Blog — Megan Napoletano

you may just fall in love all over again

“Oh, the Places You'll Go!” -Dr. Seuss That is the first quote I said aloud in my mind as Carlee and I woke up at Roads End in Kings Canyon National Park. We had driven up the night before from San Diego and arrived around 1am. The road going into the park was completely empty during that time. It was pitch black and the road was steep and narrow. I put on REM ‘Automatic for the People’. As a kid, my parents played this album every-time time we drove to Vermont (and we drove to Vermont a lot). I find comfort in listening to this album late at night, on dark windy roads. It makes me feel like a kid again. Looking out the window into the darkness and not knowing where I am (it’s the not knowing and yet trusting the mysterious road ahead that always made my soul come alive). A few days prior, I had picked out the location for us to stay our first night in the park. It was the farthest East you could go on 180 into Kings Canyon. The spot looked beautiful but I also picked it because it was called Roads End. We woke up that morning, under a canopy of trees. Our day was filled with flipping through pages of Ansel Adams National Park coffee table book, witness a baby bear cool off in Bubbs Creek, hiked 9 miles to Mist Falls, swam in the green waters beneath Muir Rock and of course, found ourselves at the only dive bar within a “reasonable” proximity of the park. We ate burgers and drank whiskey as we exchanged stories with the local bartender, Todd and his dog Billy Sue. We told him we were backpacking in Redwood Canyon the next morning and he insisted we explore the land in the Jennie Lake Wilderness. We thanked him for his recommendation and then went back to Maggie, got in our nightgowns and walked around the tall grassy field the bar was situated on. The sun began to set over the tree-line as we sat in Maggie looking out at the red and orange sky as we ate lemon squares talking about the past and what we wanted for the future, while simultaneously laughing at the fact that we were in our nightgowns at 9pm eating lemon squares outside the dive bar where we were going to sleep that night.The next morning, we decided that instead of sticking with our plan for Redwood Canyon, we wanted to go with Todd’s recommendation (locals always know best). The first couple miles of the trip, all I kept thinking was I really hope Todd was right. The sun was strong, we still were not used to how dry this part of the Sierra’s was and we were both feeling the altitude. After mile 7, we thought we would have seen the lake by now. When we started to question if we were still on the correct trail, we ran into another hiker. He was coming back from Jennie Lake and said it was only another mile. We started making our way down the rocky switchback and then we saw it - the absolutely stunning, Jennie Lake. Carlee and I started to walk quickly (the excitement of taking off our packs and getting in that lake seemed like the absolute greatest reward). We dropped our packs, set up the tent and jumped in the crystal green waters of Jennie Lake. The lake was big and was surrounded by this striking granite peak. The golden hour began and everything around us was drenched in gorgeous hues of gold. The water was so clear I could see everything as I dove deeper into the lake. We laughed and yelled and cried and were filled with such an immense amount of joy, gratitude and accomplishment for making it to this lake and carrying everything we had on our backs. As I looked out at the rocky peak in front of me, I thought of Cheryl Strayed and her journey on the PCT. We weren’t far from the PCT and the crest of the granite peak looked like what I imagined Cheryl hiking during her journey through the Sierra’s. As I looked over at Carlee swimming around and smiling, I knew there was one thing that would make this moment even better...skinning dipping! I took off my top and bottoms and glanced at Carlee with a smiling grin and said, “Tami would.” And she would. I love that my Mother introduced Carrie and I to skinny dippy at a young age (it makes swimming way more fun 🤣). Before I knew it, Carlee’s bathing suit was on the rocks. We swam and swam and water had never felt so good on my body. We were burnt, sore and exhausted but we were also beaming - we were so alive, so free. I wrote in my journal after our swim, “I will never forget this moment for the rest of my life”. Her and I joke about how during that trip we fell in love with each other all over again. That happens with best friends sometimes - when you're truly vulnerable with one another, in a place that stains your soul and changes the fabric of who you are. You come out the other side humbled and stronger because of it. I believe this feeling will be sprinkled throughout the course of our lifetimes if you follow the breadcrumbs to the places that stain your soul with people you love most by your side and if you’re lucky, you may just fall in love with them all over again. — “Oh, the Places You'll Go!” -Dr. Seuss

That is the first quote I said aloud in my mind as Carlee and I woke up at Roads End in Kings Canyon National Park. We had driven up the night before from San Diego and arrived around 1am. The road going into the park was completely empty during that time. It was pitch black and the road was steep and narrow. I put on REM ‘Automatic for the People’. As a kid, my parents played this album every-time time we drove to Vermont (and we drove to Vermont a lot). I find comfort in listening to this album late at night, on dark windy roads. It makes me feel like a kid again. Looking out the window into the darkness and not knowing where I am (it’s the not knowing and yet trusting the mysterious road ahead that always made my soul come alive). A few days prior, I had picked out the location for us to stay our first night in the park. It was the farthest East you could go on 180 into Kings Canyon. The spot looked beautiful but I also picked it because it was called Roads End.

We woke up that morning, under a canopy of trees. Our day was filled with flipping through pages of Ansel Adams National Park coffee table book, witness a baby bear cool off in Bubbs Creek, hiked 9 miles to Mist Falls, swam in the green waters beneath Muir Rock and of course, found ourselves at the only dive bar within a “reasonable” proximity of the park. We ate burgers and drank whiskey as we exchanged stories with the local bartender, Todd and his dog Billy Sue. We told him we were backpacking in Redwood Canyon the next morning and he insisted we explore the land in the Jennie Lake Wilderness. We thanked him for his recommendation and then went back to Maggie, got in our nightgowns and walked around the tall grassy field the bar was situated on. The sun began to set over the tree-line as we sat in Maggie looking out at the red and orange sky as we ate lemon squares talking about the past and what we wanted for the future, while simultaneously laughing at the fact that we were in our nightgowns at 9pm eating lemon squares outside the dive bar where we were going to sleep that night.
The next morning, we decided that instead of sticking with our plan for Redwood Canyon, we wanted to go with Todd’s recommendation (locals always know best). The first couple miles of the trip, all I kept thinking was I really hope Todd was right. The sun was strong, we still were not used to how dry this part of the Sierra’s was and we were both feeling the altitude. After mile 7, we thought we would have seen the lake by now. When we started to question if we were still on the correct trail, we ran into another hiker. He was coming back from Jennie Lake and said it was only another mile. We started making our way down the rocky switchback and then we saw it - the absolutely stunning, Jennie Lake. Carlee and I started to walk quickly (the excitement of taking off our packs and getting in that lake seemed like the absolute greatest reward). We dropped our packs, set up the tent and jumped in the crystal green waters of Jennie Lake.

The lake was big and was surrounded by this striking granite peak. The golden hour began and everything around us was drenched in gorgeous hues of gold. The water was so clear I could see everything as I dove deeper into the lake. We laughed and yelled and cried and were filled with such an immense amount of joy, gratitude and accomplishment for making it to this lake and carrying everything we had on our backs. As I looked out at the rocky peak in front of me, I thought of Cheryl Strayed and her journey on the PCT. We weren’t far from the PCT and the crest of the granite peak looked like what I imagined Cheryl hiking during her journey through the Sierra’s. As I looked over at Carlee swimming around and smiling, I knew there was one thing that would make this moment even better...skinning dipping! I took off my top and bottoms and glanced at Carlee with a smiling grin and said, “Tami would.” And she would. I love that my Mother introduced Carrie and I to skinny dippy at a young age (it makes swimming way more fun 🤣). Before I knew it, Carlee’s bathing suit was on the rocks. We swam and swam and water had never felt so good on my body. We were burnt, sore and exhausted but we were also beaming - we were so alive, so free. I wrote in my journal after our swim, “I will never forget this moment for the rest of my life”.

Her and I joke about how during that trip we fell in love with each other all over again. That happens with best friends sometimes - when you're truly vulnerable with one another, in a place that stains your soul and changes the fabric of who you are. You come out the other side humbled and stronger because of it. I believe this feeling will be sprinkled throughout the course of our lifetimes if you follow the breadcrumbs to the places that stain your soul with people you love most by your side and if you’re lucky, you may just fall in love with them all over again.

he didn’t know

I was in High School. He asked, “You're from Norwalk?” I proudly nodded and said “Yes.” His judgment immediately consumed the room, but he didn't know. He didn’t know Norwalk the way I knew Norwalk and how special it truly was. He never ate french f… — I was in High School. He asked, “You're from Norwalk?” I proudly nodded and said “Yes.” His judgment immediately consumed the room, but he didn't know. He didn’t know Norwalk the way I knew Norwalk and how special it truly was.

He never ate french fries on warm summer nights at Overton's.
Or saw the colors of dawn over the East Norwalk harbor.
Or skipped home after too many beers at Donavon's singing Fleetwood Mac on the South Norwalk Bridge.
He didn’t know.
He never drove the back roads of Norwalk on late nights where the trees guided you home.
He never drank cheap whiskey on hot summer nights at Calf Pasture beach while the sun set magnificently into fiery red and orange sky.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know that generations of our families were raised here and that this land meant something to us.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know going to Partners was like going to your family's house during the holidays.
Or how adventures to Spooke Island as a kid was the highlight of your summer.
He didn’t know.
He never caught a glimpse of the Norwalk Islands during crisp fall mornings.
Or saw the view of Vet’s park right after a cold winter storm.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know this place is a part of us,
and that we are a part of it.
He didn’t know this place is not just my story.
It's our story.
It's Norwalk's story.
He didn’t know how special Norwalk really was.
He didn’t know.
_
Photo by David Fales

endless summer

I feel the summer in my bones and against my skin.
I feel all the places my body has been in the splendid summers of my youth.
I feel how they felt on my skin and in my heart.
I feel how they changed me and how I gave them a piece of my soul.
I feel the Cape - Wiley pond and the cold waters of Nauset Beach.
I can smell the scent of our summer home in Eastham - old splintered wood and pine needles sprinkled on the sandy driveway.
I can see my favorite view of the Norwalk Islands from Calf Pasture Beach as the breeze blows through the trees.
I can dream of the moonlit ocean on our first night in Brigantine. The palpable excitement in the air because I knew this was the beginning of a very special tradition of many summers spent with the Cronin’s on the Jersey Shore.

