A Little Thanks

by Tracey Flower

I had—wait for it—an Oprah moment the other day. Well at least that’s what my friend Mel called it but I’m pretty sure the talk show host would have deemed it worthy of a hug and a round of applause (and maybe an all expenses paid trip to somewhere balmy and exotic) had I been sitting with her on that infamous couch. It was a Sunday and my first day off since the (Vail) Mountain had opened for skiing this season. We had been snowboarding all morning and enjoying the better than average early season conditions. We had just gotten off a chairlift and were sitting at the top of a run marveling at the deliciously good snow and breathtaking views (note to self: remember to look up and have your breath taken away on a regular basis) and it hit me. I’m happy. I’M HAPPY. Like really contently freely happy. I shared this revelation with Mel and she declared it an Oprah moment. 

(Photo Credit)

This happiness is so new and so fresh to me that, in the days since that moment, I have found myself repeating it over and over to myself, I’m happy; slipping it on a few times a day like it’s a sparkly new party dress, twirling around in it and checking myself out from all angles. I keep opening the closet door to sneak a peek and touch it and make sure it’s real and still there. 

I’m proud of this happiness; it’s something I worked for, something I fought for, and something I achieved on my own (and with a little help from my friends). It’s something more solid and more palpable than any similar feelings I’ve had in a long time (I’m talking years here people). It’s peace. It’s contentment. And I’m loving every second of it. 

I wanted to share this with you, my lovely loyal readers, and thank you. Writing has always been therapeutic for me, especially in the last six months. Thank you for sitting with me while I kicked, screamed, cried, and muddled through my heartache. Thank you for listening as I exposed every feeling, emotion, and part of my pain, as I allowed them to reveal themselves to me, as I took the time to get to know them so I could eventually release (banish) them. It’s because I took the time to do that, and because you took the time to listen, that I know this happiness is something deep, genuine, and most certainly not fleeting.

There's an image I’ve been holding in my head a lot recently, it’s of myself about six months ago wandering around Melbourne in the rain and I’m too thin, sleep deprived, and incredibly sad and raw (I must note here that since I’ve been hanging out with this happiness I can see that there is something incredibly gothically romantic about wandering around a foreign city heartbroken in the rain). In this daydream myself now—my happy, peaceful, balanced, stronger, wiser self—reaches out to myself then and draws her in, comforts her, and asks her to join me here in this solid oh so happy place.

There’s a passage in the book Eat, Pray, Love (by Elizabeth Gilbert) where the author recalls a similar moment in her own life, where she realizes her current stronger self was always there waiting for her younger broken self to join her. She then uses her favorite Italian word to close the book, and that chapter of her life, attraversiamo. It means let’s cross over. And, so, my friends I invite you to join me as I do just that. 

Stay tuned next time for a little giving.

From Ending to Beginning

by Tracey Flower

There’s something in the air around here at the moment (and, no, I’m not talking about all the recent engagements of certain Vail couples I know, I think that must be something in the water). There’s something in the air that just arrived in the last week or so. Can you smell it? Can you feel it? Somewhere in the last couple weeks the seasons clicked and we moved from summer into fall. We had summer, it was really hot, sunny and wonderful and I’m quite sure there are some oh so sweet Indian Summer days in store for us in the months to come but there’s something in the breeze now that is whispering the end of summer.

Fall in Vail: I'm looking forward to days like this one

It’s been rainy and notably cooler in Vail recently and, while afternoon storms are a trademark of late-July early-August weather around here, the way the clouds have been lingering in and around the peaks and valleys before and after the rain just looks like fall and seems to promise snow. A friend of mine said he even saw a dusting on the Gore last week. The nights and early mornings are cold and even though I still felt hot sitting in the sun outside my apartment today, the breeze rattling the soon-to-be yellow leaves on the aspens around me was marked with a chill that wasn’t there a week ago.

I have to admit that I love this time of year, I love that slight chill and those cool rainy days, but man I love summer even more and this weather’s got me really thinking about just how fleeting summer is here and just how sad I am to see it go this year.

