life experiences


summit of Mt of the Holy Cross | August 2008

I started amelia carolyn just a couple of years ago on a whim. It reintroduced me to my love of writing and provided a venue to share and express my thoughts and experiences.

And I credit this blog for helping me find and develop my passion for writing and desire to help others through life coaching. And in March of this year, I launched Expand Outdoors, my life coaching practice. And with it, a new blog.

I’m also embarking on a year-long road trip with my husband, where we’re planning on blogging together about our journey. (Blog url to be determined.)

That’s three blogs for me… too many for now. So I’ve come to the decision to take a hiatus, (or sabbatical, or break, or whatever you’d like to call it) from amelia carolyn. I believe I’ll be back, but my focus is elsewhere right now and instead of feeling guilty and stressed about not writing here, I’m going to trust that the right decision for now is to let it sit for a bit.

amelia carolyn
My mom wanted to name me Amelia Carolyn before I was born, but eventually my parents decided on Amy. I’ve always dreamed that Amelia was my alter-ego. A braver and more creative self that was hidden, and I’d wanted to give her a voice through my writing.

At the beginning of 2008 I had anticipated it would be a year of newness and celebrating all that was changing in my life. I didn’t know at the time what that meant. This blog was part of that year and over the next two years, I’ve been able to integrate the bravery of amelia carolyn that was hidden, and bring her into the present.

You can catch up with me here (at Expand Outdoors) and soon here (for the van trip – link coming soon.)

thank you
I want to thank all of my readers for supporting me, encouraging me and reading here. It has helped me grow and expand myself and get me ready for the future.

hiking by lower mesa falls in Idaho | August 2010

our home for a year

I know that things generally take longer than you think they will… especially when it’s a large construction-type project. I know this. I knew it a month ago. I just wish, sometimes, that progress might surprise me once in awhile. That your big project acutally ends up taking half the time instead of twice as much. Is that too much to ask?

It’s not that we haven’t made progress on our van… we have. They’re just not actually visible yet. And sometimes it feels as though we haven’t moved forward at all, and I get discouraged.

August 2nd or 3rd is when we’re targeting to leave. We have a family reunion starting the 4th and want to launch the trip then. That’s in, ahem, two weeks. (Pardon me while I go scream for a little bit.)

Two weeks isn’t a very long time. Plan A? Finish in time and head north. Plan B? Return to finish the van after the reunion and give ourselves a few more weeks to complete it.

While the progress isn’t visible, we actually are making. Here’s what we’ve done:

  • Purchased the van. (That was pretty big.) We’ve also stripped the shelving it came with and cleaned it out. We’ve added new tires, an alignment and got an oil change.
  • We discussed getting doors in the back with windows and researched our options (eventually deciding against it for a variety of reasons).
  • We sat down and planned the layout for the inside. Where are the bikes going? Where are we sleeping? Where will the shelving go? How the heck are we going to fit everything in?
  • We went to storage and got everything we thought we’d need, piled it up for a visual picture of what goes in, and pulled our hair out. Yikes.
  • Bracken made detailed measurements of the floor and what materials we’ll need to build it. And then went and purchased it all.

current condition of the inside

We still have a LOT to do. Two weeks just might be a little ambitious. We’ll see. But it’s coming along… the construction is part of the adventure. Right?

We’re still working long days. Trying to see old friends and meeting new ones. I’m launching a business. It’s a little crazy and I’m looking forward to getting on the road and just driving with the world ahead of us.

Until then, we’re building. A van. Some strength. And a whole lot of patience.

“How do I get home,” I asked the agent an hour and fifteen minutes into the call. I was close to tears. She’d been very helpful working with me and another airline to confirm a rebooking for us. It was 3:00am and we were still in Lihue. Our flight had been scheduled to leave at 8:40pm.

I was at my lowest point. On hold for over an hour, only to find out she couldn’t help. I tried to be understanding—I knew the situation. But I just wanted to know where to go when we arrived at LAX.

