You may have noticed Nomadic Nymph has been a bit quiet lately, and not for lack of want or content. The last six weeks have been eventful. Excursions to New Orleans, New York, Chicago. A long weekend in Maine for our 17th annual Maple Thanksgiving (“friends-giving”). Moving into a new house. There have been a multitude of stories and learnings and laughs and cries and lots of words put to paper (and computer).
You’d be really proud.
But I find myself having difficulty sharing any of it right now. Because right now I want to hole up with books and music and blankets and solitude.
Despite all the aforementioned goodness, this month has been harder than most. I’m not going to pretend it hasn’t. I’m tired, and a bit worn. Forward momentum and happiness don’t negate the heavy feels, and vise versa.
So why do I keep doing what I’m doing?
I keep exploring because stagnancy is akin to complacency.
I continue to travel to feel smaller than this grief that is, and will be, a constant companion.
I write because I can’t not.
And I share with the hope that even one other person will read the words and feel less alone.
Nymph began as a way to focus my energies on moving forward while still holding emotional space for you. Being able to find beauty and connections around the world has been my saving grace; it’s allowed me to keep you close while spreading my wings. And it’s turned into more than that.
It’s a safe space where there is no judgment on how one grieves. It’s an outlet for me. It’s where I find peace. It’s where I speak my truth, even if the truths aren’t always silly or funny or result in emotional revelations.
I keep doing what I’m doing, amidst potential criticism, because I want to. It makes me happy. And if there was one thing you wanted in this world, it was for me to be happy.
You’d be really proud.
A handful of cuties in their new solarium.