a great place then. And I’ve come a long, long way since that moment. Happiness and I had a big beautiful reunion six months ago and we’ve been strong and steady since. Finding peace had nothing to do with my appearance—something I’ve mostly just maintained, rather than remark at, under layers of beanies, thermals and snowboard pants during the past six months of the snowiest winter in Vail’s history (524 inches!). And I’ve pretty much accepted happiness as a part of my life at this point (oh what a sweet life it is) so it surprised me that there was still another bright shiny ray of it to bask in.

A year ago right now my hair was long with shaggy overgrown bangs, all of it a bit too heavy. The color was my natural blonde. When, well, we all know what happened, I chopped it off (as you do when a relationship ends). Months later, after I reunited with Happy, I dyed it red because I felt like a dramatic change to mark the occasion. It’s been some hue of red, or at least dark strawberry blonde, all winter under all those beanies. About a month ago I took it back to my roots and headed toward a golden sunshiny blonde again. It had gotten longer over the winter, and a bit unruly. And since beanie season is pretty much over (no more hiding) I decided it was time to head to the salon.

Now here I am with those freshly chopped layers and Heidi Klum bangs, a style I rocked for awhile back before it got too long and I got sad and chopped it all off. And, well, there isn’t much more to say than I look like myself again. It might not seem like a big whooping deal, possibly not even significant enough to blog about, but it’s a pretty damn remarkable thing to me, a girl who just a year ago felt she didn’t recognize herself.

Practice Makes Perfect

by Tracey Flower

I have to admit something.

I don’t post on Flower Blog as much as I’d like to, or even as much as I know I should.

But I’m trying to do better.

(Ahhhh balance. Photo Credit)

My goal when I started Flower Blog was to post bi-weekly; two posts a month. Some months have sprouted more, some less and I’ve rarely, if at all, hit a stride with the bi-weekly thing. After two years I’m still very green in the world of blogging. I’ve still got a lot to learn and have a lot of growing to do. And I’m well aware that in order to achieve great success in the blogosphere I should most certainly post more frequently and more consistently.

Sometimes I procrastinate. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I’m just too lazy. And, sometimes, just when I think I’m getting close to hitting that stride, life happens and I miss a step. Like, for example, this past winter when I got an internship with the Vail Symposium. Yep, I’ve spent the past six months as a 28-year-old unpaid intern, a venture that has left me working six-day weeks—and sacrificing some of my evenings too—to write press releases, website copy, articles, and volunteering at programs. It’s been a crazy busy blur but paid off with my first by-lines in the Vail Daily (six of them in fact) and the satisfying knowledge that I’m working toward becoming more than just a bartender. I know Flower Blog fits in there somewhere, somehow, between working for money and working for passion, I’m just still trying to find my balance with all of it.

I’m going to keep working on finding my stride in this, my third year of blogging, with this posting thing. After all, third time’s the charm, right? And if I’ve learned anything from my Yoga practice it’s that the operative word is just that; practice. I’m not perfect but I’ll keep trying and keep doing the prep for each pose along the way and, eventually, I’ll conquer blogging (and maybe even a headstand).

In the meantime I need your help on a couple things.

I love and appreciate your comments so much and because of that I’d like to ask a couple favors. First if you’re a fellow writer or blogger and you have any advice that might help me find my blogging stride give me a holler and share the wealth of your experience. 


Second what should I write about next? I’d like to write some posts on topics you want to read about. Is there an old post on a subject you’d like to read more about? Is there an idea you’d like to hear me wrap my writing brain around? I’d like to know. So throw out some suggestions.

Flower Blog Turns Two

by Tracey Flower

Two years ago this month I started Flower Blog.

I did it to give myself a reason to write.

I always write in my journal and often jot down ideas. My computer is full of half-started attempts at stories, both fiction and non, but two years ago I was starting to feel as though none of it had a purpose, and without a purpose nothing was ever finished; no documents completed, no ideas fanned out. I was just plain slacking as a writer. I needed something to hold me accountable. Over the last two years Flower Blog has done just that.

As I look back through the past two years of posts I can see how I’ve changed and grown since April 2009. In the first year I posted only finished, polished versions of essays I’d started since I’d moved to Vail. Fanning out all those half-started attempts was my original intention with Flower Blog, and not a bad one; that first year produced some of my all-time favorite posts such as Romanian Mami and Jump.

But as I learned more about the wonderful world of blogging (and as I ran out of pre-polished essays to refine) I started to re-think my approach and starting pushing myself to write more candidly about what I was thinking and feeling and to just talk to my readers about my life instead of focusing on trying to create magnificent written masterpieces. In One Sunset at a Time, posted a year ago this month, I think I started to hit my stride.

And then something really remarkable happened in the last year. I found my voice. It came to me out of anguish, out of heartache. It came to me as I scrawled frantically in my journal in the middle of the afternoon when I was too tired and too heavy to cry anymore but still had more emotions to expel. It came to me in my darkest moment and was, to my surprise, still there when I was ready to let the sun shine in again.

