The adventure backpack

In 1998 I was graduating from college. My dear friend Ariane had studied abroad for her junior year and invited me to join her for a trip to France Italy and Greece. It was my first trip abroad. And my second solo flight ever. (The first one was to Texas to see my brother.) My mom got me all geared up. She bought everything on the list that my brothers friend Reid had made. He had become a travel writer and had all kinds of travel guides and lists, including what to try to pack for a trip backpacking to Europe. So my mom got all of it for me. Including an eagle creek backpack with a mini daypack attached. I was 21 years old.

Somewhere along the way the big pack got lost. I have so many photos of me in so many places wearing it. I am amazed that I was able to carry all my earthly belongings in it to so many places. Including my wedding dress on the way to my wedding. I’ll have to find that picture! In my memory, I have the small pack on the front with the hanger of my wedding dress in a garment bag hung from one of backpack’s loops.

Now in 2021, this backpack is my eight year olds “adventure backpack.” Somewhere along the way I gifted it to him because I graduated to a turquoise Patagonia backpack with two water bottle holders. That big purchase was made for myself in about 2015. So somewhere after that my son received the eagle creek backpack, or at least the portion of it that remained. He named it, “the adventure backpack.”

He’s so thoughtful how packs this backpack. There are already a few famous stories about how prepared he is with the things that he independently chooses to put in his backpack. Like extra snack bars that he was able to offer a friend and the friends father when they had run out of the house without snacks on a hike. (his friends father also happens to have the exact same Eagle Creek backpack - the whole thing- and has such strong deep nostalgic connections to it and still uses it which I love.) And then there’s the time he had Band-Aids at a group play date and none of the parents did.

tomorrow he is going to an outdoor hiking camp. And you better believe the adventure backpack is all packed with his gear for the day. Just like my mom, I slowly gathered the materials from the list. It’s only as I am writing this that I can imagine how much thought my mom put into gathering all those supplies. Including what we know now as the adventure backpack. I gathered the supplies but he’s the one that packed them and organized them and made the final decisions. He’s the one that stayed true to himself when I tried to convince him to use his school backpack, a waterproof REI Backpack with two water bottle holders and all kinds of high-tech pouches and compartments. No! He would not be convinced. That is his school backpack, he proclaimed. This is adventure.

as I write this I am so glad and grateful that this child, my son, is so true to himself. So strong in his will and his resolve.

And finally, what inspired me to write this post. He is getting over a cold and I started having cold feet about whether or not I should send him tomorrow. It’s supposed to rain and thunder and be a bit cold. Part of me wants to keep him home to give the cold one more day to resolve. However he’s 100% himself except for this now lingering cough. And the fever it’s already gone 24 hours.

as someone who is developing and listening to my intuition more and more every day, I noticed how much I was craving talking to my husband about this. I so wanted his final word for us to make a team decision about what to do. But still, I asked for a sign. I am so tired but before I remembered I needed to post this blog, as promised to myself and to you, I sat here and looked through some old photos.

Scrolling through old pictures, i found a picture of myself from 2005. I had just gotten back from a trip to Paris. I stopped on the East Coast for a while to visit family before returning to Los Angeles where I lived. The picture was of my grandmother and I, my nanny. It is one of my all-time favorite photos ever. Do you ever zoom in to beloved photos to see if you notice new things? I did that tonight, so longing to see something new about my nanny or the then me. And as I zoomed in moving the photo around to different sections, I noticed something in that photo that I had never seen before. I had a bag with me. I zoomed in closer to see what bag it was. Oh my goodness, it’s the adventure backpack. There’s my sign. This boy will go to camp tomorrow with his adventure backpack. I am thinking of all the adventures that that backpack went with me on. All the places we have been together. And I’m thinking about all the experiences my son will help with his. All of the adventures.

thank you for reading this. I love sharing this with you.

good things, darling.

Your Patient Bloom

I’m looking out at the golden glow

Oh spring, what do you know?

