Live Authentic

I feel that my favorite thing about getting older is being able to appreciate authenticity in all of its forms. When I was a teenager and a young college girl authenticity was probably the thing I most took for granted and overlooked. I overlooked the distinction of genuine people and being a genuine person, but I also took for granted the ability to appreciate the most authentic parts of life and the beauty of the land. The longer I live, the better I am able to understand the significance of the authentic. And not just understand it, but truly love it.

Life has felt truly genuine this week, handing me moments in this basket of realness, which is what I really value more than anything.

On Monday I felt the heart of summertime in my soul, only today the grass is covered in snow and it feels like anything but summertime. On Monday I couldn’t foresee the storm that was heading our way, but I suppose I really didn’t need to. It wouldn’t have changed a thing about Monday. Monday was beautiful. The sky was blue and open all day long, a giant playground for feathery white clouds that would occasionally pass the sun on the back of the wind that carried them. We spent most of the day at the cabin where for the first time this year we didn’t need jackets to warm us. Beck spent hours on a blanket in the shade, looking at books and munching on cheerios. Jace found a stick that he turned into a sword and a large cardboard tube that became a tunnel of speed for his hotwheels. I basked in sunshine and played with the kids and did a little tidying up, enjoying the clarity that comes when you are spending the day somewhere without cell phone service. As the lazy afternoon turned to supper time, we headed down the canyon to get burger supplies at the grocery store and met up with our friends who followed us back to the cabin, where we spent the rest of the night eating cheeseburgers around the campfire while the kids hiked the hills and practiced on the slackline that was secured between two tall pine trees. The only thing that would have made the day any more summertime would be if we had crawled into our tents after the sun went down, rather than climbing into our cars for the drive home.

Because I had just washed my hair that night before, I refused to wash it after our day up the canyon, as there is likely nothing I hate more than washing my hair. And thank goodness for that because the occasional smell of campfire that emanates from my thick locks is the only reminder I carry now, proof that there was sunshine and surety that there will be sunshine again soon. The snow fully covers the ground, the sun only occasionally peaking through the gray storm clouds that cover the sky, the wet roads filled with deep mucky puddles. And although I am truly so grateful for this tall glass of thirst-quenching ice water on our dirt following such a mild winter, there is also a pit in my stomach for fear of our frail newly budded willows that might not be able to fight through the fluctuation in temperature and heavy snowfall that lines their tiny growing branches. There is a large, fat marshmallow of a snowman standing in my backyard and I slept through my morning run because of the wind chill. It’s a beautiful white, slightly dull world out there and I’m not upset about it while also I’m completely aware of how insane it is.

Yesterday I spoke with an older woman who fed me some fine advice. She was confused about the day of the week and in her confusion she thought tomorrow was Friday, to which I casually replied: “I wish tomorrow was Friday!”

Without missing a beat she gently said, “Don’t! Don’t do that. Don’t wish your life away. I sure don’t! Hold tight to those babies and enjoy today!”

Of course I knew that already, but it was a well needed reminder nonetheless. That’s how I feel about this week in general. It’s been a wonderfully authentic week full of needed reminders of how beautiful life is, despite any of the outside factors that try to sneak in and make me think otherwise. I’ve quite enjoyed it all this week.

Happy Thursday, friends.

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