A few weeks ago I spent my days off floating down the Colorado River and hiking up Vail Mountain. By my Sunday night I was covered in mosquito bites, a little sunburned and exhausted. Now I know there are all sorts of warnings out there about both mosquitoes (West Nile!) and sunburns (Melanoma!) and I generally try to heed the advice of medical professionals but, as I relaxed with a glass of iced tea in my third floor (meaning very hot) apartment, I realized I felt so warm, summery and happy in that moment almost because of those dangerous ailments. Ok maybe all the sunshine, heat and river water contributed to my summery feeling, but my bites and burns reminded me of being a kid in summer.

Summer is such a carefree time when we’re children, when there’s no school or job to worry about and the months of June, July and August are practically endless; when we fall into bed at the end of the day, bites, burns and all, exhausted after a sun-soaked day of running through sprinklers and chasing ice cream trucks. As an adult I think summer is one of the only times (next to Christmas) when I feel like I can truly channel some of that pure childhood bliss.

I love summer. I crave summer. And this year especially I needed summer. I needed some childlike simplicity, even a tiny bit, in my life. The last month of sleepy hot summer days has confirmed I made the right decision by not staying in Melbourne. I might still have some more healing to do but summer in Vail has been so helpful and healing for me so far that the last couple days have scared me a little. I keep thinking I need more time with summer this year.

I went to a yoga class this morning (for the second time ever, the last time being years ago, this time with the intent of making it a routine) and the instructor talked about cycles. She mentioned how we often don’t notice beginnings; they’re often hidden in the wake of an ending and we don’t know we’ve started another cycle until we’re already in it. This thought has stuck with me all day and I can’t help but think about how it relates to the seasons at the moment. It’s technically still summer and will be for another month and a half but I have a feeling that hidden in there somewhere is the beginning of fall and, as I desperately cling to summer and as I continue to muddle my way through a definite ending, I’m also going to try to find some footing and assurance in the idea that it's very possible I’m also working my way through a beginning.


Do you think there's a beginning hidden in your life right now? 

And Home Again (From Flower Blog Two: Stories From Down Under)

My time in Melbourne has come to an end. I was there just over two weeks but it felt like months. I was going to live and work in Australia initially because someone I loved asked me to go there and because I wanted to be with him. Now that I no longer have that person in my life I know that living and working in Australia is not something I want to do. I also know that I had to go to Australia despite my loss, if only for a short time, so that my loss could become real to me. It was like going to the funeral of the relationship that has just died. I had to go to say good-bye.

Farewell Melbourne. The city from St. Kilda Pier.

When I left Michigan for Melbourne I was in shock. I had been dumped and rejected quite coldly and it was devastating. Everything I had believed to be true was false and everything I had been looking forward to for the past few months was gone. This was, and still is, a lot to take and it makes me feel light and dizzy and wonder if I’m dreaming. And so, I believe my mind went into shock to keep me moving forward, to protect me from pain that might have been too intense to handle right away.

The shock wore off quickly when I got to Melbourne. What I have lost became real to me there and grief set in. I sat in the bedroom I was renting while Melbourne’s winter gloom loomed outside and let my grief make itself known. And I cried. I sobbed and sobbed and I let the grief become part of me. I wandered and explored the city by myself and let all the aspects of my grief appear, the heartache, the loneliness, and the anger. I made the decision to return home almost immediately but I let it twist and turn in my mind for a while to give it time to separate from the grief (because let’s be honest, grief itself doesn’t always make the best decisions). I went to Australia with a sick feeling in my gut and while I have returned with my grief in tow, that sick feeling is gone and I at least feel calm and content that my purpose for being there was fulfilled and home is where I should be right now.

I keep thinking about the insect exhibit in the Melbourne Museum. There is an area dedicated to all the large, ugly, and slightly terrifying spiders that call Australia home. Next to the live tarantulas is a display of one of the largest of these beasts’ old skins. It seems tarantulas have the same habit of shedding their exoskeleton as they grow as snakes. It made me wonder if these creatures are aware of this shedding as it is taking place, if they know how hideous they look when it’s happening and if it hurts at all. I wonder if they know that they are growing and that when they finally lose that old skin they will be changed, they will be larger and stronger.