You teach me things in your patient bloom

In your eyes there’s so much room

Space to embrace each and every phase

To hold my wonder, to soften my gaze

I could sit here for days

And yet the day calls

My intention is to breathe this moment

In right now

To hold it close

Wow

Just wow

-Melissa Renzi

April 2021

Amherst, MA

No mistakes

It hit close to home recently that Eric Carle died. When we moved here to western Massachusetts we were amazed to discover a whole museum dedicated to Eric Carle. The Eric Carle Museum of picture book art. This place became a refuge of sorts. A place to go when we have nowhere else to go. Our favorite place was the art studio! The Space is a blend of dedicated exhibits to different picture book artists and writers. And also exhibits dedicated to Eric Carle‘s work. The entry and sprawling space are covered in giant murals of his work. There’s an amazing gift shop. And even a library!

I have so many memories of my son as a baby reading brown bear Brown bear. It was the first book he could “read” On his own. Practically as a one year old. The predictability and rhythm were so satisfying. The hungry little caterpillar is also a beloved book. Especially for me with my deep butterfly connection. Such a message of transformation.

So I finally just watched the legendary interview that’s been floating around where Mr. Rogers went to Eric Carle’s studio. Oh my goodness. It’s been a while since I have craved painting that much. The spirit and the peace of their conversation is exactly why and how I paint. Spoiler alert, in the interview Eric Carle shows how he is using carpet samples for texture. I am pretty sure I’ve tried everything for texture, but I never thought of that! You better believe I will be getting some carpet samples in the near future. I cannot wait to experiment. I love experimenting. (And truth be told, I haven’t really painted in a long time. I am more in a writing phase now. Though I have done some very satisfying doodling, but not much.)

The whole thing was my favorite part. But my actual favorite moment was when Mr. Rogers says to Eric Carle, “there are no mistakes, right?” And Eric Carle affirms this. “No mistakes.”

that is the kind of artist I am. The kind of parent I am. The kind of human I am. It’s the generosity of spirit I want to gift to myself and others. To trust myself. To trust the process. Both the creative process and the unfolding process of life itself. And when I find myself clinging to judgments and mistakes either in myself or others, I want to give myself and them some space and grace. Because truly in the great masterpiece of life, there are no mistakes. And being open to the discoveries and possibilities inside of what could be viewed as mistakes is where all of the magic lies. All of it.

When my son was in kindergarten I connected with his teacher who I absolutely adored. She had been teaching for 50 years. She needed a parent to help organize the art supplies and the door of opportunity was open. I walked through that door to serve and help out. Because oh yes I know a thing or two about art supplies. And it was such a delight to be able to do that for the class and also tell her a little bit about how I view creativity. (She was an infamously early arriver at the school. And so she invited me to come at 7 AM to help set up. She even opened the gate for me to let me in herself. ) As shorthand, since I knew her time was precious and she had so much going on that morning, I used the example of one of the books on my son’s shelf. “Beautiful Oops” by Barney Salzburg. I said do you know that book? Before I could even get to my point, she proclaimed, “Barney?!?! He’s my good friend. He’s been coming into my class for years to read his books to the children!” Without missing a beat she proceeded to pick up her cell phone and call him. He answered. Within moments she was telling him about me and how I mentioned his book. They planned a date for him to come in and read to the children. My heart was beating because, seriously! Could this be any bigger sign? For me to keep going with my creative process.

The outcome of all this is that I went in regularly to lead creativity workshops for the kindergarten class.

there are no mistakes. As I shared earlier it has been a long time since I’ve painted and since I have led a creativity workshop, either with children or adults. And since I believe there are truly no mistakes. It’s kind of magic that I am bringing this up now. We shall see. We shall see. It’s amazing how inspiration strikes.

Good things, darling.

It’s been a God year

Tomorrow is the last day of school. Yesterday I asked my kids if they would like to make cards for their teachers. They both jumped at the chance. My son started right away enthusiastically writing his note. And his kids spelling he wrote, “It’s bin a god yeer.”

It’s been a God year.

wow. Well I know that is not what he meant but that is what I received. I know he meant it was a good year. He followed the statement with, “it was fun.” I’m so grateful that even in a pandemic he’s able to describe the year as “good and fun.”