I can still feel it all...
The way the summer changed me.
Renewed me.
Relaxed me.

The way the season gave me hope; hope for the moment, for the day, for the month, for the year.
As a child, summers were filled with this essence.
Every day felt like anything was possible...

As we grow older, it becomes more complicated to navigate returning to the essence that summer provides our souls and fills our minds.
I have been on this quest for a long time and I have finally arrived.
The key was to dive inward and begin the journey back to my heart - back to my inner child.
That is where hope breathes.
That is where the endless summer of my youth exists.

I know this to be true because in this place I found an old friend - it was wide-eyed, playful, adventurous 9-year-old Meg.
She is filled with an endless well of hope, love and dreams.
The endless summer exists inside of her because she believes it does. She believes in what is real and what has always been there.

I ask you to look inward and find the way back to your inner child.
I promise, he or she will thank you for still believing that at any moment in our lives, anything is possible.
And in return - you will find, your endless summer.

SMALL MOMENTS

A friend once told me, “It’s all about the small moments”. These are words that have stayed with me whenever I travel.As I explored the city of Philadelphia with my sister Carrie and her boyfriend Bobby, those words kept replaying in my mind, “Meg, … — A friend once told me, “It’s all about the small moments”. These are words that have stayed with me whenever I travel.
As I explored the city of Philadelphia with my sister Carrie and her boyfriend Bobby, those words kept replaying in my mind, “Meg, it’s all about the small moments”. So on this trip, I made sure to pay attention to all those moments that so easily go unnoticed and too quickly get forgotten.
_
-The early morning laughs exchanged with my cab driver from Jamaica during the ride from the airport to Center City.
-The overwhelming sense of nostalgia triggered by the grey-dullness of an East Coast city on the brink of winter slowly approaching.
-Tears filled my eyes as Grateful Dead’s ‘Ripple’ came on the speakers as Carrie and Bobby washed our dishes from dinner...overwhelmed by how happy she was and so proud of her for following her heart.
-The way the sun hit the yellow leaves on a warm afternoon walk through Rittenhouse Square Park.
-Stories exchanged with Bobby over cold pints of beer at his favorite neighborhood saloon and quickly understanding why Carrie loves him so much.
-Blasting Elton John’s ‘Philadelphia Freedom’ as I ran and danced down Spruce Street filled with an immense amount of joy that my sister lives in such a special city.
-Hiking through Wissahickon Valley Park surrounded by the colorful autumn trees made me deeply miss the seasons (that beautiful sense of renewal and rebirth).
-Looking into my sister's eyes on the sidewalk in Chestnut Hill after they announced Biden had won and how grateful I was to be with her at this moment...because I knew she and I would never forget this day for the rest of our lives.
_
I love you Carrie and I am so happy for you and this next chapter of your life...keep on dreaming girl
-Mxo

Endings and beginnings

I had a thought last night while watching the second to last episode of Sex And The City. Carrie Bradshaw finally gets the courage to ask her boyfriend, Alexander Petrovsky, if he would be open to the idea of eventually having another child (given h… — I had a thought last night while watching the second to last episode of Sex And The City. Carrie Bradshaw finally gets the courage to ask her boyfriend, Alexander Petrovsky, if he would be open to the idea of eventually having another child (given his age and already having his own child years ago). As I watched the scene unfold, I couldn’t help but wonder - why is it that important conversations always seem to happen on bridges or piers and why do they feel more significant when they do?
I can think of a handful of times in my life where I subconsciously went to the Norwalk pier or the Westport bridge or the Coney Island boardwalk to have conversations like Carrie’s.
It’s saying goodbye or telling someone you love them.
It’s where relationships end and engagements begin.
It’s where first kisses happen and secrets are exchanged.
It’s where the sun rises and magnificently sets.
It’s where land begins and water ends.
Does a classic bridge or a nostalgic pier help ease us into the conversations that can change the course of our lives?
I think so - I think subconsciously we already know what's coming because we are standing on the very thing that represents endings and beginnings.

this land is your land

We sat in the trunk of my Jeep silenced by the beauty and grandeur of Tahquitz Peak while the ethereal sounds of Bruce Springsteen’s cover of ‘This Land Is Your Land - Live at Nassau Coliseum’ filled the mountain air as if the song itself had been t… — We sat in the trunk of my Jeep silenced by the beauty and grandeur of Tahquitz Peak while the ethereal sounds of Bruce Springsteen’s cover of ‘This Land Is Your Land - Live at Nassau Coliseum’ filled the mountain air as if the song itself had been there so many years before us.
At dusk, we stood on the chairs of our deck in our cabin in the woods dancing under the crescent moon to our favorite songs expressing how grateful we were to feel so deeply and go through this life with open hearts because that’s what connects us at our core.
So many stories shared this past weekend - Stories about our college years and our families and the different types of love we’ve endured and the kind of heartache that sneaks up on you on quiet days when the world is still. These stories exchanged consumed our days spent in the San Jacinto Wilderness. Our souls felt renewed while telling stories of our past to help ease the present circumstances.
In the car ride home on the Idyllwild Panoramic Highway, the windows were down and the music of The Band was blasting through the speakers as we sang along and howled so loud the farmers in the fields could hear our screams. We sat back in our seats as the music grew quieter and I was so grateful we had each other and that we had felt what our souls had been longing for…
To feel alive again
To feel inspired again
To feel the love again
And to know that we were going to be ok.

a kind of love

The show begins They pretend not to see one anotherThey dance as if they’ve never met in this lifetime But the energy is as real as the musicians singing on stageThey stand arms width apart But their souls are speaking to each other They share the s… — The show begins
They pretend not to see one another
They dance as if they’ve never met in this lifetime
But the energy is as real as the musicians singing on stage
They stand arms width apart
But their souls are speaking to each other
They share the same subconscious where the other lost loves live
History keeps them distant like a weapon of protection
But their hearts beat rapidly as if no one else shares this room
The space between them grows smaller
Time has stopped,
But only for them
They stand side by side as flashes of their past color their mind
And all-too-familiar force rushes over them
They are bound by the endless vibration of two souls intertwined
This is no coincidence
This is a kind of love
The kind of love you’ll always want to dance closer too
The kind of love you’ll want to feel one more time before it slips through your fingers
The kind of love that doesn’t always last but you tell your grandchildren about because it was real and because it mattered
The kind of love that is bigger than yourself and doesn't need an explanation
The kind of love we go our whole lives in search for
The kind of love,
We live to tell about

born to run

The car is dark, I’m sitting in the back seat, Carrie is next to me. I’m 10 years old and ‘Born To Run’ is playing loud on the speakers, we’re on our way to Vermont.“The highway's jammed with broken heroesOn a last chance power driveEverybody's out … — The car is dark, I’m sitting in the back seat, Carrie is next to me. I’m 10 years old and ‘Born To Run’ is playing loud on the speakers, we’re on our way to Vermont.
“The highway's jammed with broken heroes
On a last chance power drive
Everybody's out on the run tonight
But there's no place left to hide
Together, Wendy, we can live with the sadness
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Oh, someday, girl, I don't know when
We're gonna get to that place
Where we really wanna go and we'll walk in the sun
But 'til then, tramps like us
Baby, we were born to run”
This song has always reminded me of my parents, but more my mom than my Dad. When we were young, I remember taking notice to my Dad liking lots of different kinds of music, and my Mom, well my Mom exclusively listened to Meatloaf, Bruce Springsteen and Jimmy Buffett. Granted, she probably listened to more than just those artists, but as a kid, the sound of Bruce Springsteen was the sound of my Mother and the sound of my childhood. His voice was the road. It was the dark tree-lined highways lit by the light of the moon, it was the shadow of Carrie’s small face on the leather seats in the car, it was feeling unconditionally loved by my parents and his voice was the sound of a time when we were a family.
Now, I find comfort in his music, but I guess I always have. It's a safe space where there is joy and laughter and adventure and an infinite amount of love and every time I hear that heart racing, foot-stomping, nostalgic-filled, I got to do somethin’ with my life anthem like ‘Born To Run’, I’m in that back seat again with Carrie. The car is dark and it’s just the four of us and Bruce Springsteen is singing the soundtrack to our lives as the road rambles on into the night sky and in that moment, I am a kid again, my world is small and blissfully perfect and everything I need is right there, in that car, with the three of them.
“In the day we sweat it out on the streets
Of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through the mansions of glory
In suicide machines
Sprung from cages on Highway 9
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected, and steppin' out over the line
Oh, baby this town rips the bones from your back
It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we're young
'Cause tramps like us, baby, we were born to run
Yes, girl, we were”

MY FRIENDS HAVE MADE THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Helen Keller once said, “My friends have made the story of my life” and oh Helen, how right you were…For 13 days, I traveled through the south of Spain with one of my dearest friends, Carlee Lewis. We galavanted through Madrid, Caceres, Seville, and… — Helen Keller once said, “My friends have made the story of my life” and oh Helen, how right you were…
For 13 days, I traveled through the south of Spain with one of my dearest friends, Carlee Lewis. We galavanted through Madrid, Caceres, Seville, and Granada and there were a lot of big moments that happened during those 13 days, but as I left the city we started our journey in, I realized it was really more about the small moments...the moments that painted this beautifully rich and colorful canvas of memories. It’s the pause at a stoplight when ‘Can’t You See’ comes on and there is an unspoken but shared sense of gratitude. It’s the catch of soft smile in a gold ancient church that reconnects us to something higher or skipping down Madrid’s cobblestone streets on Christmas Eve singing the music of Aretha Franklin. Laughing in our nightgowns because it's 11:30 pm on New Year's Eve and we're in bed drinking tea and watching Friends because were too hungover from our adventures the night before. Or waking up early on a chilly morning to watch the sunrise over Caceres on our red brick terrace. These moments, along with so many other tiny slivers of time will be what I remember the most and what I will carry with me forever. Or as Carlee so perfectly said on our flight home, ”Meg, we will always have Spain”.
I love you, Carlee and I am so grateful we got to enter this new decade together with a life-changing trip and a canvas of memories that's painted another layer on “the story of my life”.

