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What a beautiful way to start my morning, reading these incredible words posted by Christa in New York from one of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott. How could you not love a writer who uses a phrase like, “the psychic Spanx that keeps us smaller and contained?” Touching, poignant, true. I hope you find this as inspiring as I do.

Christa Avampato

I love Anne Lamott. She is among my favorite writers because of her raw, honest turn of phrase and her fearlessness that allows her to cut right to the chase. In her efforts to thoroughly understand herself, she is a mirror for her readers.

In 2009, she wrote this gorgeous article in O, The Oprah Magazine, about how to be who you are meant to be. Her advice is this: stop. Figure out what to stop doing, who to stop pleasing, and where you don’t need to be. It’s akin to the advice that learning what not to do gets us closer to figuring out what to do. And then I would also add that you meditate because while you may be able to stop physically, you need to also give your brain a break from its tireless whirr of thoughts.

Enjoy this article and then tuck it away…

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I am a moon chaser.

Moonlight stops me in my tracks, always asking me to pause and focus on the moment that it offers, in all of its ethereal, enchanted, supernatural beauty.  It’s a moment that has to be experienced in person, though the urge to hold onto it is great.  It jut cannot be adequately captured in a photograph.

Though, I always try.

Two nights ago on a long walk after a long day at work, there it was, just shy of full and high in the sky. It peeked through the clouds just long enough to show off its heavenly light.



Last night, I sought out the moon, and it didn’t disappoint me.  It greeted me on my walk home—massive and mystical and mysterious.



And tonight, finally at the peak of its fullness—and at the pinnacle of enormity—it was powerful and intense and spellbinding.


Moonlight brings forth the romantic in me, all full of dreams and hope. By chasing the moon, I dance with possibility and wishes come true.  It helps to light my way home.

Your turn…make a wish.

xo, with goodness and grace.

There is a crack in the window pane.

I hadn’t noticed it before, but it caught my eye right before I went to bed.  Maybe it’s just a superficial crack – my casement windows are old and drafty, and I most likely would have felt a new stream of wind in the room.

But the bright luminosity of the light streaming through the crack is what really caught my attention. It shone like a light beam.

This, of course, was the end to Easter Sunday, so my mind was full of magic and miracles. I’d taken off the surrounding work days to enjoy the changing weather and to pre-empt the early spring mental fatigue that plagues me every year, noticeable only when I realize much too late that I haven’t had a day off in months.

Unfortunately, the better part of my vacation was spent in bed with an epically bad head cold.

Disappointment followed: the cancellation of the dinner party I’d planned for two of my friends, the spinning classes I would return to after a long absence, the restaurants I would try. I was bummed.

I suppose here is where I could tell a story with dramatic flourishes to weave the tale of how I got out of my sick bed and was transformed by something otherworldly, altering the course of my spring, magically lighting my way and resurrecting the dreams I had for my vacation days.

The reality is something much simpler happened: I started to feel better, so I got out of my sick bed and spent a holiday with my parents.

Family has always been the light in a dark day for me.  The truth is that the ordinary moments—cooking dinner with my mom, watching a basketball game with my dad, laughing with them both—are what light the path of my life.  The simple moments of connection give meaning to the myths of rebirth and second chances and starting anew.  I may have eaten my weight in jelly beans in my sick bed, but I also sent the Easter bunny and all of his Peeps on their way as I found meaning in the laughter and relaxation and sense of belonging that being home brings for me.

So at the end of the day, my mood brightened, the light from the crack in my window reflected the stars and fairy dust and all beautiful things in the world that I was feeling.

I was reminded of that Leonard Cohen quote, “There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

What a beautiful thing to ruminate on as I fell asleep, off to dream with angels and fairies and spirit guides who show me the cracks so I can see the light.

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