I am also viewing his kids spelling as another layer on the kind of year this has been. It has been a God year. So much has changed and been unearthed. The world slowed down like never before. A grinding halt that left us all reeling at first. The world rose up, too. Rose up to unify against hate and murder. To stand together for anti-racism. And within it all so much transformation, for me personally, for my children and family on all levels. For our school, our town, our country, our world.

I’ll be sitting with this one for a while. For now I wanted to share it real time. Unprocessed. Raw. It’s the night before the end of the school year. Summer begins.

It’s been a God year.

You are beautiful

When we were in Cape Cod on spring break I was drawn to a little pack of stickers that say “you are beautiful.” I put them in my purse and forgot about them. I thought perhaps I would send them to all my friends. The next night we went to our first restaurant in the age of Covid. We sat outside in our own personal greenhouse. The server was so incredible, patient with us in every way and such an uplifting presence. I showed the kids my pack of stickers that just happened to be in my purse still. I told the kids that I wanted to give her one. I asked if they would like to give it to her. My 4 1/2-year-old daughter wanted to be the one to give it to her. She handed it to her and said, “I love you.”

The server was so touched. A few minutes later as we were leaving we saw her holding her cell phone. I imagine that she was going to stick the sticker to her phone. The next day was our last day on Cape Cod. On the way out we stopped in another restaurant and ate in their outdoor picnic benches. A duo was sitting together that we just started chatting with. I woman had exquisitely dyed hair in every shade of the rainbow. It was gorgeous and very peacock like. Even more so her personality was beautiful. She was with an older man who I partly wondered if he was her father or just a friend. They chatted with us a bit. My 8 1/2-year-old son leaned in close and said “mom, let’s give them stickers.”

it’s become a magic little tradition. Our own little random act of kindness to share with people. We have given them out one by one in all kinds of places. Last week I gave one to a medical technician who was so compassionate and loving in a time when I felt a little nervous. And then today I gave one to my dermatologist. She said, “these kinds of small positive acts can change the world. Thank you so much.” This is after she went and got a piece of paper and wrote down the name of her hairdresser and the name of the salon. After I was telling her I was still settling into western Massachusetts life and hadn’t really found “the one” in terms of a hairdresser, eyebrow waxing place and Mani Pedi place. (this all started with her neon pink toenails that were such a ray of sunshine in the bleak medical building.)

if I was standing with you right now, I would give you a sticker too. Because you are beautiful.

The Tree

I sit here resting in your wisdom

Alive in your leaves

Amazed at the breeze

Flowing to you and through you

This is the moment where I become you

And you become me

Short-lived and forever all at once

I wish I could see how deep your roots go

How far they spread

At night as I lie in bed

I wonder if I saw all the wonder

There was to see

I hope I didn’t miss anything

Eyes closed to the miracle of life

Right before my eyes

I pray to be wise tomorrow

To see the Majesty

To hear the birds

To listen to the words

Landing in my heart

Bird on a branch

Butterfly on a flower

My soul is a tower

A place to see the world

From way up above

Where I don’t miss anything

Not even a dove

And from way up here

I shed a single sacred tear

I am home among the trees

Alive in the breeze

This is my prayer

My prayer is to share

Share the view

Hold your hand

Savor this land

Rest in your wisdom

Thy kingdom come

Thy will be done

-Melissa Renzi

June 7, 2021

Shelburne Falls, MA

Speak Myself

My body has a language

Og its own

And it tells me things

I’d never know

If I couldn’t speak myself

-Melissa Renzi

Fall 2003

Torrance, CA

This is an oldie but goodie. I had lived in Los Angeles almost 2 and a half years when I wrote this. I left the boyfriend that I had originally moved there for. Partly because I “spoke myself” and finally listened to the clues that it wasn’t right for me. (And such deep gratitude for that relationship as it was exactly what I needed then and was such an integral stepping stone in my whole life unfolding, moving me from NJ to LA.)

I wrote this during such a fertile chapter, where I reconnected with my Self again (I’m only capitalizing it now, I didn’t know about the different between little “s” self and capital “S” Self.) I wrote a ton, went to the library, made a million paintings. I moved into a second floor apartment that was so falling apart that I actually thought I may step too hard and fall into my downstairs neighbor’s place. (And something similar happened with the toilet, I’ll spare you the details.)