As I look back through the past two years of posts I can see where I’ve been and where I’m at now, I can relive stories and recall emotions. I find comfort in these memories (oddly even in the awkward ones). Reading through these posts is like looking at a great big photo album. And, while, having a reason to write has made this blog a worthwhile venture, having my life documented in this way, and sharing it with my readers, is pretty damn priceless.

My top five faves from the last year:

A Little Thanks (December 2010)
Home is where the Moon Sets (May 2010)
On Goals, Forgiveness, and Turning 28 (September 2010)
My Book Café (May 2010)
On Soul Mates and Being Broken (November 2010)


What is your favorite Flower Blog post from the last year?

Of All the Places I've Lived (in Vail)

by Tracey Flower

In the spirit of apartment hunting, taking stock of my life and my pending six-year anniversary with Vail, I’d like to share a list of all the places I’ve lived since I’ve been here. A list that, in writing it, I realized tells the story of my time here, of where I’ve been, who I was and how I’ve grown.

All the place I have lived (in Vail):

• May 2005-May 2006: My first home in Vail was Timber Ridge Unit N5. (NOTE: Timber Ridge is Vail Resorts employee housing and dirt-cheap because it’s dirty, old and likely to crumble at any moment. Also fondly known by nicknames such as The Ghetto and Timber Ritz, I’ve mostly bopped around units in this complex as the location and the price fit my needs to a T. Yes I get made fun of for it. Yes I’m slightly embarrassed to get off at the bus stop here. But at least the rent doesn’t break me.) This is still the address listed on my Colorado driver’s license and I was once refused a Town of Vail Library card because I had since moved from that address but never changed my license. I lived in that unit with three guys and it was quite the experience for someone who had up until that point lived with mostly women.
• May 2006-November 2006: I moved into a two-bedroom condo in Simba Run, just down the road from Timber Ridge, with three of my girlfriends. It had a washer/dryer (jackpot!) in the unit and a pool and gym on the premise. We may have been twenty-something’s sharing bedrooms but we felt like we were living the highlife.
• November 2006-November 2008: Timber Ridge Unit I8. The longest I’ve lived in one place since living in my parent’s house and I’m quite sure the longest anyone’s ever lived in the same Timber Ridge unit. Almost all of my closest girlfriends in Vail lived with me in that unit at one time or another, and our second winter in I8 marks the only six months when we were all single at the same time. Some of my favorite adventures in Vail housing moments happened in that unit.
• November 2008-February 2009: Timber Ridge Unit K3. I lived here with two guys, one of whom was my boyfriend. He broke up with me. I moved out. End of story.
• February 2009-April 2009: Timber Ridge Unit C5. This was the unit my friends were forced to move into when the house they were renting in West Vail caught fire one night. The fire destroyed the home and most of their belongings. I moved in, devastated, a few months later when my boyfriend and I broke up. We weren’t thrilled to be living in that place, it was crowded and the reasons we were there were lousy, but I must say at least we all had a place to go. 
• April 2009-November 2009: My girlfriends and I moved out of C5 and into a townhome in the Telemark Condos. By far the biggest and nicest place I’ve lived since my parent’s house, it was a relief and a treat to be there after the winter we had all had. It had three bedrooms, three bathrooms and a washer/dryer. It had something like four floors and there was a pool on the premise. This was the only time in my life that I have had my own bathroom.  Alas, it was only a six-month lease and at 2,400 buckaroos a month (800 of those my responsibility) not really affordable. It was also the reason for the great landlord security deposit debacle of 2009, but that’s another story for another time.
• November 2009-April 2010: Timber Ridge Unit K14. With all my former roomies either shacked up with their significant others or moved away, I was left to fend for myself so I sucked it up and went for the cheapest option for a room. I ran into a friend I knew through work when signing my lease and he moved in to the unit’s second bedroom. I’ve had better and worse roommates than this one but it was, in all, a pleasant living experience (and a huge weight off my wallet after that pricy condo). 
• May 2010: Month of my botched move to Australia. I packed up my life and squeezed it into the world’s tiniest storage unit and whatever didn’t fit I gave away. I loaded up my oversized bags and headed home to Michigan, where I had planned to spend two weeks with friends and family before departing for Australia, where I was going to live for at least the next year. As we all know it turns out life had absolutely no regard for those plans and after a confusing, frustrating, upside down, life-changing month I was back in Vail.
• June 2010-present: Timber Ridge Unit K14. And home again? My roommate was still in this unit when I returned, and still had all the stuff I had given him that wouldn’t fit in my storage unit, so I moved back in and reclaimed my stuff and my space (and, eventually, my life). He moved out about a month later and I enjoyed a summer of living alone before the housing office gave me two brand new roommates. It hasn’t been the most pleasant living arrangement ever but I’ve made it work and now I’m looking forward to what’s next, both in the world of apartments and for my life in general. 

What stories do the places you've lived have to tell?