black

It was our first night in Madrid. We were walking home from a bar making our way across a large landmark city square. We passed by three street musicians singing and playing their guitars. They politely yelled, “Feliz Navidad!” as we walked by. We n… — It was our first night in Madrid. We were walking home from a bar making our way across a large landmark city square. We passed by three street musicians singing and playing their guitars. They politely yelled, “Feliz Navidad!” as we walked by. We nodded with acknowledgment and kept walking, but as we turned the corner, I began to hear the opening chords to Pearl Jam’s ‘Black’. I stopped dead in my tracks, looked Carlee and said, “We have to go back”. I walked up to them, smiled and started singing along. I felt so alive and invincible with these strangers. For a split second, I forgot how far from home I was because the music had immediately connected us.
This is a feeling that doesn’t come around too often, so when it does, it feels like gold running through your veins. It’s as if the moment has frozen in time and you remember every single detail...the words exchanged, how the air smelt, the way the music felt, what you were wearing, the sound of their voices. A part of you knows this moment isn’t like others and there is an overwhelming and utterly blissful feeling you must have done something right along the way to get there.
_
"Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me as her body once did
All five horizons revolved around her soul as the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn, ooh
And all I taught her was everything
Ooh, I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything
Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black
Tattooed everything
I take a walk outside, I'm surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear
Oh and twisted thoughts that spin 'round my head
I'm spinning, oh I'm spinning, how quick the sun can drop away
And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures have all been washed in black
Tattooed everything
All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I'll be yeah
Oh oh ooh
I know someday you'll have a beautiful life
I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky, but why
Why, why can't it be, oh can't it be mine?"

christopher mccandless

Your body was discovered on this day, September 6th, 1992 on the Stampede Trail in the Alaskan wilderness. You called yourself Alexander Supertramp. You left everything behind in the pursuit of fulfilling your dreams of living off the land in the ba… — Your body was discovered on this day, September 6th, 1992 on the Stampede Trail in the Alaskan wilderness. You called yourself Alexander Supertramp. You left everything behind in the pursuit of fulfilling your dreams of living off the land in the backcountry of the central Alaskan wilderness. You hitched hiked across the United States, embracing and meeting people of all kinds, while gaining philosophies about life, love, religion, and survival. Little did you know that after your journey ended, your story would be the basis of a best selling novel and they’d make a Hollywood movie about you because your story was like nothing we’d ever heard before.
Today I remember Christopher McCandless and his profound story that left many of us speechless and changed the lives of thousands. Chris taught us what it meant to follow your heart, honor your truth and showed us what it meant to truly, be free.
“So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.”
- Alexander Supertramp, 1968 - 1992.

home in the sky

There has always been a familiarity to the way the sky held the stars at night and how the moon delicately rests in the black mysterious abyss of our vast and complex galaxy. For years I couldn't understand why looking at the night sky made me feel … — There has always been a familiarity to the way the sky held the stars at night and how the moon delicately rests in the black mysterious abyss of our vast and complex galaxy. For years I couldn't understand why looking at the night sky made me feel at home and in many ways, I found it impossible to describe this feeling to others. Of course, there are certain people and places in my life that hold the same feeling, but the sense of truly being at home when I’m beneath the light of the moon and the starry sky is unparalleled to any other.
Over the years, I’ve started to peel away at the layers of what this feeling really means. In my 30 years of living, friends, family and even strangers tell me I am an old soul. For a long time, I didn’t understand what it meant to be an old soul. But after years of self-discovery, inner work, traveling and different types of relationships, I was able to understand that not everyone’s soul is the same age. For example, someone in their late sixties can have a young soul, but someone in their early twenties can have an old soul (I believe it’s all dependent on how many times you have lived before this one). More recently in the past couple of years, I have found that all my closest friends are old souls. With a few of them, our relationship often feels timeless and sometimes even otherworldly. For myself, there has always been this sort of knowing inside me. It's hard to articulate and sometimes even difficult to make sense of, but yet it gives me this grand connection to something much greater than anything around me in the physical form. It tells me I have walked this earth many times before this one. How many years? That I am not certain of yet, but what I do know is this:
When I look at the light of the moon and the billions of stars that are spread across the night sky, I have seen their light many times before this one. I have seen their light through someone else’s eyes, in someone else’s body. They are old, just like my soul and they have always shown me that no matter where I am, or who I am, we are all connected. We are all one in the same and we are all here and we are alive. And when this lifetime has run its final course, we will all turn back to stardust and go back to where we once came: a place where the purest kind of love exists. That is what we are made of and that is what we will all return too.
It is in this place where we will see the light of the stars again and each of us will discover that in every lifetime we have lived, we have all been walking down the same path…or as Ram Dass once so simply and perfectly said:
“We are all just walking each other home.”

fire and rain

Last night, Carlee and I went to the Mountain Film Festival at Quail Gardens in Encinitas. As I walked up to her sitting on the sidewalk, I could feel her heart was heavy. No words needed to be exchanged for me to know this. When you know someone this well, you can read their energy, even from afar and that is enough to understand what is stirring beneath the surface. We had a wonderful night together exploring the grounds, drinking fresh red wine, watching inspiring films and she opened up about the reasons she felt this way. It's never bothered me if my friends don’t show up 100% because those are unrealistic expectations. When I got home later that night, she called me and apologized for not being her best self and in that moment, the only appropriate response was to repeat the words she said to me on our car ride home from Sequoia: “We are fire and rain.” For the past four years, she and I have seen each other in our brightest and darkest moments. When our souls are blazing with electric light, we are fire. When our hearts are deep blue rivers of pain, we are water. We are these things together. Through the light and the dark; we are - fire and rain. So for the days of your lives you want to show up and you know you’re not 100%, you must make peace with this. Then choose someone who not only accepts you as fire but also as rain and those who choose not to see both, will miss the opportunity to love the elements that make you whole. — Last night, Carlee and I went to the Mountain Film Festival at Quail Gardens in Encinitas. As I walked up to her sitting on the sidewalk, I could feel her heart was heavy. No words needed to be exchanged for me to know this. When you know someone this well, you can read their energy, even from afar and that is enough to understand what is stirring beneath the surface. We had a wonderful night together exploring the grounds, drinking fresh red wine, watching inspiring films and she opened up about the reasons she felt this way.

It's never bothered me if my friends don’t show up 100% because those are unrealistic expectations. When I got home later that night, she called me and apologized for not being her best self and in that moment, the only appropriate response was to repeat the words she said to me on our car ride home from Sequoia:

“We are fire and rain.”

For the past four years, she and I have seen each other in our brightest and darkest moments. When our souls are blazing with electric light, we are fire. When our hearts are deep blue rivers of pain, we are water. We are these things together. Through the light and the dark; we are - fire and rain.

So for the days of your lives you want to show up and you know you’re not 100%, you must make peace with this. Then choose someone who not only accepts you as fire but also as rain and those who choose not to see both, will miss the opportunity to love the elements that make you whole.

A LOVE STORY

They met on the train to New York. Both commuters, living in their hometown, the coastal community of Norwalk, Connecticut. Little did they know that before they met on that Thursday morning train from Norwalk to New York City, they had been living … — They met on the train to New York. Both commuters, living in their hometown, the coastal community of Norwalk, Connecticut. Little did they know that before they met on that Thursday morning train from Norwalk to New York City, they had been living parallel lives. Both from the small urban seaside town of Norwalk, raised by big Catholic families, each attending 12 years of Catholic education before shipping off to college. Their parents belonged to Shorehaven Country club. A place where my mother learned to swim, dive and play tennis and where my father became a golf caddy to make extra money during the summers. It was on the golf course where my Dad became friends with my Mom’s eldest brother, Matt Cronin and coincidentally enough, caddied for her father Bill Cronin soon after that.
At the age of 17, Dad left for college and Mom being a few years younger, left shortly after him. She would attend Franklin & Marshall in Lancaster, Pennsylvania to receive her BA in English and he headed North to Burlington Vermont, receiving his BA in Business Administration at St. Michaels College. After graduating, they both returned home to Norwalk to find jobs. Mom started working nights as a bartender at a local restaurant called Doubles and Dad got a job at Fairfield County Bank as the Assistant to the Vice President (but they both always had a plan to get jobs in New York City).
Dad wasn’t satisfied at his job and his friend Gene Cullen (a close friend from college) had just landed a job working at the New York Stock Exchange. Gene told him he’d think he’d like it and should apply. My Dad knew it was tough to get a job at the NYSE, so he decided to take a more nontraditional approach when applying. Instead of mailing in his resume, as most graduates did, one morning he stood outside the stock exchange building with his resume and at the top of the resume it stated, “I’ll be standing outside until the bell rings at 4 pm. If you're interested, come talk to me.” One of the gentlemen who took his resume walked outside at 4 pm when the bell rang to speak with him. He was the Head Specialist for M.J. Meehan (the company he was hoping to work for). The gentleman said, “I have your resume, I’ll let you know soon”. Later that week my dad received a phone call to come in for an interview and before he knew it, he had landed the job.