“How do I get home?” It’s a funny question to have asked. I was moving from Kaua’i back to the mainland with no home to go to. Was I asking her how I get to my final destination (SLC where we planned to stay with my father-in-law for a week or two)?

Or was I asking, in a moment of fragility, a bigger question? What is home? Where can I find that feeling of grounding? Before moving to Kaua’i, I wrote a post about feeling at home whereever you are. It was a post based more on optimism and hope than a reality I knew. It’s a really wonderful sentiment, and I’m still moving toward that reality, but it’s not so easy to come by. As a woman who grew up in the same home for 18 years, it’s an unsettling feeling to move without knowing exactly where you’ll land.

It’s a feeling of limbo. The space between here and there. Shifting habits and routines to fit a new environment; searching for a comfortable and inviting space to work. And the constantly-asked question that others ask as an ice-breaker, “where are you living?” Um… the United States? In a van (that hasn’t been purchased yet)? It’s an awkward question to answer these days.

And that’s what I feel like: Things that felt normal not so long ago seem so very unnatural. Questions I had ready answers to, now make me think twice. Routines I took for granted have disappeared. The next adventure hasn’t begun. I’m floating between what was and what will be. This space between where I’m creating and grieving all at once.

Something good and amazing and wonderful is in the works. It’s exciting and terrifying. The unknown. How will I handle it? With grace? With tact? With confidence? I hope.

We’ll head to Boulder soon—our “homebase,” as I call it. We have things there in storage. We have favorite coffee shops and good friends. We know the trails and how long it takes to get from point A to point B. It’s the best home I know right now, but I’m not sure what it’ll feel like when we get there. Will it still feel like home? Or will it serve as a magnification that I am homeless?

How do I get home? I’m not sure, and I think that’s the lesson. Or at least part of the adventure. We’ve signed on for this. The unconventional and unusual. We’ll figure it out. Home is whereever we are.

hihimanu summit trail

I recently wrote a two-part series on my experience preparing for, and hiking hihimanu (shown above) over at my blog for Expand Outdoors. They’re both pretty long, but I tried to capture more than just a report on the trail and the elevation and facts of the hike.

I talk about taking risks and how it’s different between the genders. I talk about why this particular hike was challenging for me and what my mental processes were as I prepared myself for going on the hike, and what helped me during the actual hike.

I know a lot of my readers here enjoy my race reports and hearing about my experiences here on Kaua’i, so wanted to let you know about the recent posts (if you hadn’t already) and invite you to go over there and check them out (read part one; read part two).

adjusting
I’m still adjusting to having two blogs these days, so appreciate your patience during this new exploration. Here are links to a few more of my posts over there that you might find interesting:

stripping down in the outdoors

beauty of the stars

finding your tribe

seeing through new eyes

Outrigger canoe surfing. Who knew it could be so much fun? About a month ago I was out surfing by the Hanalei Pier and saw a group surf a few waves there in this canoe (or wa’a). I was immediately smitten.

A few weeks later I saw a guy on the beach by the canoe (and a lot of beginner surfboards) advertising for free lessons and canoe rides.

I was intrigued.

I approached him about the details. (Essentially, he operates on gratuity and takes up to three people out for about an hour.) Sweet.

Yesterday afternoon, Bracken and I headed to the beach for a walk. It was a beautiful Hawaiian afternoon: blue sky, light winds, clean surf. As we neared the water I spotted the canoe. A smile erupted. Perfect.

Our guide (Ethan) was ready to go. “Just give me ten minutes to get it ready for the water.” He gave us a brief rundown on paddle usage and getting in and out of the canoe. Neither Bracken nor I had ever been in one before. (Between the two of us, we have pretty minimal experience with any kind of paddling sport.)

We headed out into the surf, me in the front, Bracken directly behind me, and our guide steering from the back. We immediately felt the water splash over us as we barreled head-first into the breaking waves. It felt good.

