Ordinary Magic

Happy new year, dear friends and readers. I’m writing on this fine new morning from my home studio in Lubbock after spending a full two weeks in Northwest Missouri, the most time I’ve spent there since… I don’t remember when. Leaving my beloved woodlands to return to the dusty flatlands is always hard, but this year I have returned in determination rather than despair.

Still, I couldn’t help but shed a few tears this morning as I laid in the dark early hours before first light, for those who haven’t come with us into this hopeful new year. Loss is certainly no stranger. However, as I age it bears more warning that my time will come, too, eventually, and that of my family and even more friends. My sense of gratitude for all that this life has allowed me to endure and survive—good and bad—and all of the beautiful people it has allowed me to meet, even if only for a short while, greatly increases with each passing year. So, too, does my resolve to live more fully.

I don’t make resolutions in the traditional sense, but I do write down actionable tasks for the year. Goals. At the start of the last couple of years I’ve also chosen a word or a phrase to help me stay focused on those actionable tasks throughout the year. Sometimes the word ended up being not quite right, and I forgot it within the first few weeks. On my 12-hour drive yesterday, I thought about what my word for 2024 should be. I’ve decided it should be magic.

Not the sort of magic that’s beyond belief, but the kind that already exists in the world around us. The sort of magic that makes the people of West Texas covet their sunrises and sunsets. The kind that makes the dogs (and me) come alive when we backpack in the mountains and play in the woods. The kind that’s often more elusive in hard times but remains there waiting to comfort us when we’re ready to open our eyes again.

Not the sort of magic that leads us to “warp” a mountain in Photoshop or insert light rays where there were none in the scene before us, or to move elements of the frame around because they aren’t symmetrical. All of that is wonderful… artistic… skill. But it’s not magic.

I’m talking about the kind of magic that makes you say “Wow!” at the top of every pass, every saddle, every peak, every valley. Every flower and waterfall. Every stretch of golden red rock and shortgrass prairie that glows brightly as the sun arcs across the Llano Estacado. Every beautiful face that sits in front of your camera, or the table, or any stretch of thin space, just steps away from your own beautiful face. Every well-earned line in skin, carved with love and loss and time. Every story that brings us closer to believing in something. That kind of magic.

And yes, too, the kind of magic that allows an independent artist like myself to not only eke out a living doing what she loves, but thrive being who- she- is.

Wild magic. Natural magic. The magic of curiosity and love for our world and those who inhabit it. A longing to go out into this world and experience as much of it as I can before my time on this earth is up. To photograph more in an effort to express this curiosity and love—this magic—and share it with others who need it. That is my actionable task. My goal. My determination and resolve.

In less magical-sounding talk, I’ll be focusing on a few specific actionable tasks this year. The van is a higher priority this year and moving forward. The dogs and I need to be freer to move about with the seasons of change, to be in our wild places for longer periods of time, to be with family when needed, to visit old friends far away and meet new ones.

And thus, getting finances in order is a priority. Growing online and remote income streams—my website print shop, my Substack blogs, my YouTube channel. I still teach the online Intro to Veterans Studies course for EKU, and I’ll continue to do that. Remote work is key to moving forward with my goals.

I have to be more intentional to make this happen. Ordinary magic meets Holmes stubbornness meets Armstrong intention. This is what I’m made of.

Funny side note: while I was with my family over the Christmas holiday, my mom told me that when I was a baby, she and dad would take me for rides in the truck to calm me down when I wouldn’t stop crying. Suddenly my desire to live in a van makes even more sense. ;-)

Magic, friends. That’s my word of the new year. It’s what I’m seeking to share with you all and it’s what I wish for everyone to be able and willing to see.

Be well.