At the time, my mother was making good money at Doubles, but the plan was always to get a job in finance in New York City. After a few months of applying for jobs, she got a position at Mitsui Trust & Banking in the World Trade Center. Both havi… — At the time, my mother was making good money at Doubles, but the plan was always to get a job in finance in New York City. After a few months of applying for jobs, she got a position at Mitsui Trust & Banking in the World Trade Center. Both having landed jobs in Manhattan, my parents began commuting Monday-Friday into the city.
On one random Wednesday night, my Dad and his friend Paul Curran decided they’d go meet for drinks after work in Norwalk. That was the night, my Dad walked into Doubles. They both sat down at the bar and my Mom came out from behind the bar and Paul introduced them. He said, “That's Tami Cronin.” It was a very quick hello and my Mom went about her night as she had a full bar of people to serve.

The following morning, they both got on the 7 am train from South Norwalk train station, into Manhattan. My Dad, recognized my Mom from the night before and quickly went over and said hello. “Your Tami Corey, the bartender from Doubles right?” My Mo… — The following morning, they both got on the 7 am train from South Norwalk train station, into Manhattan. My Dad, recognized my Mom from the night before and quickly went over and said hello. “Your Tami Corey, the bartender from Doubles right?” My Mom corrected him, “Yes, but I’m a Cronin, not a Corey.” This was a common mistake people made confusing the Cronin and Corey families. My Mom was the oldest of the five Cronin children, who coincidentally lived next door to the six Corey children. Not only were their last names similar, but both families lived in identical houses next to each other on the same street. My Mom’s father, Bill Cronin was a Radiologist and Joe Corey a surgeon at Norwalk Hospital. The two became close through work and decided their wives would get along quite well. Before they knew it, Joan Cronin and Ellen Corey were best friends living next door to each other in identical houses, each with a house full of kids. The Cronin kids were Tami, Matt, Mark, Megan, and Paul. The Corey’s; Ellie, Marybeth, Julie, Ann, Jane, and Jacquie. So it wasn't surprising when my Dad mistook my Mother for a Corey on that early morning train to Manhattan.
In the following months, my parents began commuting five days a week together. But this wasn’t your typical commute into the city. In the first few months of their new jobs, the trains went on strike. My mother and father had to take a bus every day from the South Norwalk Train Station to the Lexington 4,5,6 Subway line in the Bronx. Then hop on the subway during rush hour to get downtown. This was a two-hour commute each way, a total of four hours a day. But you can blame those twenty hours a week they spent commuting the reason they became so close, so quickly. About a month later, the trains went off strike and my Dad moved into an apartment on the Upper West Side with his good friend Bob Delaney. He lived in the city for about a year, while my mother still commuted in.
They fell in love quite quickly that year and my father proposed to her in December at the famous Windows On The World restaurant at the top of the World Trade Center.

My parents are no longer together but I always wanted to write about their story because I found it so special that they lived parallel lives in the same town but their paths never crossed until they were in their early twenties. Over time this stor… — My parents are no longer together but I always wanted to write about their story because I found it so special that they lived parallel lives in the same town but their paths never crossed until they were in their early twenties. Over time this story has made me feel more connected to both of them, our family and a place I hold very near and dear to my heart: Norwalk, Connecticut.
None of us really know what our story will look like in the end, but what I do know is this: The chapters that make up our past are unique to each and every individual and that is what makes your story so special. It is the reason why stories like my parents are worth telling and afterward, you are left with the best gift of all:
Remembering how beautiful and sometimes messy but so utterly authentic your own life’s story is and that every story, no matter how it ends, is a story worth telling.

mississippi in my mind

Have you ever traveled somewhere new and felt like you have been there before? That your feet had already touched the grounds many moons ago?This photo was taken during my travels from the East to the West. Sam and I had just crossed the Louisiana-M… — Have you ever traveled somewhere new and felt like you have been there before? That your feet had already touched the grounds many moons ago?
This photo was taken during my travels from the East to the West. Sam and I had just crossed the Louisiana-Mississippi border and it was here, in front of this field that I knew this place was not new to my soul. She had traveled here before. When? That I am not certain of.
But what I do know, is that the moment we drove over those state lines and I stepped out of that car and onto the sandy gravel that surrounded this timeless field, my soul was home and I was finally free.
-
What places have surprised you? Where your soul suddenly felt right at home ✨

BECOMING YOU

As a young girl, I remember wanting to do everything differently from the way my mother did. Not because I didn’t love her, but for the mere fact of not wanting to listen to my Mom when I was in my late teens and early twenties. I admired many of her qualities, but I was determined to create my own identity, separate from hers. That meant wearing clothes she didn’t like, listening to music she couldn't stand, and refusing to pick up a book and read.

In high school, when I wasn't wearing a uniform, my wardrobe consisted of short skirts, low-rise ripped jeans, and tiny tank tops. When I would come home from Keene State College, I was usually wearing bell-bottoms, clogs, ripped band t-shirts, and flannels (and to my Mom, there was nothing worse than a flannel). I might as well have been wearing nothing and it would have had the same effect. My Mother could not comprehend how flannels were even an item of clothing. That was always a fun conversation when I came home for the holidays either wearing a friend's flannel, a Goodwill flannel, my boyfriend’s flannel, or just one of the many flannels I owned during this phase. Or what my Mom liked to call it, ‘Meg’s Keene clothes’. Music, school, clothes, and partying were always at the top of the list of what we fought about (because I was rebelling and she was my Mother).

When you're in your early twenties, something inside of you changes - there's this overwhelming feeling that starts to create the “Been there, done that” mentality. I remember feeling as though I had seen and done it all and that at 21 years old, I no longer needed my Mother’s approval. Going to college and the experiences I had gave me a new perspective on life. I learned a great deal about myself in those four years and who I wanted to become. I discovered music that opened up my entire world, I found my golden tribe of people, I fell in love, I traveled to new places, the list went on and on. These felt like substantial things one goes through in life. But the truth of the matter is, there was still a lot I didn’t know and whether I could admit it or not, my Mother and Father were my rock during those formative years and their guidance saved me on countless occasions.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve started to realize that many things in our lives end up coming full circle. I catch myself doing or wearing the same things my mother once did. Most of which I used to make fun of her for. Here is a list of a few of the many things I’ve acquired from being my Mother’s daughter (and if you know my mother, you’ll probably know this list very well).

•The hardest part about packing for a trip is figuring out which books I should bring.

•I never leave for vacation without a bathing suit (no matter what the weather is like) “Because you never know when you're going to want a bathing suit!”

•I now believe you can never have enough jewelry, but that’s probably deeply rooted in the Cronin women.

•I keep a bag in the trunk of my car that has a raincoat, blanket, extra bra & underwear, a magazine, sandals and of course, a bathing suit.

•My bedside table has a stack of books and magazines on or around them at all times.

•Frozen cool whip really is life’s best-kept secret.

•Ice makes every drink better.

If you have the opportunity to skinny-dip, always skinny dip!

•There’s nothing better than swimming in the ocean.

•Watching Friends makes me happy.

•It is possible to have a Mary Poppins purse (no matter the size) “Because you never REALLY know what you’ll need.”

•There are always new books to be read.

•Gold hoops and a jean jacket are timeless.

•My Mom's classic “half up-half down” hairdo is my go-to.

•Life is better by the beach.

It’s almost comical now when I really think about it: I went the first twenty years of my life trying to do everything the opposite of what my Mother did and here I am, at thirty years old, discovering all these parts of me, that has always been her.

a friend for a lifetime

We sat on sandy beaches of the Pacific reading poetry and exchanging words about the beauty of the West. We laid in bed watching sappy clips of the Notebook and episodes of Martin Scorcese’s Grateful Dead documentary to feel closer to the music one … — We sat on sandy beaches of the Pacific reading poetry and exchanging words about the beauty of the West. We laid in bed watching sappy clips of the Notebook and episodes of Martin Scorcese’s Grateful Dead documentary to feel closer to the music one more time before we fell into the night's sleepy dreams.
We drove through the backcountry of California’s deserts and mountains to find the quiet places that have always made us feel the most free. We hiked to the top of a mountain and found a hand-carved bench where we read the soft white pages of a book about angels. We drove down Sunrise Highway in my old black Jeep with our heads out the windows letting out our most primal screams to remember that we too are still wild. We drank coffee in bed consumed by the stack of books that laid delicately between the early morning sun-kissed sheets. Her last night in California was spent eating tacos and ice cream and singing the music of Bonnie Raitt and Susan Tedeschi, and Rachel Price. And it was perfect. We were us again - Just two old souls that have always felt at home within the presence of the other.

New york state of mind

It was a cool winter night. My Dad picked me up from JFK airport to head home to Norwalk, Connecticut. As we began to drive over the East River, I leaned forward, looking past my father's face and out the window locking eyes with the New York City s… — It was a cool winter night. My Dad picked me up from JFK airport to head home to Norwalk, Connecticut. As we began to drive over the East River, I leaned forward, looking past my father's face and out the window locking eyes with the New York City skyline (a view I find becomes more beautiful, as I grow older). But I couldn’t look away this time...Memories from the past rushed over me like a giant tidal wave of emotions taking over my every thought. But I kept looking, kept feeling, kept remembering the city that meant so very much to me and where I am now. Here are a few words I was able to capture after that moment:
I cross the Whitestone Bridge
Staring endlessly at the city of my past
Still present in my heart
But a distant feeling now in mind's memory
A different mindset
Another life
Another dream entirely
But oh New York
How I will always love you