We paddled toward the Bowl—a popular reef break with overhead+ waves. We’d been out to the Bowl surfing this winter. It’s serious business when the waves are good. Ethan instructed me (sitting in front) to lean over as far into the wave as I could once we caught the wave, encouraging me to sit up on the side and really put my weight into it.

He steered us into the lineup. And then “GO! Paddle!” And we dug deep and fast, matching the speed of our canoe with the oncoming wave. “WE GOT IT!” And we did. I hopped up onto the edge of the canoe, leaned all my weight into the wave and felt pure joy. It was divine. Exhilarating.

We spent the rest of the hour at the bowl, paddling for, catching, and riding the waves. Then turning around and doing it all over again. We pulled out of a few (didn’t get the right amount of speed going—we all have to paddle exactly together, or the wave didn’t break as we [okay, Ethan... we were really mostly along for the ride] thought it would), but overall, caught quite a few.

At one point, a big outside set came through and we had to paddle hard to get over the crest. I flew out of my seat about 2 feet and landed hard. I don’t think my smile left. I’ll have a pretty serious bruise for sure, but I’d do it all over again tomorrow. And the next day, too.

Heading into shore, we relaxed a bit and paddled along the shoreline. Ethan shared some local history of the bay (how they used the pier to bring cattle onto the island) and history of hawaiian canoe surfing. It’s the oldest sport on the islands and for that reason, is grandfathered and exempt from many laws. No permitting requirements, no safety requirements, no life jackets and can land anywhere on shore (whereas boats cannot). It’s an ancient sport with amazing history and tradition.

And a total blast. I wanna go again!

kilauea falls

This week marks the 6-1/2 month mark here on Kaua’i. Our original plan was six months. We’re here for one more. As I’m learning, Kaua’i pulls you and many people end up staying longer. Sometimes for a month. Sometimes for a lifetime.

There are days it feels like we just got here. There are days that feel like we’ve been here for years. In some ways, I feel like I’m finally ready to be here. Like I just got acclimated and am now prepared to live for six months on a small island. Bracken and I have both joked that now that we have basic surfing skills, we’re finally ready to really learn how to surf.

I came here with a lot of goals in mind. Some I met (I will be a certified life coach next month and I can catch a wave and stand up on a board). And some I didn’t (I burned out on yoga after two months and didn’t really get the whole “slowing down” aspect of living). Yet what I’ve learned here, and experienced here, has become a pretty important part of me.

kaua’i
It’s hard to explain to those who haven’t been here (or lived here for a period of time), but I hear so often that this island tests you. She presents challenges in ways you don’t expect and magnifies them exponentially.

a taste of hawaiian trails

I struggled with the realities of paradise. I imagined (as it seems many do) that life here is easy and amazing. But it’s not always easy. I’m not on vacation.

I came to finally accept the fact that I can have a bad day and that it’s actually normal to do so. Just because the view is amazing and the beach is a five-minute drive away and the weather is temperate (albeit rainy)—it doesn’t mean that every day is about mai tais on the beach and 24-hour sunshine.

Cars break down. Neighbors fight. Good eggs are $7.00 a dozen. Cigarette smoke can filter in through the windows. Refrigerators die. Sometimes two or three times in one month. It can rain 18″ in one day. Or for six weeks at a time. You can still get injured. And you can still miss your family and friends on the mainland.

expectations
As our time here winds down, I find myself letting go of my expectations. I’ve stopped fighting island life and find new comfort in her embrace. The rhythms of the days are settling in. Maybe it’s because there’s a set date of departure that has created the sense of renewed appreciation.

the blue room

I believe in creating awareness around me and the world I live in. And maybe I’m simply more aware of the gifts I have at hand. I have to admit that part of me wants to believe that, on some level, I’ve passed her tests. That Kaua’i has accepted me as worthy of her love. That I’ve paid my dues and have this last month to fully immerse myself in the experience.