I feel like a tarantula right now. 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 look back at photos of myself taken in Moab just weeks ago when I started this blog and I also have a hard time believing the person in those photos is me. I don't feel like her anymore and the truth is I will never be her again. I’m in transition right now and I’m growing, which isn’t always a particularly pretty process and is usually quite painful, but when it’s finished the shell of who I used to be will remain and I will crawl out of it still me but changed and, hopefully, stronger.



This will be my last post on this blog. My time in Australia is done and it’s time to move on to new adventures. I have plenty more stories to tell and thoughts to share, though, so stay tuned.

NOTE: To read about what I learned last time I visited Australia read Breathe.

My Book Café (From Flower Blog Two: Stories From Down Under)

I think, perhaps, I know why I’m in Melbourne. It has nothing to do with finding myself, love, or any other great cosmic purpose; oh no, it’s about the coffee. This city is renowned for producing a good cup of joe and she hasn’t disappointed me. Every latte I’ve had has been blissful; each one made with espresso that has been roasted, ground, and prepared with care and accuracy and milk that has been frothed to perfection. The best of the best, I’m told, can be found at Seven Seeds and while the coffee I had there was quite possibly one of the best I’ve ever had, it’s a different café I’ve decided to frequent for the duration of my stay.

Books? Good. Coffee? Good. I think I'm in love.

I walked past it the first day I was here and I immediately knew it was something special. It’s on Swan Street, just a short walk from my house, and called Book Talk Café. The storefront windows are filled with examples of the “new and pre-loved books” advertised on the sign and the BLT sandwich and two lattes I enjoyed at the café inside didn’t disappoint. Plus coming from a world where most local bookstores have been replaced with big shiny chain stores and the local Starbucks is usually a safer bet for a good latte than the independent place on the corner, it’s just so darn cool (yup there’s that word again) to find a place like this.

The inside of the shop is cozy and welcoming. Tables and shelves of books occupy the front of the store, with a café table or two in between. A sign explains how the store works; i.e. you can buy books, trade books, or sell books. The books are organized by section and, while the space isn’t large enough to house a selection equivalent to that of Barnes and Noble, there seems to be a little of everything. There’s even a good selection of coffee table and other good gift-giving books as well as a new release section. I’m so impressed and excited to find a real live bookstore in my neighborhood, in fact, that I’ve decided to swear off Amazon (do they even have Amazon in Australia?) for the duration of my stay and only shop for books at my little book café.

The café area is in the back half of the store and has a decent amount of seating. There’s even a cozy little area in the very back with a couch, armchairs, and a coffee table. The latte I had there the other day was so delicious I had to have two and, with a café menu that includes both hot and cold options for breakfast or lunch, I can’t think of a reason to go anywhere else. I feel comfortable in that store, I feel at home there drinking lattes among all those books, all those thoughts and words and stories. So even if the coffee was crap (which is most certainly isn’t), I’d return because after a week that felt like a month, in a city where I feel awkward and not at all like myself, a city that is so very far away from home, it’s nice to have a place to go to that feels so comfortable.

Why Melbourne? Why Now? (From Flower Blog Two: Stories From Down Under)

Total time it took to get from South Haven, Michigan to Melbourne, Australia (including time spent in airports): approximately 33 hours.

Total extra money spent to get me and my very heavy bags from South Haven, Michigan to Melbourne, Australia (including fees for changing my original flight, booking a flight from Sydney to Melbourne, and excess baggage fees): approximately 600 dollars. (Apparently you can bring your baggage with you to Australia but it will cost you).

Seeing the Sydney Opera House and Harbor Bridge at dawn from the plane: well, not quite priceless, given the hours, dollars, and heartache it took to get me here, but pretty spectacular nonetheless.

