I’d always heard there were ocean people and mountain people. I was definitely the former, no question. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to live any distance away from the water. It seemed to define me. And I had no interest in mountains. I wasn’t a skier and I wasn’t particularly fond of snow. That was all I knew of mountains and I was simply not interested.

I’ve mentioned several times in earlier posts that Bill Loyd is making huge planters for our gallery out of rusty metal. Are we lucky or what? And he just installed the first two. The third will be placed in the corner at the front of the building…

Today we celebrate our 400th post. I say “our” because all of you are part of this with me. I wouldn’t be writing if not for you. It’s true. And I can’t tell you how deeply meaningful it is to have you to talk with.

What would it mean if we had the courage to live life wholeheartedly? How many of us do, really, live full out, holding nothing back?

Today was my good friend, Kim’s, last day staying in Truchas—until next winter anyway.

Sixteen years ago today, I came out of hiding. I came alive. I let life find me. Today I choose to celebrate that.

It is a journey each of us must take, to find our way—to speak our name. No one else can do this for us and no one else can stop us.