I lived above a Hispanic family. The mother had three sweet angel children, two who would come up and hang out with me (one was a newborn). Her boyfriend drove a parking lot shuttle at LAX. When I moved out we had a garage sale together where we spent more money getting Carl’s Junior than we made. I treated her to a lunch date the week I moved out and I can see her beaming face. (At one of the restaurants on Crenshaw.) It was such a treat for both of us.

It’s been so many years that I cannot remember her name or her children’s names. I can’t even remember the number of the street. (It was one of the two-hundred something number streets.) It was my first apartment alone in California. That apartment is where I taught my first ever art classes. I made it my own and I treasure those times, including writing this poem. I lived there until I moved in with a friend that I met at a poetry reading. She was getting divorced and her husband moved out so they offered me the master bedroom with a balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean for the same price I was paying with the weak floorboards. I stayed there until they sold the house. I’m hoping somewhere in my stacks of journals that I have some entries about those days. What an adventure.

Do you “Speak Yourself?” What signs does your heart, mind, body, soul give you to know what’s true or not for you? Do you listen? When you listen, you’ll get even more signs. Give it a try.

8 minutes

Eight minutes until midnight. Eight minutes to fulfill this promise to post daily. Eight minutes to tell you how magical and healing and important this weekend was. It’s amazing how eight minutes could be not enough time and all the Time in the world.

I’ll leave you with a song. This is the song that ended our USM consciousness health and healing weekend.

https://www.google.com/search?q=i+believe+andrea+bocelli&rlz=1CDGOYI_enUS888US888&oq=i+believe&aqs=chrome.0.69i59j46i433j46j0i433j46j69i65.47390j0j4&hl=en-US&sourceid=chrome-mobile&ie=UTF-8

i’m letting it be OK that I cannot easily figure out how to embed the link from my iPhone. It’s OK. It’s OK for you to know I’m human. It’s OK for you to be human. We are all divine beings having and using a human experience.

Four minutes left. Will I use them to fix typos and capitalization? Will I dig deeper in my heart or hold onto my head?

I will dig deeper. I will share just as much as I can real time, raw and unfiltered. Unprocessed. Just me being me at the end of this beautiful weekend. At the very beginning of this week.

did you listen to the song? Let yourself listen, really listen.

good night darling

and good things

Goodnight, Sweet Light

Mommy, I’m afraid of the dark

I’m afraid of lizards, wolves and sharks

Oh sweet love, that’s okay

Thank you for telling me

In truth you are free

I’ll give you something to snuggle and hug

I’ll tuck you in as snug as a bug

I’ll kiss your sweet forehead

Now stay in your bed

Mommy, I’m still afraid of the dark

I’m afraid I will never make my mark

Oh sweet love, that’s okay

Thank you for telling me

In truth you are free

You are making your mark every day

Through Loving and living, that’s the way

To soothe your sweet heart

My darling, your life is your art

So turn on the light

The one that lives inside you

Shine it, share it, wear it

Be you magnificent you

Trust the light inside 

Never, ever hide it

Let it shine bright

Don’t put up a fight

For when you feel afraid

That’s an invitation, my love

Your truth will never fade

Share all your colors

The bright, the light and the dark

Mommy, I’m afraid of the dark

And I’m shining my light too

Yes, my love

That’s the way

Now rest your eyes

Your love is so wise

Goodnight, my Love

Goodnight, sweet Light

Five Things

1. I am grateful for the full moon and that we got to see it. P, already in his pajamas, grabbed the basketball and started playing saying “this is special.”

2. I am grateful for the University of Santa Monica. We just completed our Tuesday evening mid-month evening together. “I am trusting my Loving and accepting God in all things” and “I am trusting my Love and sharing it openly” are affirmations that came forward this evening in the sharing. Aaaah I’m so grateful to capture them here (and on the paper on my desk.)