Sydney Opera House and Harbor Bridge

It was that moment, in fact, when it first hit me where I was and what I was doing. It was that moment, when the plane turned a little to the left and I strained to see the view out of the tiny airplane window, that this adventure I’m living became real and was no longer just a foggy dream. It was after hours and hours of sitting on a plane in the very back row; after hours of fitful sleep spent still wrestling with the decision I’d made to come to Australia despite my change in plans, I realized I had arrived and, even if it was a decision I was still unsure about, I had no choice but to go through with it. As I followed the masses through customs and the baggage claim, though, the only thought my sleep-deprived brain could manage was, what the hell am I doing here?

I have been here a little over three days now. I’m settled into a cute townhouse in a really cool neighborhood called Richmond. And, yes, I realize describing it as “really cool” sounds a little lame but when I was walking around the other day trying to get a feel for the place, all I could think is how cool it is. There are shops and trains and cafes all within a short walking distance from my house, and for a gal who grew up in a small resort town, went to college in a corn field, and then moved to another small resort town, this kind of neighborhood is, well, just plain cool. I’m excited to be here, I’m excited to be somewhere so new, so cool. Still, though, that thought keeps surfacing, keeps plaguing me; what the hell am I doing here?

I can never decide if I believe in the concepts of fate or destiny. Sometimes I think they’re just ideas dreamed up by the romantics out there and they’re happy little thoughts but not totally realistic. But there are some times, like right now, when I find myself clinging to the hope that they must exist. I still feel like my life isn’t my own at the moment, like the real me is floating over this strange life and the only place I can find footing is in the idea that there must be some reason why I have found myself in this place at this time.

So I’m wondering what do you, my lovely readers, think about the concepts of fate or destiny? Do things really happen for a reason? When your life is turned upside down and sideways and spits you out in a direction you had no intention of going in, is there a reason for it? Or is that just something we tell ourselves to cope with change?

When Plans Change (From Flower Blog Two: Stories From Down Under)

I’m a planner. I’m obsessive about organization and insist on writing everything down. I panic a little when I don’t have a plan. One of the hardest things about being this way is realizing, over and over again, that sometimes the powers that be have no regard for my plans. Really lousy things can happen; you lose your job, someone close to you dies, you love someone and he confesses he no longer loves you. It’s life and it’s not fair and there’s really no way to plan for these things. To do so would be very strange.

My Australia plans have changed before the trip even began. I was supposed to be in Sydney right now, I was supposed to leave early this week and I didn’t. I’m now leaving early next week for Melbourne. If you’re close to me or know someone close to me you know how and why this change happened. Perhaps I’ll share the very personal details of this moment with a wider audience one day. If I did that now the result would be a ranting hurtful tell-all of the very painful events that led me to this point and I don’t want to do that. So if you’re not someone close to me or someone close to someone close to me then, at the moment, these events are none of your business. I will, however, share with you the thoughts I’ve been left with in the wake of everything.

There are certain truths we accept as fact in our lives. Things we plan, things that just are. Then seemingly overnight, sometimes in an instant, they’re gone. We wake up one morning and find the truths we accepted yesterday have vanished and have been replaced with a whole new set. Suddenly life feels strange, not like your own and you don’t really know how to handle it.

I think that’s one of the most difficult aspects of grief. Of course the loss itself hurts. The spot in you that was filled by someone or something is now empty and that is a hollow aching feeling. And even if you find things to temporarily fill that hole, even if you find little ways to cope with that pain through the day, the fact remains that your life is now changed and will never be the same as it was before. Realizing this feels like the wind being knocked out of you and it makes you feel dizzy and wonder if you will ever recognize this strange new life as your own.

I don’t know yet if or when this life I’m suddenly living will feel like my own. All that is pushing me forward at the moment, all that I know to be true about my life right now is that I am, in fact, still alive. I have no choice but to keep moving forward so I don’t miss out on a single moment of this precious, often fleeting, life. I know I must wake up every morning and continue to invest myself into getting to know these new truths so I can eventually make my peace with them.


NOTE: For more of my thoughts on dealing with heartache, read One Sunset at a Time.