I’ve left all expectations. I’ve accepted that it simply is what it is: and that’s an incredibly beautiful and powerful place to be.

hanalei bay pier

magic

The magic of this island is in surrender and acceptance. As I begin to turn my mind towards our next adventure, I plan on taking my lessons and the experience forward.

Kaua’s greatest gift to me was her support throughout my certification process. I arrived here stripped of my old self—old beliefs, identity and labels—open and vulnerable to whatever showed up. I struggled a lot through the process. I cried a lot. I grieved for the past and I embraced the new. I became stronger and more sure of who I am and who I continue to grow into.

Through all the challenges, I have become more of the best in me and let go of what was dragging me down. Kaua’i has provided a solid foundation, at this particular time of my life. Her nourishing energy is solid within me.

This is another in my series of “defining moments“: Moments in my life that changed me in a significant way.

***

I stared out the window as we traveled west. The rolling sands of the desert passed by, punctuated with cactus and tumbleweed. The red sands in the distance beckoned. Moab was getting closer.

I inhaled the warm air as it blew through the open window; my hand hung outside, feeling the resistance of the air around my fingers. I leaned over and turned up the music.

Looking out at the open vistas I felt my body relax a little more with each mile between myself and my job. The stress was taking its toll. The music lilted through the air and my ears perked up. I turned the volume  up again to hear the words a little clearer, and began to fall in love.

I replayed it over and over. And over. And over again. My thoughts suddenly spinning in my head.

It wasn’t just that Nine Inch Nails could write such a hauntingly beautiful melody. Its’ magnetic pull was so much more. In this particular song, the piano gently moved through the verses, weaving through the lyrics, exploring their depths; its beauty and simplicity underscoring the weight of the words.

“If you look at your reflection, is it all you want it to be?”

Was I happy? Was I living a life I was proud of? That excited me? That fulfilled me? Was I making a difference?

The next question rose up:

“And if you could look right through the cracks, would you find yourself afraid to see?”

Could I look at myself with honesty? With pride? With confidence? Without apology? Could I look at my cracks—my faults and weaknesses and failures—and see them? Did I even recognize them? Or would I deny them? Would I ignore them and pretend they weren’t there? Could I see my unhappiness? My stress?

The answers started coming as quiet, unconscious rumbles in my heart. As I tasted and explored the words, seeds of change began to vibrate from my cells and into my blood, inching their way into my thoughts and my consciousness.

In that moment—driving into the desert at 80 mph listening to Nine Inch Nails—the course of the next 18 months of my life shifted dramatically. It was a subtle, and quite simple beginning to a new way of life.

***

Back home (after having listened to the song another ten, fifteen, twenty times), I thought that maybe taking a literal interpretation of the lyrics might offer some insight. I sat in front of my mirror and looked at myself. Really stared into my own eyes. What did I see? What was I afraid of? Who was this woman staring back at me?

I knew something needed to change in a big way. My job was wearing down my confidence and it felt like my soul was dissolving. I didn’t recognize myself.

I listened to this song every day during my commute to and from work. It sunk into my blood. This particular phrase playing louder in my mind.

Its message spoke to me; invited me to look at myself openly and honestly. The one area of my life I wasn’t happy with was overpowering and affecting every other part of my life. My friends were tired of hearing my complaints and I was oh-so-tired of complaining and feeling small.

I didn’t want to become a bitter, stressed-out person. I didn’t want to miss out on life. I didn’t want to be embarrassed by my own reflection. I didn’t want to shrink away and make excuses for myself and my unhappiness.

“If you look at your reflection, is it all you want it to be?”

No. I wanted to be more. I wanted to walk in honesty and truth from my innermost core. And I wanted every aspect of my life to reflect that—not just one or two areas.

“And if you could look right through the cracks, would you find yourself afraid to see?”

No. I’m not afraid of myself and who I am. I will stand strong and walk through my fears and hesitations, becoming all I want to be.

I realized that, in fact, I wasn’t afraid to see; that the “elaborate dream” I was living in could change. I welcomed the sight of my uncertainties and my misery because it’s exactly what was motivating me to act. I’d been on automatic pilot, assuming someone else knew how to drive my life. I’d thought that maybe everyone else knew better than me, and I was missing some vital information.