3. I am grateful that I took the time today to clear Laundry Mountain. The clothes are all folded and away. For now until life brings them back here. There will be another Laundry Mountain and as a family, we’ll just keep climbing.

4. I am grateful that we got to be on campus at our kids school today. It was the 2nd grade play and we got to be together as a class community watching our dear 2nd graders performing outside.

5. I am grateful for showing up here and for the tools to keep going even when I want to stop. I’ll just keep climbing blog mountain, too.

September in My Soul

Hello sweet soul 

We’re on a roll

Back from a too long break

Time and space of forgetting

And today I remember

It’s September in my Soul

Born again and back to school

Fresh start

For my golden heart

Laying worries aside

Heart open wide

There are so many rules to abide

And instead I hop on a slide

The chutes and ladders of my heart

Writing makes me want to play

Jumping and skipping

No longer tripping

Skating along with Ease and Grace

Because I’m willing to face

What is

What was

Remembering the truth that always will be

In essence, I am wild and free

Sipping from life’s majestic cup

The truth my love

Is there’s only one way to go

And that way is Up

Rise high

Sweet sigh

This, my darling, is why

-Melissa Renzi

June 3, 2021

*Written after Listening Path morning pages Week One Day One.

Week One, Day One

I did it. Yesterday I promised myself I’d start morning pages again. And I did it. I DID IT! I really, really did it. Morning pages are a lifeline for me. I feel so much like myself today grounded in my sacred creative practice. My spiritual practice. Writing in the morning points my whole day in the right direction. Whatever right is, that’s where it goes. Right and true. I feel so myself today. I won’t share my actual morning pages. Those are not meant to be shared. I will share the two poems that wrote themselves in my heart AFTER my morning pages. I’ll share them tomorrow and the next day. (I may share pieces of them much later. Right now they are too raw and tender and they are meant to just be. So be they will be.)

There’s an internet meme going around that says something like “Day one OR One day. Your choice.” Well, I chose Day One. On May 3 I chose Day one of my blog. And today, on June 3, 2021, I committed to Day one of morning pages. I am following the spirit of the Artist’s Way that has been such a crucial part of my path. Specifically I am following Julia Cameron’s latest book, “The Listening Path: The Creative Art of Attention.” So far I’m just in the introduction but I’ll finish Chapter 1 in the next few days and let it guide me through week one of this 6 week process (and beyond!)

I was so excited at dinner that I announced to my husband, 8.5 year old and 4.5 with a seated happy dance in between bites of our every Thursday dinner rice and beans. “Do I seem extra peaceful today?! More like Me? It’s because I wrote in my journal this morning! I love writing in my journal. It makes me feel soooo good!” Aaaah. I’m back. I’m BACK! Get ready to watch this blog get extra juicy. Because when I go in and have so much to share out.

Good things, darling.

Melissa

Making a new promise to mySelf

Well. Here we are. This is my last day of blogging for a full month. I started on May 3 and here we are on June 2. Wow. I want to go back and revisit what worked and what didn’t. But the truth is I already know.

I am so grateful to ME that I showed up and posted every day no matter what. I am grateful to you for reading this. I have barely shared this with anyone, only a select few who were part of my journey in birthing this baby. I was giving this time to grow and flow. Giving me time to just let this be without the added pressure and distraction of posting on social media about it.

As much as I love this blog, I am missing an important link. I am missing my deeply sacred morning pages. This time last year I was fully committed to the Artist’s Way. A habit that lasted most of 2020 and got me through pandemic life with a place to process, share, grieve. A place to show up each morning and confide my deepest, darkest, brightest, most raw, most tender thoughts. I’d often refer to my journal as an old friend. I miss that. It was there for me through the journey of helping my dear friend Danay through what we first thought was radiation. And what we soon realized were the last days of her earthly life. I cannot imagine going through that experience, losing my dear, dear friend and showing up to help her and her family without the support of my sacred writing practice. Such a blessing in so many ways.

And yet, somewhere along the way I stopped being able to wake up in the morning. I started struggling with waking up in the middle of the night. Each day I’d set the alarm and each morning I’d snooze or turn it off from sheer exhaustion. I told myself I could just do my writing a little later and I often did. But it’s just not the same.

