The place I go.

Growing up in North Carolina, my family lived on almost 6 acres of land. That was enough land to raise goats, build big forts out of fallen tree branches, and grow a huge grapevine I spent many days escaping the blazing summer sun while stuffing my cheeks full of scuppernongs.

Here in San Francisco, we have a tiny 6 foot x 4 foot concrete space between our front door and the neighboring Victorian that I very generously call a patio.  In an attempt to make it feel more like a yard, we’ve added a tree and lined the sides with green succulents. Most people would find the adoration of such a minimal, barren plot laughable - but I’m so grateful for even a tiny outdoor spot to call our own in a city where personal space is at a premium.

When I was learning meditation during my pregnancy, the directives would always say to go inward and to a place of peace and harmony. In my head, our little concrete cove was always the place I pictured. The sun would be shining, the music from a favorite record would be floating through the open french doors, and I would imagine myself there with Brent and pups and our new baby girl - swaying the afternoon away in the sun.

Sunday afternoon I found myself in that very scenario. The one I imagined time and time again as laid with my eyes closed, mentally preparing for Everly’s arrival. A place of peace and harmony. A gathering of the most beautiful components of my life.  A tiny concrete patio, a wafting tune, and the people I love most joining me there. It was with a grateful heart that I existed inside a moment that was no longer a dream.

Love,

M