But no. As my eyes opened into this new consciousness, I knew I was the only one qualified and trained to drive my own life (duh). It scared me. I was disappointed I hadn’t taken action before. I was mad at myself for falling asleep at the wheel.

The message got into my bloodstream and into my heart. My desire to change things began to outweigh my fear of losing an income and being seen as a failure in my corporate job.

***

I have long held the belief that change is always a possibility when things aren’t going well. We can look around, see new paths and take action. The problem is that our awareness of the possibilities can so often narrow when we’re unhappy and stuck in a rut of routine and expectation.

When I heard this song, listened to the lyrics and asked myself these questions, a door opened. And then another. I could see a little clearer and my options expanded. The fog started to lift and possibilities emerged.

The importance I’d placed on my job began to disintegrate. My strength grew. Each time I heard the song, my confidence in the truth I’d known all along, yet was afraid to face, grew with it. I became excited and more interested in what life had in store for me around the corner.

It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly, over the days and months that followed that fall road trip. Each day of greater clarity fed my soul. The following spring, I quit my job. I didn’t have a set plan, but knew I needed the time away from the stress and pressure to find a career I loved.

***

Change—even the good kind of change we choose—is hard. It’s challenging. There are moments we question and second-guess ourselves, wondering if the past wasn’t better; that maybe we’d made a mistake.

Yet when we keep our eyes open; keep asking ourselves the difficult questions; keep looking into our own mirrors at who we are; we grow and expand and create a vast space of acceptance and beauty.

***

reference:

“what if everything around you isn’t quite as it seems?

what if all the world you think you know, is an elaborate dream?

and if you look at your reflection is it all you want it to be?

what if you could look right through the cracks? would you find yourself… find yourself afraid to see?”

– exerpt from the song, “Right Where You Belong,” by Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails

watching the sunset on ke'e beach

Sometimes I wish I could step off of the merry-go-round that life can be and take a breath. Take stock of changes going on and take time to think about what direction the next step will go. Alas, life doesn’t work that way. It continues to carry on, the sun rising and setting, people going about their business.

Most days I enjoy the journey, getting excited about what’s happening around me and within me. Other days, it’s a little bit harder.

My life seems to be changing and evolving so quickly these days. I wanted to take a moment and share the latest.

expand outdoors
The biggest things that’s been going on is I’m in the middle of building a new business for my life coaching practice. Many of you know I’ve been taking classes since arriving in Hawaii and expect to graduate with a certification in June.

It’s been a lot of work. Classes are international, and are conducted via phone, so we’ll have students from Shanghai, Arizona, Sydney, New Jersey, Paris, New Dehli and Texas on a call together. We’re required to take over 130 hours of classes, so I’ve been on the phone a lot!

One of the requirements of graduation is to coach five people for three months (or 12 sessions each). I’ve loved this part. Truly loved it. Which tells me I’ve chosen the right career path, as this will be the main component of my practice. I coach via phone (or skype for International clients), which allows me (and them) to be anywhere in the world. Great flexibility as Bracken and I plan to do a lot of traveling over the next year.

Speaking of Bracken, along with his regular work load, he designed my logo, my website and then built my website over the past few weeks. It’s still a work-in-progress, but it’s live and I love it.

You can check out the website here: www.expandoutdoors.com.

There’s also a blog I’m starting for Expand Outdoors. You can sign up via RSS, or submit your email address through the site and receive updates via email. It’s a pretty sweet feature. Topics will center around fitness, the outdoors, coaching, personal development and the like, yet hopefully will stay personal and engaging. Let me know what you think.