As I reflect on what this month long journey of blogging has been like, I honor myself for actually doing it. For honoring the commitment over any old identifications of perfectionism. Of listening to the desire to share over the desire to let fear hold me back. I am someone who has posted every. Single. Day. for a whole month. Wow.

And now, as I head into my next month, I give myself the gift of remembering how much my morning pages are a lifeline for me. They give me a chance to connect in the silence, to clear my head, to fill my heart. What would this blog be if I allowed myself to ALSO do my morning pages. That will be this month’s experiment, this month’s gift. This month’s promise.

I can’t promise that they will all be at 5:30 or in the early 6am hours. They may be. Instead, I will promise myself to do them when I can. Just like the Little Engine, “I think I can, I think I can.” Just like Glennon Doyle, “We can do hard things.” Morning pages are a hard thing that makes my whole day and my whole life easier. The part that is hard is waking up. The writing is some of the most sacred moments of my life. Such peace. Such deep, deep peace.

I look forward to sharing with you. In the meantime, what are you promising yourself? Maybe it’s some morning pages time. Maybe it’s something else. I encourage you to listen to your heart to the promises you know you want to make. And then honor that promise, one little step at a time.

Tonight before I go to bed, I will hard-boil eggs and set up the coffee. (Gone are the easy days of just drinking coffee while I write. Now I know I need to have food in my stomach when I drink coffee. That’s all part of getting to know the changing Me, the Me that introduces herself to me each year as I get older and wiser.

Somewhere there’s a poem in one of my early journals that I’ve yet to find:

“I want wrinkles so deep that my skin needs directions.”

Now that I’m 44 and wrinkles are more and more of a real possibility, remembering those words from my early twenty something self reminds me of the purity of my heart, my desire to live fully, completely and honestly. And I’m grateful for whatever marks show up on my skin as a record of my life. I don’t have too many wrinkles yet, but I do have a few. And I love them. Just like when I got my first gray hair, I called it “my pet.” Now I have a whole crew of pets at my temple. I honor them. They honor me.

Today’s post is brought to you by my wide open heart. Unpolished. Unedited. Promised.

Good things, darling.

With so much love and deep gratitude,

Melissa Renzi

Hello New Month

Hello new month

Fresh start, what art will I make?

What risks will I take?

How much will I sleep?

When will I leap?

I promise to keep my promises to myself

To listen to my soul’s whispering elf

Pulling me towards my dreams

Even when fear screams

I’ll scream along with it

Until I cry and the fear dies

I’m soul-wise seeing the world

Through love’s eyes

Knowing it’s ok to be scared to death

And shouting, sometimes, what the eff

Because in my heart

I’m crystal clear

Here, here

Come sit with me, fear

Let’s snuggle up by the fire of my soul

One by one making a goal

Until the whole picture is revealed

And we are healed

Together we bear all the elements

Mixing life’s ingredients

Into a pot of soul soup

And nourishing me first

Quenching a lifelong thirst

And inviting the world one by one

To come sit at our table

As long as we are able

The soup keeps making itself

When I listen to my soul’s elf

And write words like this in a journal

My love, my life, is eternal

Sharing my abundance with the world

Sharing my gifts

Healing old rifts

Blazing new trails

Nothing pales in comparison

When there is no comparison

Instead the sun rises in my heart

And everything shines

-Melissa Renzi

Friday February 1, 2019

Los Angeles, CA

8 Ways to Reconnect with your Creativity

8 ways to almost instant inspiration. Go!

1. Come to one of my Creative Way of Life workshops

2. Draw straights and rounds in the air! One continuous overlapping line. Eyes closed.

3. Gather some creative supplies and put in a basket for handy access.

4. Put a little extra creative love into a meal you make. Bonus if it's only for you!

5. Set a timer for 10 minutes and list all the things you loved to play as a kid.

6. Remember a creative memory from when you were little. Remember and honor that kid in you!

7. Treat yourself to a new pen. A whole pack of your favorite pen is worth its weight in journal gold.

8. Treat yourself to a juicy sharpie! Doodle away.

Let me know how it goes, how you feel and what unfolds. I can't wait to hear from you.

