Inspiring Brave, Authentic Lives...

I've been asked about Wildflower Art Studio lately... What exactly is it?  So, here you go...

I was lucky enough to have a childhood that involved a lot of stargazing, butterfly-chasing, mud pie-making, forest-exploring adventures.  I remember the smell of the campfire as I lay beneath the twinkling stars in the middle of a forest.  When I "grew up" (have I?) I moved to the Caribbean Sea.  With my back against the deck of the sailboat, I would gaze up in awe as the stars spanned from horizon to horizon. There is something magical in the wonder of creation.

Wildflower Art Studio isn't just about creating cool art projects; it's about inspiring individuals to live brave, authentic lives.  We reconnect with nature and with ourselves.  We become creators again.  We learn to listen to our heart, to dance to the beat of our own drum.  We become original, authentic, real.  We remember who we really are.  Every summer, I am amazed by the transformation of our art campers.  I recently watched a child go from a full day of complaining about how he would rather be playing video games earlier in the week to sitting beneath a shade tree, happily sketching spiders on the nature trail.

One of my favorite quotes is from Helen Keller:  "Life is a daring adventure or nothing at all."  As we grow up, we sometimes lose the willingness to risk.  It becomes necessary to protect, to provide, to live safely.  But as our lives become filled with predictability, some of the wonder is lost.  My goal with Wildflower Art Studio is to bring it back.  I have no intention of cliff jumping into the ocean ever again, but taking creative risks is vital to my own well-being.  Our classes aren't just about teaching techniques or helping students create a masterpiece.  They're more about encouraging students to trust themselves, to remember who they really are, to live brave, authentic lives.

"Ships are safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for."  -William Shedd

The Tandem Bicycle Adventure...

Most of my grand adventures are really just a misadventure with a more successful-sounding name.  Like that time we were canoeing down the rushing river on a warm sunny day and my darling clever husband dumped us all out.  Lost in a Tarzan moment, he leaped up on to a low-hanging tree branch, leaving sister and me with the paddles.  Being the kind souls that we are, dear sister and I craftily maneuvered the canoe just below him so that he could calmly drift back to his seat.  But of course that's not how it happened.  Next thing we knew, we're swimming for our lives in dark, snake-infested water, clinging to the sinking canoe because the thought of what might be lurking below us was far more horrifying than drifting to the bottom with the canoe.

So about that tandem bicycle.  When Bouie and I first met, we had all sorts of life-changing "adventures".  We never intended to get married or settle down.  We spent days going over details of the world-traveling, seafaring adventures we each had planned.  One day I received a phone call from Bouie, asking me to meet him in San Diego for a "surprise".  I had just finished working on a sailboat in the Bahamas and Bouie had just completed hiking a long trail in California.  On somewhat of a whim and because I rarely said no to an opportunity for adventure, I hopped on a train and headed to San Diego. 

Bouie met me with the frame (only the frame) of a tandem bicycle and a huge grin on his bearded face.  He hugged me and said in the most excited voice I had ever heard "Guess what?!  We're going to Canada!"  It took a few moments for me to link this rusty piece of metal with his big announcement.  And then I realized that this was his worst idea yet.  But I didn't want to let him down.  So I tried to see the potential for adventure as I imagined adding brakes, a couple of seats, wheels, you know, all those other things necessary for a bike to actually travel somewhere.

We spent 2 weeks getting our vessel travel-ready.  This was quite a task considering my luggage.  Bouie had given no indication that his "surprise" required one to travel light.  And I do not naturally travel light.  Since we had very little money and we were planning to spend the next weeks on the road, our bicycle construction required us to be very frugal and very creative.  Fortunately, one of the friends we were staying with had just recovered from knee surgery and happened to have an extra wheelchair.  This came in handy as a bike trailer when we lifted up the leg rests and added a few ropes for holding suitcases and things in there.  As you might imagine, it was very classy-looking.  People even stopped to take pictures of us riding it down the street.