This blog (ameliacarolyn) will likely evolve a bit as I figure out how to write for two and what each will be focused on (as I’ve got a lot of posts about the outdoors here). I’m hoping to experiment and have a little fun with this one, so stay tuned and let me know how you like it.

waiting for the tsunami that wasn't

life in hawaii

Hawaii is still really good. It’s not home, but it’s good. I miss a lot of things about Colorado. I want to make the most of my time here and really enjoy it… but I find myself missing my friends and the trails and the air more and more. The time here, however, has been perfect at this particular time in my life. It is providing a new space to begin to explore my career and build my practice without the distractions of “how-I-used-to-do-things.”

I strayed a bit (okay, a lot) on my yoga commitment. It became too much for me and I wasn’t enjoying it six days a week. So I relaxed (to not doing any) for a few months and am now getting back into it in a more realistic fashion. A few times a week (1-3), along with running and of course, surfing.

I will miss the ocean tons when we return to the mainland.

And that’s it for now. Just a quick stop on the merry-go-round and now off we go. :)

dawn patrol

final colors of sunset

Yesterday evening I sat balanced on my surfboard, watching for the next set of waves; my eyes riveted to the light of the sky as it shifted and changed with each new minute that passed.

The sun was setting behind the mountains. The clouds reflecting orange, yellow and pink. The water before me shimmered a deep orange.

I looked behind at a swell approaching. I checked my alignment to the shore. I checked right and left, making sure no one else was paddling.

My arms began pumping. My heart beat louder. The swell was closer. I smiled as my speed picked up. A moment later I was standing, my pop-up successful. My board raced down the face of the wave, whitewater exploding behind me.

My smile grew into a grin. The grin into a hearty laugh.

I am hooked. I surf.

the Na Pali coast

Awe.

I read a quote in the August 2009 issue of Oprah recently. It was a parenthetical comment. An aside. It struck me as the most important thing I’d read in the entire magazine and it made me think.

On page 96, Gabrielle LeBlanc wrote:

Awe, it seems, influences people to act on behalf of the greater good.

What a bold statement. I’ve been mulling it over in my mind for awhile, asking myself, what is it about the feeling and experience of awe that would have such an influence? And was it true? And if it’s true, what causes it?

Newport Beach sunset

It feels true. It resonates with my own experiences. I think about the times I’ve felt awe. Sometimes it strikes me while listening to music, reading a poem or particularly poetic prose, or in a photograph or illustration. But mostly I find awe—I feel awe—in nature.

In the mountains. Looking out over the wide expanse of ocean as powerful waves rock the shoreline.

Colorado mountains

Utah desert

Hawaiian surf

I feel it when I run under a canopy of rhododendron or through the white barks of aspen trees, hearing the leaves rustle in the wind.

My mind opens. Colors are brighter and smells are more distinct and pungent. I feel a greater sense of awareness—of my surroundings; of my thoughts; of the bigness of the world around me.

infinite bliss

When I am in nature, I am grounded. I feel connected in a larger-than-life way. I can’t explain it, but my heart fills. I want to drink in the scene and wrap it around me like a cozy blanket on a chilly winter evening. I breathe deep.

I feel the power of the whole and I recognize my interconnectedness with others (both in my immediate community and those across the globe, thousands of miles away).

I think this is what LeBlanc meant. This feeling we get when awe fills us up from the inside. We want to share its bigness, show others how beautiful and sublime our universe is.

Long's Peak from Mt. Audubon

My energy expands. I feel peace. I feel motivated to be better. I step out of myself and see beyond the problems or worries that seemed so huge just a moment ago.

I used to think awe was a luxury. It was something you only felt on special occasions. As an adult, I realize it’s essential.

Joshua Tree Nat'l Park, California desert

I have chosen to surround myself with the opportunity to experience a bit of awe every day. To drink in nature’s art. To experience first hand her grace and depth.

a lone orchid along the Na Pali coast, Kaua'i

It never gets old. It never gets tired or overplayed. It sinks deeper under my skin and into my being. This awe. This grace. The desire to grow and expand. The motivation to contribute to my world and those in it.

Kalihiwai Bay, Kaua'i

I breathe in the view before me. My heart opens and I smile.

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