It happened while we were resting. It had been a long day with heavy backpacks and high tension.
When my older brother walked to the bus stop for his first day of kindergarten, my Mother felt it.
Vanessa Ais is a Certified Therapeutic Recreation Therapist who dedicates her time and energy to the betterment of quality of life for people with disabilities. Her story is an example of finding strength in your roots.
Flashback to the year 2005: I was grounded a lot that year. I remember feeling so isolated. I had dial-up internet access on a Windows 95 desktop, and miles of forest and fields between my childhood home and town, and no cell phone. I felt claustrophobic.
I was a creative little girl. I had a forest full of kingdoms and imaginary friends to fill those kingdoms. I was a princess, a witch, a bird learning to fly.
I have a history of allowing fear to dictate my life. I’ve passed up opportunities, relationships, opinions, and happiness because I’ve been afraid. Afraid to venture outside of my comfort zone. Afraid of failure. But mostly, afraid of the unknown. I think about my fears often. They cycle through my mind like a cyclone ofContinue reading “Avalanche of Fear”
“Would you like to use my mallet?” She must have been watching us from her deluxe caravan tent, complete with rooms and windows and even a shower. She must have been watching as we broke an “unbreakable” water bottle pounding in the tent stakes of our tiny backpacking tents, unsuccessfully. “You have to tilt the pegsContinue reading “Finding Happiness in the Wombat Parade of Life”
We stood in the lobby of the mountaineering club watching the burly adventurers stride through with their crampons and trekking poles. “White-out conditions and 70 mph winds before you reach the John Muir Base Camp at 10,000 ft,” we overheard from the guide behind the desk. “We don’t recommend going up the mountain unless you haveContinue reading “The Summit, the Climb, or the Release?”
Imagine this with me. Sixteen years of age, long brown hair, big brown eyes. Innocence stolen. Her eyes reveal pain. They reveal helplessness. She wants to give up. She’s seated on the front stoop of a beautiful old farmhouse surrounded by the Amish heartland in all directions. Mason jar in hand, eyes glazed, she watchesContinue reading “Breaking The Jars: personal intention”