APRIL 11th

Last night I reached for my night stand table to flip through the pages of my journal that I had just finished a few days prior. Sam Adams and I had bought this notebook during our journey from the East to the West. The morning after we arrived in S… — Last night I reached for my night stand table to flip through the pages of my journal that I had just finished a few days prior. Sam Adams and I had bought this notebook during our journey from the East to the West. The morning after we arrived in San Diego, we walked to Newbreak Coffee in OB to have breakfast and fill in a few pages of the notebook about our travels during our time on the road. The day Sam left to go back to the East Coast, she gave me this notebook and said, “Keep writing Meg.” And that’s exactly what I did.
This unassuming red notebook that we bought at a convenience store in some state I can’t even remember anymore, turned into my journal. It quickly became my most prized possession in California. It’s where I wrote stories about my friends and family (because it made me feel more connected to home). It’s where I poured my heart out about the struggles of the twists and turns of a woman in her late twenties. It’s where I felt safe. It’s where I felt at home. It’s where I saw patterns in my writing that made me more aware of my choices. It’s where I shared my love for California. It’s where my secrets lived (the list goes on and on). But this notebook was more than just a journal to me. It’s where I could hide in between the pages when I was lonely. It’s where I sought solitude. And eventually, it’s where I found myself.
When I grabbed my journal last night, I had the realization that Sam and I had left Connecticut for California in April of 2017. But I wanted the exact date we left. So I flipped to the first page of my journal: It was dated, April 11th. My mind started immediately backtracking...”April 11th: The day of my RAW artist showcase. April 11th: The day Sam arrives in San Diego. April 11th will mark two years since my journey West. April 11th is when my world opened up and where it all began...
April 11th, YOU ARE MAGIC.

all that remains

I can’t stop repeating these words by my dear friend Sam Adams: “All that ever mattered, is all that remains.” How simple but yet a deeply profound statement? Everything that has mattered most, we carry with us as the days pass us by. I know this is… — I can’t stop repeating these words by my dear friend Sam Adams: “All that ever mattered, is all that remains.” How simple but yet a deeply profound statement? Everything that has mattered most, we carry with us as the days pass us by. I know this is a notion we are all aware of, but Sam’s choice of words makes it more than just a statement: These are words to live by - These are words we should never forget.

It’s those moments in life that are so beautiful, they are hard to articulate. Those people who have touched your soul so deeply, they are now a part of you. Those places that make you come alive and change your perspective on this world. These are the moments we carry with us. These are the moments that matter most in this life. These are the moments that will forever remain in our hearts. Life is fleeting, but the energy that these moments and people have created stay inside us.

Thank you, Sam, for finding the words I’ve never been able to articulate. I can now explain to people the way in which I carry certain energy from the people and places that I’ve loved so deeply. Thank you for giving meaning to the feeling that everything that has ever mattered, will forever live in our hearts. Thank you Sam for saying it in a way no one has ever said it before.
“All that ever mattered, is all that remains.”

Wild

Spending time in nature is a gentle reminder of the impermanence of things. A tree that has fallen, leaves on the ground, a dried up stream, a flower that has bloomed. The circle of life we see in nature serves as a constant reminder of the ever-evo… — Spending time in nature is a gentle reminder of the impermanence of things. A tree that has fallen, leaves on the ground, a dried up stream, a flower that has bloomed. The circle of life we see in nature serves as a constant reminder of the ever-evolving evolution of our own lives. Regardless of how many plans we make and schedules we follow, life will continue to unfold as it’s meant to. You can’t tell a tree to stop growing it’s roots or for a stream to go in a different direction or for the sun to set in the east and rise in the west.
We as humans have no control over the natural rhythm of our planet. All we can control is the choices we make along the way and trust the beauty in the rhythm in which our lives unfold before us. Because at the end of the day, we are no different than the trees in the forest or the flowers in the meadows. We are all one in the same. All playing a part in the ever-evolving circle of life. So don’t get too hung up on the little things. Life will unfold as its meant to, you just have to trust the process and pay attention to the signs along the way. And if you start having doubts, walk outside and look around (nature’s tiny little miracles are everywhere). Just open up your eyes, allow your mind to be curious and let the magic of nature unfold before you.

blackbird

I was on my way to go bouldering. Julie texted me early that morning, “Meg call me when you wake up.” At first, I thought she wanted to tell me she was coming to California to visit, so I thought nothing of it. I went climbing and was planning on ca… — I was on my way to go bouldering. Julie texted me early that morning, “Meg call me when you wake up.” At first, I thought she wanted to tell me she was coming to California to visit, so I thought nothing of it. I went climbing and was planning on calling her after. As I was walking over to the rock wall, I heard the opening chords of The Beatles ‘Blackbird’. I have always loved that song but this time felt different, there was a tinge of sadness to the melody and the lyrics that quickly followed…
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly, into the light of a dark black night.”
I felt my heart sink so deep into my chest, I knew something terrible had happened. I grabbed my water and ran as quickly as I could out of the gym and immediately called Julie, but she didn’t pick up. Moments later from Nicolle, “Meg, did you talk to Julie?” my eyes tearing up, knowing I didn't want to hear what she was going to share...when Nicolle picked up, I could feel her broken heart beneath the silence and then she quietly muttered the words, “Meg, it’s Justin.”

There are so many things I want to say about you being gone because this wasn’t your time and you had so much life to live and I know there are no amount of words that will bring you back, but what I will say is this: Justin, you were so gentle and kind and you had the biggest heart and I’ll never forget your smile. TJ and I were laughing the other day because I told him, “Everything was just a little more fun when Justin was around.” Of course, he agreed (I’m sure all our friends would), because that was you - Smiles, the warmest heart and you were always having the best time no matter where we were or what we were doing. You made everything fun and life was just a little bit lighter when you were around. But mostly, Justin you showed us all what it meant to truly enjoy every minute of this life and how to find joy in everything. I hope wherever you are now, you are free and you are happy and I’d bet whoever you're with is having just a little bit more fun because you’re there.
Love you always,
Meg ️♥

Letter To A Friend

It was the Fall of 2008. I was a freshman at Keene State College, a small liberal arts school in southern New Hampshire, near the Vermont border. Tim and I had made plans to visit his friends that weekend who were attending school at St. Mikes Colle… — It was the Fall of 2008. I was a freshman at Keene State College, a small liberal arts school in southern New Hampshire, near the Vermont border. Tim and I had made plans to visit his friends that weekend who were attending school at St. Mikes College in Winooski, Vermont. I always had a special attachment to St. Mikes , it was where my Dad received his bachelor's degree. He had so many fond memories there, that the idea of spending time at his college while I was a freshman was quite special. It was a late Friday afternoon, when Tim Pomer and Keith Madia (Tim’s hometown friends) picked us up at the dorms to head North to Vermont. The sun was exceptionally bright that day, filling the car with golden rays of light that always makes everything look and feel more beautiful. There were two burned CDs on rotation that played for the entire car ride. The playlists consisted of the music of Assembly of Dust and moe. and Medeski, Martin, Scofield & Wood and Railroad Earth and so many other bands that I soon fell in love with and would quickly become the path that led me to this group of lifelong friends.

As the sun began setting over the mountains, we approached the town of Winooski (just Northeast of Burlington, Vermont). We made our way through the St. Mikes campus, searching for the Joyce freshman dorm building. We pulled around the corner and there it was: A sign on a dated red brick building that read, Joyce. I was staring at the sign for a couple of seconds when I realized I had seen this building before - It was the same building my dad showed me when we visited the college a few years back (it was where he had lived his freshman year at St. Mikes). We got out of the car and were greeted with the warmest welcome from their good friend Connor Stewart (Connor was one of their close friends from home and a freshman at St. Mikes). He helped us unload the car and make our way into Joyce to drop off our backpacks. It was pretty late in the day, so we decided to have a couple of beers and make our way to a house party on campus. We trekked across the quad to a section of the upperclassman housing - I followed the boys into one of the apartments that had Phish playing loudly through the speakers. I walked in and as I was turning around from closing the door behind me, I looked up and saw a young man, tall in stature with shaggy brown hair, jumping up and down on a massive amp, frantically waving his arms while leading the entire party in a sing along to Phish’s, Heavy Things. At that moment in time, I did not know that that boy dancing to Phish like he was the only one in the room was Matt Fasano. All I knew was that I had never seen anyone look more free than Matt did during that brief moment in time. He jumped off the amp and walked over to our group of friends and gave the boys big, warm hugs - That was the day, I met Matt Fasano.

Ever since that weekend at St. Mikes nearly a decade ago…Matt has been there through all the major chapters of my life. From the wild college weekends up in Burlington, to blissful summers in Fairfield, CT, magical Gathering of the Vibes festivals and those precious years in Brooklyn when we were trying to figure out the direction of our lives. But more recently, all those late night talks about our dreams and fears for the future the year before I moved to California; Matt has always been there. But he hasn't just been there, he’s made an everlasting imprint on my life and so many others. Matt has this essence to him -This energy that's hard to describe unless you’ve experienced it yourself. He has this uncanny ability to adapt to whatever surrounding he is in. Flowing through life on a constant journey to learn, to grow, to meet new people and experience new things. It’s quite a remarkable way to go through life and I am still as humbled by his magic now, as I was when I met him at that college party so many years ago...
Matt, you truly are one of a kind and have become a friend that I hold so near and dear to my heart. It didn’t feel right to wish you a happy birthday without sharing this story that has been wanting to be written for a very long time. Its a memory that visits me every now and again and that usually means the story has something to say - And this story wanted to share with everyone the remarkable soul that you are. Happy 30th Birthday Matt, keep on letting that soul shine :)
All my love, Meg xxo
P.S. Next time I see you I hope it’s someplace where your singing & smiling, “Things are falling down on me, heavy things I could not see. When I finally came around, something small would pin me down. When I tried to step aside, I moved to where they hoped I'd be.” - Heavy Things, Phish