❤️ Melissa Renzi

Founder & Creator of Said The Butterfly Studio

Firsts and Lasts

I am lying in my bed wearing ice cold cotton socks With wool socks on top. And then my wool sleeping socks on top of that. And a wool blanket plus my green blanket I’ve had since childhood. Memorial day weekend in western Massachusetts! It’s been rainy all weekend. My daughter came home from school Friday with a cold. The first cold in our family in 15 months. So of course it felt a little alarming. Because she had a fever along with the cough we had to get a Covid test and take her to the doctor. The doctor knew right away it was just a cold but we need the Covid test for school reentry once the fever goes away and she’s all better. Thankfully the fever was gone yesterday morning. This was an invitation to slow down and stay home. We did have an action packed weekend. Lots of plans to cancel. Now I feel like I am getting sick. My throat feels a little sore and swollen, that beginning of being sick feeling. Another invitation to slow down. That’s why I’m wearing the ice cold socks and all the wool. It’s the wet sock Treatment. I first learned about this from my dear friend Danay who shared this with me. Now I always do it at the first sign of being sick. Being home this Weekend led to so many treasured moments. For now I will hold them in my heart as I get ready to settle in to sleep. But first I will treat myself to the this is us season finale! This blogging thing is a grand experiment. Just trusting that this is exactly right and enough for now. Good things, darling.

I Can Still Be True: My Daughter, My Teacher, My Why

Last spring, we went on a family outing to a local mini-mountain, a place where just for a few hours we could be together in nature away from the unknowns of the new-pandemic world. My daughter Eva, then three and a half, brought with her an empty plastic vitamin bottle full of water and a house-paint-brush. She insisted on bringing these things with her in the carseat and with her out of the car and up the mountain. The practical mother in me considered convincing her to leave these things at home. The artist in me resisted the urge to simplify for my convenience and allowed her to bring them.

My goal was to find some peace and perspective in the panoramic view of the Pioneer Valley, the Western Massachusetts sprawl of farmland, small towns and universities that we call home. Eva’s goal was to find a place to paint. She chose a slate bench where she set up shop: her paintbrush, her “paint” - the water she had brought with her. She started to paint the bench in bold strokes. Her enjoyment and enthusiasm were palpable. Soon, in a flash of inspiration, she knocked over her water by accident. Her water was her paint. What would she do? We were far from any water source where I could quickly offer a refill.

She looked at me startled. My instinct was to search for the words to fix and console. Instead, I paused. Pausing is my favorite way to parent. To resist the fierce urge to fix and instead give her the space to come up with her own conclusions, her own feelings, her own experience. And to be there, right by her side, holding space for those emotions and that experience. Assuming that’s what she needed, that is.

Turns out, she didn’t need any of that. Instead she cut through the clutter of everything my adult mind brought to the experience with five words that have since been tattooed on my heart.

She looked me right in the eyes and said, “I can still be true.”

I can still be true.

I. Can. Still. Be. True.

Five words fully-loaded with individuality, persistence, possibility, authenticity, self-awareness and TRUTH.

Who is this guru disguised as a three year old? How does she have access to such wisdom? Her goal, it turns out, was not to paint everything in sight. Her goal was simply, beautifully, poetically, “To be true.” In her three years, she still remembers SO MUCH about what it is to live. In my forty four years, even though I am on a quest to remember all these things, still, I forget again and again and again.

And so, inspired by my sweet girl, who invites me to a higher way of living and being almost daily, that is my intention too.

“I can still be true.”

That is my intention, my mantra, my lens through which I will now put everything in my life. To show up as my full true self, to find ways to be true no matter what the setback, circumstance or audience. And to share that truth with my children, my family and friends, my clients, the world.

I’m still learning

This is One of my favorite quotes. I first saw it on a card attributed to Michelangelo. That’s my wisdom for today on this day of all days.