I snapped on my hand-painted bike helmet (bike maintenance is not my thing so I had a lot of extra time on my hands during those 2 weeks), made sure my suitcases were extra-secure in the wheelchair, and said goodbye to San Diego.  The handlebar streamers were flying in the breeze (also handmade, it was important to look very snazzy) and we hadn't a care in the world.  Except that the bicycle never had brakes.  Just not in our budget.  Which was usually no big deal.  One of us just yelled "FEET" as an announcement that we needed to stop immediately.  You simply removed your feet from the bike pedals and stomped them as quickly and efficiently as possible on to the ground.  This usually worked.  But when you're in downtown San Diego and there are a lot of other forms of traffic, an extra-long tandem bicycle WITH a wheelchair attached to it does not necessarily always receive the right-of-way.  In that moment, "FEET" did not get yelled in the timely fashion that was apparently necessary for that particular situation.  And our tandem bicycle adventure came to a not-so-screeching halt.  Apparently brakes really should be a priority in the budget when planning a cross-country tandem bicycle ride.

But the story doesn't end there.  We did make it to Canada.  By train.  Which meant that we could see the gorgeous West Coast scenery without pedaling against-the-wind into it (we later learned that we had chosen the worst possible time of year for this northbound trek across America).  And I see now that life is really like this.  One misadventure after the next.  Or one opportunity after the next to find adventure right where you are.  The art of finding beauty in those little moments. 

When my husband and I got married, my grandparents had their 1920s tandem bicycle restored for us.  They liked our California bicycle story.  Beautiful, red and shiny, it looks nothing like our other tandem bicycle that is probably still sitting in an alley in San Diego.

The Art of Little Adventures...

First of all, I don't have this life thing figured out.  I guess we're all just bumbling around from one season to the next, managing the best we can.  Perhaps I tend to bumble around more than most.  I decided to write 7 years ago, just after I finished college and moved away.  So here I am, a little beyond fashionably late, with my first blog post.

The day that I decided to write, I was sitting on a cliff watching the sunset over the Caribbean Sea.  My toes were sandy, I had just finished another day of "work" in the the tropical paradise of a private island in the Bahamas.  My home at the time consisted of a small white boat named Sea Story.  She was anchored in a quiet harbor that also served as residence to a playful little family of dolphins.  I had fresh papaya for breakfast every morning, nursed injured birds and sea turtles back to health during the day, and embarked upon some grand seafaring adventure every afternoon.

I was surrounded by beauty, living the life of adventure that I had always dreamed about, and I was leaving on the next flight.

In that fleeting moment, everything made sense.  It was as if I suddenly understood what really matters.  The greatest adventures don't always appear so grand and glorious at first glance.  I have learned that people matter more than location.  That love really is the most powerful force on earth.  And that sharing life with someone else is more beautiful than the most breathtaking sunset at sea.

The day I said goodbye to living the life I always thought I wanted to live, I met the life I was meant to live.  It's significantly less glamorous.  Far more creativity is required when embarking upon adventures worthy of storytelling.  And those "little moments" that I previously might have brushed off as insignificant are filled with the greatest joy.

Watching my 10-month-old adventurer crawl toward the waves as he saw the ocean for the first time, even though most of the trip was spent in an endless effort of attempting to keep him from eating all the sand on the beach...  Walking hand-in-hand though the forest (which is really a small preserve of green + river + nature in the city) with my husband, dreaming and scheming because our current grand adventure is Mission: Baby Must Learn to Sleep.  Because we are getting to the point where the earth just might stop spinning if baby does not sleep...  Watering, weeding, pouring love into the backyard garden that will inevitably eventually burn to a crisp because Summer in Texas is brutal.  But seeing those wildflowers on the table in a mason jar makes everything worth it.  These are the little adventures.  These are the moments that make up this wonderful, devastating, inspiring, uncertain, beautiful life.  I hope that you will join me in the journey as we embrace the art of little adventures.