Southern Cross

It was a warm Sunday morning. I had a late start to my day, as my body was tired and sore from the weekend that had passed. There were a few errands I needed to run, but they quickly became the last thing I wanted to do, given the beautiful fall wea… — It was a warm Sunday morning. I had a late start to my day, as my body was tired and sore from the weekend that had passed. There were a few errands I needed to run, but they quickly became the last thing I wanted to do, given the beautiful fall weather we were having. But nonetheless, I threw on my old pair of jeans and Allman brothers T-shirt, made some coffee, and headed to the grocery store. As I made my way over the hill out of Ocean Beach and into Point Loma, a distant memory from the past came to mind - My dad and I walking along a sandy path in the heat of summer, somewhere near the bay. I remember thinking during our walk, What a perfect place to start your day. Serene, secluded, quiet and beautiful. I decided I wanted to find this place before I ran my errands. I wasn't exactly sure where the path was, but I had an idea of the neighborhood it was in. I headed towards Shelter Island and drove around the winding side streets until I saw the inconspicuous entrance I remembered from the year prior. I parked my Jeep, grabbed my coffee and started walking. It was an unusually quiet Sunday morning. The sandy path was filled with hummingbirds and bees that buzzed about the flowers and a heron that quietly walked behind me as I made my way further south. There were colorful plants of every kind and beautiful, historic homes, each as unique as the next. This place had a subtlety to it. A humbleness etched into its soft lines that touched the sparkling blue waters. It was a simple place you could hear your thoughts and breathe a little easier. I find in quiet places such as these, you can hear your dreams.
In the distance, there was a picturesque wooden swing held up by two worn-in ropes under a beautiful green tree on the edge of the water. I sat there to collect my thoughts and take a couple of photographs. Dreams were flowing through me, as I was looking at the hundreds of glistening white boats in the bay. I was lost in my thoughts, until I saw an older gentleman walking my way. We nodded at each other, said our hellos and he kept walking. But then in a few short moments, he turned back around and we started talking. His name was Jim. He was from Seattle and had just arrived in San Diego a few months prior. He was here to work on the sailboat he bought and the plan was to stay until he finished fixing it up. I sat there as he shared anecdotes about his life in Seattle, his family and friends, and the places he had traveled to over the years. It was as though I had known him before, he felt so familiar to me (or at least enough for me to open up and talk about things you usually wouldn't talk about with a stranger). After some time, he asked if I had ever been to the beach at the end of the path. I said no, I had only made it as far as the last house. He said, “Would you like to walk with me to the beach? It’s beautiful.” I said yes. So we started to walk along the water, as I told him stories about my childhood, college adventures, the places I had traveled to in my mid-twenties & stories about my life here in San Diego. He talked about his love for boats and literature and everything else in between. We swapped stories until we reached the beach. This beach was tiny and pristine. The sand was warm and the water was calm. There was a family making a sand castle, an older gentleman cooling off from his run and a couple reading their books; it was perfect.
But it was getting to be time for me to head back when we were wrapping up our discussion of music. I told him how much I loved Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and that Southern Cross is still one of my favorite songs of all time. He gently turned away from the sun towards me and said, “Meg, I haven’t told anyone this yet, but Stephen Stills wrote Southern Cross on my boat.” My mouth dropped to the floor - Jim’s boat is a 1961, 82-foot sailboat from Seattle and he is the third owner of the boat. The second owner had the boat for 29 years and before that Peter Fonda (Jane Fonda’s brother) owned it from 1969-1985. At some point between the late 70’s and early 80’s, Stills spent time on the boat and wrote Southern Cross. We are still piecing together all the details, but my initial assumption is that Southern Cross was written about three things: Stills’ relationship with Judy Collins, the trip Peter Fonda took on the sailboat to Tahiti (note Papeete and Marquesas referenced in the lyrics), and the Southern Cross constellation, which may or may not be used as a metaphor in the song. After hearing Jim’s story about the boat and Southern Cross, everything began to slowly come full circle. I had come to this place to quiet my mind and start my day outside. I walked to collect my thoughts and then I met Jim, the kindest, most humble of souls. We exchanged stories about everything you could imagine you’d talk to a stranger about and then all the dots perfectly aligned like a constellation in the sky…The boat, the walk, the lives of two perfect strangers colliding and the beautiful serendipitous nature of it all.
Sometimes I’m not sure what to make of moments like these: When the stars align and everything suddenly feels deeply connected to each other. But what I do know is when your heart is telling you to do something out of the ordinary, do it. This is your soul wanting you to connect the dots between the people and places that are out of your everyday circle. The people who walk the road less traveled. These roads are less traveled for a reason. It is a deliberate choice to wander away from the ordinary, in order to find the extraordinary (but not many people take this path). But when you do, secret doors will open for you and your life will expand beyond the boundaries of what is normal. And you will have more interesting stories to tell when you're old and grey if you venture off the path every now and again. You may even catch a glimpse of the Southern Cross along the way…
I believe when we encounter moments like these, we are connected to something greater. Something we can't quite explain, something I don’t want explained. During moments like these, magic is seeping through the surface and waiting for you to grab onto her hands and say yes to the adventure that awaits you. I’ve come to love this feeling, because the mystery that lives inside these moments is what makes it special. Magic doesn't want you to uncover her story. She wants you to find her, dance with her, listen to her & love her until she touches the next soul that walks in her path. Because if magic wanted us to understand her, she wouldn't be magic, she would be science. And I definitely am more interested in the mystery of the things we cannot explain, than the science behind the things we already know.
_
Southern Cross, Crosby, Stills & Nash (listen here)
Got out of town on a boat goin' to Southern Islands
Sailing a reach before a followin' sea
She was makin' for the trades on the outside
And the downhill run to Papeete
Off the wind on this heading lie the Marquesas
We got eighty feet of the waterline nicely making way
In a noisy bar in Avalon I tried to call you
But on a midnight watch I realized why twice you ran away
Think about
Think about how many times I have fallen
Spirits are using me, larger voices callin'
What Heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten
Around the world (I have been around the world)
Lookin' (lookin' for that woman girl)
Who knows she knows (who knows love can endure)
And you know it will
When you see the Southern Cross for the first time
You understand now why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small
But it's as big as the promise, the promise of a comin' day
So I'm sailing for tomorrow my dreams are a-dyin'
And my love is an anchor tied to you (tied with a silver chain)
I have my ship and all her flags are a-flyin'
She is all that I have left and music is her name
Think about
Think about how many times I have fallen
Spirits are using me, larger voices callin'
What Heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten
I have been around the world (I have been around the world)
Lookin' (lookin' for that woman girl)
(Who knows love can endure)
And you know it will
And you know it will
So we cheated and we lied and we tested
And we never failed to fail it was the easiest thing to do
You will survive being bested
Somebody fine will come along make me forget about loving you
And the southern cross

This Road Of Mine

Its funny, I was staring at the picture of Lamar Valley that I posted the other day and it occurred to me that I have always loved the image of an endless road. A road where you can’t quite tell where it ends or begins, but its lines perfectly outli… — Its funny, I was staring at the picture of Lamar Valley that I posted the other day and it occurred to me that I have always loved the image of an endless road. A road where you can’t quite tell where it ends or begins, but its lines perfectly outline a path for which way to go. There’s an uncertainty on this route, yet a promising feeling that lingers amongst the air for the adventures that lie ahead...
This road reminded me of a reoccurring image I use to draw when I was younger. It started when I was probably eight or nine years old and anytime I had a pen and paper in hand, I was always drawing the same picture in my notebook. It was this beautiful winding road that made its way in through two delicate, large green mountains and the sun would be setting between the mountain range, as its golden rays shined into the sky above. Now I don’t know why exactly I started drawing this particular image, but I’ve begun to realize that this drawing is something that I have carried with me for a very long time. You see, this picture is more than just a place, it’s a feeling that has always lived in my heart. I guess this endless road in a way is how I see my life. I imagine myself walking down this dirt road into a twinkling horizon and towards the majestic mountains that await me. As I begin to walk down this road, I pass by all the chapters of my life that read like signs (signs like you may see on a highway). The first on my left reading, “Born March, 5th, 1989, Norwalk CT.” The second, “Childhood memories on 15 Pine Hill Avenue”, the third, “Summers at The Cape” and so on and so forth. As I walk along this road, I am reminded of all the people I have met along the way and the experiences that have shaped my life like colorful patchwork on a giant beautiful quilt. One memory, in particular, is something that is now embedded in this road of mine...
I’m in an old car with all my best friends and we're on this epic adventure together (in some state we’ve never been to before, seeing some band we all love so deeply). The energy around us is euphoric and freedom is the soundtrack to our lives. Outside the windows is a slight wind that flows like fleeting memories of the past and ahead is the love that brought us together in the first place. There is something so transcending about this experience: the newness of everything, the uncertainty of it all, the bliss, the freedom and the unconditional love that surrounds us. These moments have turned into a sort of a beautiful magic that we carry with us, until the next adventure comes our way...
I guess what I’m getting at here is that this endless road of mine is and always will represent the journey of life. It’s complicated and filled with unexpected turns, but that's what makes it beautiful. The uncertainty of it leaves room for life’s greatest gifts and makes for a story worth telling when we're old, wrinkly and grey. Maybe that’s why my trip cross country felt so monumental? Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to let go of it? I was living out my childhood dream on that endless road across America. A road where you can’t quite tell where it ends or begins, but just beyond the green mountains in the distance and through the fading horizon…
Your dreams are waiting for you on the other side.