These are the questions of my life

Hi, it’s me

Dreaming on a moon beam

When I scream

It’s because I’ve lost touch

Chaos becomes a crutch

Afraid to be alone with me

Even though it’s my favorite way to Be

I see 

I see

I am free when I let myself

Admit the truth

Of all that I am

And all that I am not

And some parts of me rot

Waiting for me to use them

Muscles deteriorating

Dreams deflating

Meanwhile I plate the food

And notice my mood lift

As I sift and serve

A healthy meal

Splendid in nutrients

And sweet and savory

Who am I saving?

What am I craving?

These are the questions of my life

This Monday as I sit here

With my to do list

Watching the snow

And my heart

Melt

-Melissa Renzi

January 4, 2021

Amherst, MA

This started with a drawing of a face above a moon with a rainbow arch over it. There’s an arrow pointing to the drawing where I wrote: “Moonbeam Dream.” In the moon I wrote:

Sweet, sweet soul

Loves silence

It’s a heart rinse

I haven’t added pictures to the blog yet. If I did have pictures, I would take a picture of the journal page. As an artist that’s an interesting and very intentional choice. To keep this simple and text only is survival mode for me right now. It’s keeping this blog alive and not adding any new layers just yet. The act of adding images and pictures is all too much for me right now. The text, the writing, the sharing, the culling, the discovering - that’s all plenty for now. One day. Not today.

Silence is my favorite thing

My four year old daughter and I were driving to a birthday party last weekend. Out of habit, as we pulled out of our neighborhood, I said to her, “Wanna listen to the radio?” It was kind of a rhetorical question because I had already pressed the car radio button on. She responded, “No! I want silence.” I paused at the stop sign leaving our neighborhood. The place where our little 250 house world of neighbors and friends meets the world at large. I turned off the radio and took a deep breath in and out.

“Silence is my favorite thing,” she said.

Aaaah. Oh sweet girl, me too. Silence is my favorite thing too.

We pulled out of our neighborhood and drove up the hill where the trees turn to wide open farmland. Green upon green. Peaceful panorama. This is why we moved here.

We left LA with an intention to slow down. To find more space to spread out. To return to the seasons among which my husband and I had both grown up. To be driving distance to family. To have less people and cars and buildings and billboards. To have more silence.

Hearing my daughter know herself so well at four years old is such a gift. And my gift to her, again and again and everyday, will be encouraging her to stay true to that knowing. That silence is her favorite thing. It’s truly my favorite thing too.

As an artist, writer and dreamer, I thrive in silence. It’s where I empty out and fill up. Filling up with peace. Letting my nervous system, breathing, heart rate and inner nature all return to their natural state. My true north is in silence. I am part introvert. I hesitate using that word because so many people do not understand it. To me, it means I recharge when I am alone. I connect with my energy again by being alone. Then I am ready to be with people again. I love people. I cannot love them when I am around them ALL. THE. TIME.

In this chapter of life, I’ve been playing a tricky game with silence. Judging myself for needing and wanting and craving so much of it. Feeling like I never get enough of it no matter how much I get. And then filling up my possible silent time with not-silent things like phone scrolling or to do items. Like that moment in the silent car with my daughter when I turned on the radio. Thankfully I had a sage with me, buckled into her carseat, to remind me of my true north.

A little silence goes a long way. A lot of silence goes even farther.

My children are my teachers. My daughter is my reminder of how vital silence is to the natural order or things. Her natural order and mine.

When I did altMBA this February, one of our cohort meetings began with a question. We all typed our responses into the Zoom as a chat waterfall. I wrote the first thought that came to my mind. The question: “What brings you joy?” My immediate response: “Silence.”

I half cringed at myself for admitting that. There’s something in our society that doesn’t celebrate silence. The coaches called on me to share. As I started talking I fell into the knowing and truth of why I had written silence in the first place. I saw several knowing glances through the Zoom gallery. I felt seen. Even better, I felt true.

My intention is to connect with even more silence. Next level will be connecting to the silence even where and when there is noise. To honor my need for silence and space no matter who I am with and no matter what their relationship with silence is. And to create space for others to find silence too. To be a guide for those who are afraid of silence or for those who resist it by unknowingly filling up their time, like I sometimes find myself doing.

Silence is a gift and a treasure.

What’s your relationship with silence?