The Last One

"All I can say is, it's worth the struggle to discover who you really are and how you, in your own way, can put life together as something that means a lot to you." ~Mister Rogers (whose words are as relevant to me now as they were when I was 5).

This is my last post on Flower Blog.

I turn 30 in just a few short weeks. I am ready for it. And that kind of surprises me. A year ago, the rapidly approaching end of my twenties made me feel slightly queasy as I frantically took stock of where I’d been and where I was going, mentally adding up all the should be’s on my By the Time I Turn 30 List. I asked myself repeatedly what the hell did you do with yourself for the last decade and where are you supposed to be right now?

The answer came to me slowly and not all at once; but it came through loud and clear.

Exactly where you are right. Now.

I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now
(especially if that place is on top of a mountain).

I spent 29 with that list in the back of my mind, doing everything I could to pull my life together into what it was supposed to be by the time I turn 30. I applied for a job as Development and Marketing Associate with the Vail Symposium, and I got it. I came up with a financial plan to get myself out of debt once and for all so I can travel instead of daydreaming about travel, and so I can stop complaining about not having a car and just buy one already. I ticked some small adventures off my bucket list and did more yoga. I grew comfortable and more confident with myself and found myself enjoying being single, rather than lamenting it.

About a month ago I realized there was nothing left on the list, and not because I had ticked everything off, but because the list simply didn’t exist anymore. I realized I don’t need the deadline of a birthday to accomplish my goals, or any other deadline for that matter. I’m constantly growing and changing, and constantly working toward my goals, and, at any given moment, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

And now, with just a few weeks to go until I turn 30, I feel at peace with leaving behind the (wonderful) chaos of my twenties for a new decade (which I have no doubt will be filled with its own boughts of wonderful chaos).

My twenties have been a heartbreakingly beautiful madness of mistakes and corrections, of lessons and stumbling around searching for answers—much of which has been documented here on Flower Blog.

Six months ago I started feeling stuck with this blog, I lost my motivation to write for it. Every thing I did attempt to write felt forced and generic, and it all started to feel like a chore. This summer I even tried starting a new blog, except it was still Flower Blog, just in a different spot. I deleted it yesterday. It just didn’t work. My frustration has been mounting with it all, and I’ve been trying to figure out what to do differently, what to do to make it fun and interesting again. 

Recently it hit me.

It doesn’t work anymore not because it’s broken, but because it has come to the end. Flower Blog has been written. This is the story of my twenties. It is a story that at times I knew I was writing, chronicling adventures and moments from the past, and at times I wrote because it was the only thing I could do to survive in that moment. It’s all here.

Reading back through some of my favorites is like flipping through a scrapbook:

Romanian Mami

Breathe

Grandpa Flower (my Grandpa Flower passed away in February. The memories captured in this post are even sweeter to me now than they were when I wrote this post a few years ago.)

Where there are no Cornfields

Birthday Weather

Some of these memories are painful to remember, but beautiful in their pain, and so very important to my story:

Home is Where the Moon Sets

When Plans Change

Why Melbourne? Why Now?

My Book Café

And Home Again

On Goals, Forgiveness and Turning 28

A Little Thanks

And a few more snapshots of moments and memories:

Flower Blog Turns Two

My Word

Had a Bad Day?

A New Season

What I’m Not and Other Mini Confessions

I started Flower Blog to hold me accountable to my writing. It certainly did that. I feel more motivated now than ever to write. That I have grown as a writer through writing this is undeniable. I am ready for a new challenge now. Whether that means starting a new blog or finally sitting down to write a book, or both, I’m not sure. But I am sure that I will keep writing, and I will continue to share my words. Thank you for finding me here, and for reading. It has been a pleasure to have you on this journey with me. Until we meet again (and I certainly hope that we do), cheers.

~Tracey 

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?

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?

One Sunset at a Time

Writing is therapeutic for me. It calms me and heals me. I’ve kept journals for as long as I can remember. The things I write in these diaries are intensely private. Sometimes these things, these rants, fears, and confessions, are hard for me to read in retrospect as the words are, many times, born from pain and reading them easily reminds me of the pain I felt when I wrote them. Other times re-reading old entries shows me how I’ve grown and I feel relieved that whatever I was going through then is over. There are often big gaps between entries in these books because I tend to write in them less when I’m happy. Writing, especially when I’m upset, helps me see things clearly; it takes a burden off me having my worries, fears, heartaches, and frustrations written down.

I went through a time early last year of intense heartache. There were not even enough pages in my journal to help ease my burden. I existed for months in a state of persistent melancholy and I cried a lot. I cried a lot because I woke up every day and my chest felt heavy and as the day went on the sadness that weighed in my heart grew more intense as it was pumped and pumped through my body. And it was just too much to keep inside me. So I cried. I cried big heavy sobs that shook my body and hurt my stomach and made my eyes swell. I cried in an attempt to dispel the sadness, to purge myself of it.

And then spring came. Spring came and I knew it was time to pick myself up, if only slowly, and find a way to keep on living. It was time to stop crying. I recently read through my journal entries from those months and found one very short entry I wrote at the start of spring. I remember the day I wrote it and I know that was the moment I realized it was time to keep on living, the moment I first knew I was going to be OK.


Journal entry written 03/06/09:
Yesterday was full of wind, like 60 mph winds, and it didn’t die down until around sunset. It was a beautiful sunset and so quiet after such a windy day; and it gave me the smallest bit of peace. I texted Dad about it and he said sometimes you just have to take life one sunset at a time.


It was around then that the idea for Flower Blog first came to mind. I decided it was time to take my life back from my grief. There were certainly more tear laden days to come in the months that followed that journal entry but starting this blog was one of the first steps in rebuilding myself. I wanted to do more with my writing than just rant in a journal, and, besides, that didn’t seem to be curing me; this was bigger pain than I’d had in the past and it required bigger writing. It was about remembering who I am and what I want for myself, something I’d forgotten to do while I was grieving, something I’d forgotten to do a long time before the relationship I was grieving had ended, something that had probably, in part, led to its demise. 

Writing for Flower Blog reminded me how much writing makes me feel alive. And, while I can’t say writing alone brought me back to life, it was the first piece of many that drew me out of my sadness. Investing time and effort into my writing reminded me how important it is to nurture all the little pieces of me I discovered that spring and in the months that followed. Before, I had invested everything into my relationship and I had let many other things, including other relationships, fall away in order to do so. When the relationship ended I invested everything into mourning it. I know I will feel heartache again one day and I know I might even completely fall apart again, but I also know I will survive again. I know the winds will calm and the sun will set and I will keep on living.

Intro

I have been a writer my entire life. I have kept diaries since I was a little girl. I wrote and illustrated my own stories in grade school. I have written essays, emails, stories, articles, letters, and speeches. I am a writer but it is not by choice. I am not a writer because it’s easy or fun or lucrative. I am a writer because my head is constantly full of thoughts, opinions, and ideas. I am a writer because it is overwhelming to constantly have a head full of thoughts, because it makes me feel at peace to have those thoughts, opinions, and ideas written down. I am a writer because there is something in me that insists I write.

I have also been told that I am a good writer. Grand Valley State University gave me a degree in the subject a few years ago and a few newspapers and magazines have even given me money to do it. At the moment, though, the only writing I do is in my personal journal and lately I feel compelled to share my writing. That is what I intend to do here.

This is not a diary for me, it is not a tell-all of my life, and it is not a place to vent or rant. It is a place for me to share my polished, or at least semi-polished, essays and stories. It is a place for me to share my written-down thoughts, opinions, and ideas and to receive feedback. So please read, enjoy, and comment.