Notes From The Road- Bathroom Stalls

It was 11:00 pm and I was sitting on the floor of the women’s bathroom at Madison Campgrounds, in Yellowstone National Park. The lights were dim and the yellow tiles on the floor reminded me of the pale bathroom floors that lined the stalls of my ol… — It was 11:00 pm and I was sitting on the floor of the women’s bathroom at Madison Campgrounds, in Yellowstone National Park. The lights were dim and the yellow tiles on the floor reminded me of the pale bathroom floors that lined the stalls of my old High School in Connecticut. I was bundled up in my warmest clothes, while sipping on Jameson from the bottle and delicately smoking a freshly rolled joint, as Kara got changed out of her damp clothes from the day we had up in the mountains together. I grabbed my phone and put on, ‘These Arms Of Mine’ by Otis Redding (I always found there was something so perfect about warm dim lighting, a slight buzz from whiskey and the soulful sounds of Otis Redding voice). As the lyrics of ‘These Arms Of Mine’ filled the bathroom stalls, I knew there was nowhere else I was supposed to be in that moment. During my time on the road, I was getting a lot of affirmations that I had made the right decision to keep exploring, rather than settle down immediately when I arrived in San Diego. I often look back on that week in Yellowstone and think, “I was really free then, wasn’t I?” I felt this sense of belonging when I was on the road. It was this notion that freedom was at the core of what it meant to wander (because when you wander, whether you realize it or not, you are letting go things that no longer serve you.)
When I moved out West, I had to let go of a lot of my material possessions, because everything I owned had to fit into my black 1999 Jeep Cherokee and about a week or two into Sam’s and I’s journey West, my belongings started to feel more like a burden, than things I actually “needed.” Of course, I had possessions that were sentimental to me, but the rest just felt like they were taking up space. I started to feel as though my real possessions were the people and the experiences I was making along the way. That those people and those adventures were things that would serve me long after the journey was over. This idea came full circle when I noticed that the freedom I felt in my heart, was coming from a place of having less things tying me down and realizing that freedom isn't something I was born with, but it's something that I had chosen.
When you’re a child, you don’t ever think about freedom, because feeling free is at the core of your existence. As a kid, my sister and I use to spend countless hours in our backyard, in an area we use to call, “The Woods.” “The Woods” was a section of our yard that was filled with a few large trees, a winding stone path that was surrounded lush green ivy and colorful flower beds, that grew in this precious sanctuary of ours. It was a magical place for both my sister and I. I remember feeling more at home in that tiny patch of green forest, than many other places I had spent time in. “The Woods” truly felt like a slice of heaven... It was as though we had discovered another world within those big wild oak trees and soft fairy-like flower beds. Year after year, we spent countless summers playing in this magical place we called home and still to this day, these are some of the most beautiful memories I have of my childhood.
I guess what I’m getting at here, is when you're a child, you quickly discover what makes you happy and you never question it. You follow your heart, because that's all you know. Time is obsolete, intuition rules the heart and love rules the mind and that is exactly how it feels to be truly free. Time disappears, love takes over and your actions are led by that little voice you can’t quite ignore. Can you imagine living in a world where more people followed their heart and everyone listened to their intuitive selves? A society where people were living out their truths? I believe that our world would be a much more forgiving place if people listened to what their heart desired. Joan Didion once said, “It’s so easy to forget the people we once were.” We too soon forget the ways in which we use to feel and the things we use to love. But to get back to that place, we must tap into that child we once were. The kid inside all of us, who use to swim often and climb trees and run through the woods and bask in the sun and love so unconditionally that it became infectious to the people around us. You know how kids have that light in their eyes, that sort of twinkle that sparkles when you talk to them? I believe that comes from the freedom that they embody. As we get older, our innocence is tainted (because we’ve seen too much) and our freedom gets lost amongst the chaos of life. But I know that this light is never truly gone, but has turned into these beautiful flickering embers floating amongst the darkness, just waiting for the love in our hearts, to torch their golden lights once again. Because if everyone started searching for the light within them, we could all be on the same path to freedom…
And come back to the children we once were.

Notes From The Road- Inspired in America’s Small Towns

I woke up in Wyoming this morning. Kara and Maryr were in the front seat looking at the hazy colors of yellow and blue skies ahead in the distance. We wanted to catch the sunrise, so we pulled off an exit on 1-80 near an oil field to catch the sun r… — I woke up in Wyoming this morning. Kara and Maryr were in the front seat looking at the hazy colors of yellow and blue skies ahead in the distance. We wanted to catch the sunrise, so we pulled off an exit on 1-80 near an oil field to catch the sun rising from the East. We were still five hours from Grand Teton National Park at that point, so we caught the sunrise and trekked on. We passed by a lot of small towns in that five-hour drive and I realized there was something so deeply American about all these quaint places. They were filled with nostalgic mom and pop shops, cheap motels, old diners, run down auto bodies, tacky billboard signs and other establishments you may find in places like these. Were these places exciting? No, not necessarily, but yet, something drew me to them. Was it the history? The people? The location? Did other people feel inspired when passing through these small American towns? Maybe it was being exposed to such a vast array of different places at one time. The possibilities seemed endless being at the whim of the road...Where to next? Who would I meet? What would I see? Would I always feel this alive?
I remembered once when I was watching the Grateful Dead documentary ‘Long Strange Trip’, something that Sam Cutler (their British manager in the 70’s) said really resonated with me. He explained how the Dead more than any other band, truly fit into the American culture during that era. Fans began dropping out of high school and college to not only follow the Dead, but to go explore America. Cutler was from the UK and found this notion hysterical, “Because no one from the UK just dropped out of school to go explore the countryside of England.”
But America was different in that way I guess. Back then, people were trying to get away from the war, the politics, religion, their families, whatever it may be, but at the same time, they were also listening to that voice that lives inside all of us. That beckoning, that calls upon our nomadic selves to explore and not rest until the adventure is over. Things haven't changed much in that regard and there are still people (many people), who are living this way. We now live in a time where people are regularly choosing to drop out of the system, because they want to live a simpler life. They're ok with making less money, but having more experiences under their belt. In a way, this has been part of our culture for a long time. The 60's is when they made it ok to live this way and now this lifestyle is making its way back into the American culture. I also believe a major factor in this movement is due to the extreme turn our government has taken in the past year and a half that has led people to live a simpler/more nomadic way of life. So whenever I'm getting stuck with the mundane routine, I turn to these people who are constantly inspiring me get out of my comfort zone, keep exploring my surroundings and to never forget what it means to feel free. Because ultimately, these are the people that have reminded me that the journey is never over...
Until you say it's over.

Left My Heart In Mississippi

You know when you just feel something is so right with every bone in your body and the only thing left to do is see it through? That's what it was like when I insisted Sam and I drive over that rusty old bridge in the southern swamplands of Louisian… — You know when you just feel something is so right with every bone in your body and the only thing left to do is see it through? That's what it was like when I insisted Sam and I drive over that rusty old bridge in the southern swamplands of Louisiana. I knew magic was waiting to be uncovered and I was not going to miss the opportunity to be a part of it. Sam and I made our way across the bridge, as the Louisiana skyline began to sink into the big green cypress trees behind us, as I played the Allman Brothers album, ‘Idlewild South’. We were driving down Route 90 and slowly began to see two large white signs in the distance. We approached the first sign and in big black letters it read, “Leaving Lousiana” and the next sign read, ‘Welcome to Mississippi.’ I knew something special was upon us that night...I had this familiar comforting feeling that came over me every time I listened to my intuition and followed my heart. It’s this sense of oneness with myself and the universe. An utterly blissful feeling of this exact moment being ever so unique to me and my journey. So as we trucked on, the songs of The Allman Brothers filled the car and the lyrics of ‘Please Call Home’ (listen here) sank into our souls and made its way into our hearts as if Greg Allman himself had written these lyrics so many years ago about my journey from the East to the West...
“Take one last look, before you leave,
'Cause oh, somehow it means so much to me.
And if you'll ever need me, you know where I'll be.
So, please, call home if ya change your mind.”
This song reminded me of home and friends and family and the people I cared so deeply about back East and how leaving was one of the hardest and yet easiest things I had ever done. I felt this deep sense of freedom and gratitude in this moment with those lyrics and Sam by my side. As the melody started to fade out into the passing winds, we decided we wanted to get out of the car and catch the last reaming minutes of the sunset. So I pulled over onto a deserted sandy lot that was nestled between the river channels of the Pearl River. We were surrounded by endless marshlands, sunkissed fields, and cotton candy skies and I felt as though I was living inside of a dream. But this dream felt so familiar, as if I had been there before...my soul was coming home. This place was the ‘Prince of Tides’ stories in my dreams, the Forrest Gump scenes in heart and the southern lyrics in my soul. Time had disappeared and Sam and I were experiencing the magic of feeling so unbelievably free in that moment. We walked around this sandy lot marveling at the beauty that surrounded us and tried to absorb as much as we could, because we both knew this moment was as fleeting as the passing winds.

The light turned to dusk and the air started to cool, so we got in the car and headed back over that old rusty bridge where it all began. There was a silence in the car for a while...I think both of us knew that what happened over those Mississippi/… — The light turned to dusk and the air started to cool, so we got in the car and headed back over that old rusty bridge where it all began. There was a silence in the car for a while...I think both of us knew that what happened over those Mississippi/Louisiana state lines was something we’d carry with us the rest of our life, because it’s a bizarre but comforting feeling to feel at home in places you’ve never been before. It affirms my belief that home is not a place, but a feeling and it can be found in so many different forms, if you just follow your heart...
And trust the magic that awaits you.
_
If you ever happen to find yourself in Pearlington, Mississippi, make sure you make a pit stop at one of the divest bars in all of the south- Turtle Landing (link here). Order yourself a few Yuengling's and make your way out back to the cute table that sits on the creek and if you're lucky enough, you can hang with some of the alligators that make frequent appearances along the brush of the riverbed.

Crocidle creek _Fotor.jpg

Notes From The Road - Desert Minds

Sam and I had been driving through the desert for almost ten hours that day. Our minds and our hearts needed a change of scenery. So as we made our way out of the desert, towards a clearing on I-40, to our surprise, mountains began peaking out in th… — Sam and I had been driving through the desert for almost ten hours that day. Our minds and our hearts needed a change of scenery. So as we made our way out of the desert, towards a clearing on I-40, to our surprise, mountains began peaking out in the distance, as the sun slowly started to set into the horizon behind us. Before we knew it, everything around us had turned into these magnificent shades of red and yellow colors, for as far as the eye could see.
For a split second, the world felt different. The ground beneath us had changed. The feeling of death from the desert started to drift away and the only thing left, was the beauty that surrounded us. The setting sun was warm upon our faces and its golden rays covered the Desert Mountains like a bright yellow blanket of stars that had just exploded into a million little pieces all around us.
In this moment, our spirits had been lifted and our souls had been awakened. Something inside of us had changed. The desert had changed us. At first, it had numbed us with its blazing heat, inhabitable land and unforgiving roads. And then it shocked us, with all its glorious beauty and lit up our souls in a way we never imagined. And it brought us to realize, how beautiful this life really is. And that sometimes, you have to drive ten hours through the desert...
To experience just three minutes of magic.

Notes From The Road- The Endless Road

The feeling of not knowing what lied ahead, was enough excitement for the both of us. There was always something to see, someone to meet, or somewhere to go. The possibilities were endless and freedom had never tasted so sweet. The world in which w… — The feeling of not knowing what lied ahead, was enough excitement for the both of us. There was always something to see, someone to meet, or somewhere to go. The possibilities were endless and freedom had never tasted so sweet. The world in which we knew was changing and we were changing with it. We were at the whim of the road and life had never looked so promising.
Our souls glistened with new adventures and new experiences. Our minds were inspired by each city we encountered and our hearts were touched by every person we met. There was never a dull moment in that car. Every thought, every word, every breath, was so ever real, so ever true and so painfully honest. I had quickly come to realize, that for many people like us, the road, in all its glory: Was the truest act of living, the realist form of exploration...
And the closest thing we had ever felt to freedom.

Notes From The Road - Home Is Everywhere

I still miss it. I miss the smell of the heat from the desert sands that burned our feet as we walked across its forbidden lands. I miss the way the cool winds blew from the south over the banks of the Mississippi River. I miss the stories that the … — I still miss it. I miss the smell of the heat from the desert sands that burned our feet as we walked across its forbidden lands. I miss the way the cool winds blew from the south over the banks of the Mississippi River. I miss the stories that the old Spanish moss trees told us as we walked beneath their web of dreams. I miss the way the forests spoke to my soul at dawn and the way the sky held the stars at night to guide our journey west. I miss the people that told us to, “Fuck everything else and live today like it’s your last.” I miss the feeling of finding home in the most unfamiliar of places.
But most of all, I miss how the road made me feel. It’s like the first time you fall in love and all the little things become important and everything you once knew starts to hold a deeper meaning. You begin to see and feel with new eyes and an open heart and life suddenly feels utterly complete. Everything around you is awe so inspiring and it is as if you have been born again. Your soul has found a place to call home.
Isn’t this what we’re all looking for anyway? A place to feel free forever. A place we can be ourselves. A place where love is currency and all the little things matter. This is what life's all about (or at least I think so). So next time you come across this feeling, hold onto it for dear life, because these are the people and ultimately the places...
That will bring you back home.

A Letter to the Famoe.ly

Where do I even begin...This is where it all began for us, isn't it?The place we called home. The place we found ourselves. The place we'd leave a simple space, just to be at a show. This was more than just a band to us. This was a place we felt a s… — Where do I even begin...This is where it all began for us, isn't it?
The place we called home. The place we found ourselves. The place we'd leave a simple space, just to be at a show. This was more than just a band to us. This was a place we felt a sense of belonging and a place we created a true Famoe.ly. moe. watched us grow from wide-eyed teenagers, to adventurous college nomads, to young adults and now to wiser and more mature members of society. They saw it all and that is something I would like to remember today.
When I heard word that Rob was diagnosed with throat cancer, I felt a part of my soul die along with this news. I feel as though a piece of my heart lives inside the soul of this band and those golden years we all cherish so much. It was an era of carefree blissful years...filled with music and adventure and love and new experiences and so much more.
Which is such a beautiful thing, because never would I have expected this band to have as a significant impact on my life as they did. So if tonight is the last time they take the stage together (which I pray and hope it is not), I believe a piece of our hearts will be carried on in the music that changed the course of our lives...
Tonight I will raise my glass to my home, my heart and my best friends. And to moe. The small town band from Buffalo, NY, that came through our lives like your favorite song that never gets old, always feels good and anytime your lost along the way...
You just turn to the music and the songs will forever bring you back home.

Feel Flows - The Untold Story

I often get asked what the meaning behind my tattoo, “Never ending tablets of time” is.In most cases, I usually try and explain its meaning in less than a few sentences, but the truth of the matter is, these words deserve much more recognition than … — I often get asked what the meaning behind my tattoo, “Never ending tablets of time” is.
In most cases, I usually try and explain its meaning in less than a few sentences, but the truth of the matter is, these words deserve much more recognition than they are given credit for and their story deserves to be heard. So today, I am going to share with you my story, of the beautiful but rare Beach Boys song, ‘Feel Flows’ and explain why this song means so much to me.
It was the summer of 2012 and I was working for NBC Sports at a gymnastic event in San Jose, California. One of my jobs that day was to drive the talent from their hotel to the sports arena. On this particular morning, one of the sports announcers said I could put on whatever music I wanted. So I turned on the Sirius XM station to Classic Vinyl. The end of a Rolling Stones song was just finishing up and in just a few short moments, I heard the sweet sounds of Carl Wilson’s voice. But this time, I didn't recognize the melody or the lyrics. I had never heard this song before (granted, I didn’t know the entire Beach Boys catalog, but I felt like I had a pretty good understanding of their music.)
Before I knew it, I was completely lost in the music. I didn’t know if anyone in the car had asked me a question, if someone was telling a story, I had no idea what was going on around me. In that one minute, I had traveled to a place where Carl Wilson’s angelic voice carried me along in the ethereal melodies of the subconscious and the poetic words of Jack Riley lingered on in my heart as if I had written those lyrics myself, so many moons ago. This song was called 'Feel Flows' and I knew after listening to it, something inside of my soul had changed and it was my job to carry it on.
So fast forward two and a half weeks later and I’m rolling into San Diego on a Greyhound bus from LA and 'Feel Flow's is blasting through the speakers of my headphones. I had come back to San Diego to spend more time with Nicolle and the place I had fallen so deeply in love with...Ocean Beach, California. OB was a small hippy community nestled between the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean, lush green palm trees, timeless mom and pop shops and some of the best people I had met resided in this small neighborhood at the end of Highway 8.
During my time here, Nicolle and I would explore San Diego every day like it was Christmas morning. We concurred so much beauty in that one week. But the most memorable place being Balboa Park. We walked every square inch of the park and as the day slowly started to wind down, we decided to lay out our white cotton blanket and relax under a big beautiful tree in the rose gardens. We drank cheap wine, smoked cigarettes and talked about life and love and our dreams and fears for the future. We were in the mists of a ‘Life Day’ and everything was as it should be.
Moments later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the most magnificent tree I had ever seen. I immediately jumped up and ran over to its gentle, yet otherworldly presence. It’s roots looked like something out of a fairy tale (embedded into the ground as if had been there since the beginning of time). I was in awe of its beauty and its rich history, which held all the engravings from visitors who had come before me. As I skimmed over the various words, my eyes suddenly stopped on 'Never ending'. “ ‘Never ending?’ " I soon realized that ‘Never ending tablets of time’ was my favorite verse from ‘Feel Flows’.

Now fast forward to the summer of 2017 and I'm re-watching ‘Almost Famous’ for the 20th time. But this time is different. I catch something I've never noticed before. The movie has just finished and the end credits start rolling. I hear a familiar a… — Now fast forward to the summer of 2017 and I'm re-watching ‘Almost Famous’ for the 20th time. But this time is different. I catch something I've never noticed before. The movie has just finished and the end credits start rolling. I hear a familiar angelic voice singing, 'Unbending never ending tablets of time...' "It couldn't be! That's 'Feel Flows’! " This was the first time I had watched the movie since discovering that song so many years ago and then everything just came together is this way I can't quite describe (watch the end credits here).
See, ‘Almost Famous’ is a semi autobiographical film based on Crowe's childhood growing up in San Diego (specifically Ocean Beach) and 'Feel Flows’ has always been a part of San Diego and San Diego has always been a part of me. Call it serendipitous or call it fate, but I know my soul was destined to find this song and it was destined to find me. I have always found a sense of comfort in the lyrics of this song. After hearing the words 'Never ending tablets of time' many times over the past couple of years, I started to refer to the different stages of my life as 'Never ending tablets of time'. I found those words to hold a eternal essence to them that eludes to time being something we created and life doesn't have a beginning and an end, but yet is this infinite experience our soul is having here on earth - The things we love and the people we touch don't just fade away, but are in part, just contributions to this never ending circle of life.
Now I can’t say that 'Feel Flows' will have the same effect on everyone, but I hope you can find the magic that exists inside Jack Riley’s eternal lyrics and Carl Wilson’s ethereal melodies and let it make its way into your soul like it did with mine. Because every time I hear those opening chords, I get a chill down my spine and I’m brought back to this place where I am young, wild and free, flowing through the brinks of time under the California sun. A place where nothing else matters and magic still exists. A place, where everything you feel, just flows like a giant tidal wave…gently crashing to shore.
_
Feel Flows, The Beach Boys / Listen to the full song here
Unfolding enveloping missiles of soul
Recall senses sadly
Mirage like soft blue like lanterns below
To light the way gladly
Whether whistling heaven's clouds disappear
Where the wind withers memory
Whether whiteness whisks soft shadows away
Feel flows (White hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (Black hot glistening shadowy flows)

Unbending never ending tablets of time
Record all the yearning
Unfearing all appearing message divine
Eases the burning
Whether willing witness waits at my mind
Whether hope dampens memory
Whether wondrous will stands tall at my side
Feel flows (White hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (Black hot glistening shadowy flows)

Encasing all embracing wreath of repose
Engulfs all the senses
Imposing, unclosing thoughts that compose
Retire the fences
Whether wholly heartened life fades away
Whether harps heal the memory
Whether wholly heartened life fades away
Whether wondrous will stands tall at my side
Whether whiteness whisks soft shadows away
Feel goes (White hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel flows (Black hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (White hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feelings to grow (White hot glistening shadowy flows)

White hot glistening shadowy flows
White hot glistening shadowy flows
White hot glistening shadowy flows