My boyfriend and I had just broken up, and the best way to describe me was ‘a shit show’. An absolute mess. And amongst all of the crap that you feel when you’re is in the middle of a terrible break up, the most painful to me was a future of… nothing. All I could picture was this gray foggy mist, a completely unknown wall of darkness that lay in front of me. (If you’re already depressed, then you get the picture. If you’re nodding in agreement, then you’re amongst the best of us that have been through this kind of loss. But hang in with me here, I promise things will look up.) You see, I thought he was the ticket. The story I told myself was that he was the key to doing all of these wonderful things in my life — he had the motivation and the ...
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My grammy, Marion Libby Broaddus, was a spectacular woman. Mainly because she was such a unique person. She was 9th was a generation Mainer, who had a strong, witty personality and an attitude to boot. She always reminded me of the classic 1950’s ad with the woman saying, “We can do it!”. She taught me things that I couldn’t have learned from anyone else. As a girl finding my place in the world, my grammy was integral to keeping me tied to my roots, and growing up in the right direction. I originally drafted this article almost a year ago, after a week where I spent almost every day with her. I felt inspired to write down all of the wonderfulness that I felt about her. I’m publishing this article now one week after her death, as a celebration of the life that she lived, and the far reaching influence ...
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I was a bit of a horror, as far as teenage daughters go. My mom and I fought, almost daily, for many of my early teenage years.  I was a pain, to say the least, with a strong personality in a house of sweet, tender and quiet family members.  I was always right and very independent at far too young.  I wasn't respectful of the boundaries laid before me, but I refused to lie-- so I would lawyer my way into proving that my point of view was right.  The result was never ending fights, that seemed to merge into one another.  Her poor mother, you're probably thinking... you're right. I say this because now, I understand both sides.  I've been the unruly, emotional teenage daughter.  And I can look back at it from the eyes of an adult now: both with guilt for being so unruly and with ...
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I was 23 when I found out I had cancer. Melanoma skin cancer, in fact. The funny part is, I was never a big tanner.  I didn't care too much about looking brown and beautiful-- I was just too lazy to cover up.  I was always out riding in an outdoor arena or working outside.  I wasn't a tanning bed layer, a bikini wearer, or a sun bathing beauty.  I was always too on the move to care about that stuff. But cancer caught up to me anyways.  And it was doing a 5 minute mile, apparently. You can actually see it, on the background photo of this website taken in 2009.  The cute mole on my collar bone-- I thought it was an adorable beauty mark.  When the doctor said they would need to take a biopsy, I felt like they were taking a part of my being, like ...
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"Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end.  Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.  Delicious ambiguity..."     - Gilda Radner I've read and re-read this quote over the years.  It's kept me comforted on dark nights, and moving forward when the path ahead feels unknown.  Though every time I read this, the words feel new-- like I'm discovering that it's okay not to know, again and again. I first read this quote in a card.  It was a parting gift, from someone very special when I moved away from my home in New England.  It was the comfort I needed; I wanted to know that it was okay to leave home and to not have a plan.  Or rather, to leave him and leave my plan behind. Deep ...
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It all started when I moved to Montana. I’m not new to starting life in new places. I moved to New Hampshire in college, I lived in Ireland on a study abroad and moved to Wyoming a week after graduation. Each time, I knew no one. I started fresh. I took a leap. And I thought Montana would be just like all of my other leaps. When I moved, I worked from home and lived alone for the first time. My goal was to finally start my life in a place that I’d been wanting to live for years. To build a community and feel at home there. At the bottom of all of that was a desire to be closer to my boyfriend, who lived right where I wanted to be. After I moved, I realized how alone I was. I felt so naive for thinking the transition would ...
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I grew up in Maine, in the northeast corner of New England. As a whole, Mainers pride themselves on being practical people; intellectual dialogue, democratic compassion and love of nature abounds. The concept of ‘religion’ is looked at with some skepticism, though the majority would consider themselves spiritual in some way. The people are smart and empathetic, and won’t hesitate to offer advise in times of emotional crisis. I came to depend on that insight as as I rode life’s roller coaster of changes. Getting advise from my important people would tip the “decision scale”, and point me off in the right direction. But somewhere around when I turned 20, the women in my life all decided together (apparently) that I was officially an adult and I had to make my own decisions. The advise changed from, “you should...” or “try this...” to the frustrating new alternative: “Listen to your ...
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After living in Wyoming for a couple years, I moved home to Maine for a few months to figure out my next direction. One afternoon, I went into Eddie Bauer, and wandered around the store. A young boy, about six years old, was with his mother and grandparents and looked bored almost to tears (like any typical 6 year old boy in an adult clothing store, I’d say!). As they walked out of the store, the little boy looking relieved, I smiled at them and said sometime encouraging words to the mother. All three adults looked at me like I had three heads, didn’t say anything, and walked out of the store. I forgot, I thought to myself, we’re in the land where strangers don’t talk to each other. I started noticing this more. I went to the gas station to get coffee and would chat to the person next ...
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Let me preface this conversation with some important information: I’ve always liked being touched. I like to be hugged, I like to have my hair braided and my back scratched. I’m just touchable, it’s how I was born. That said, I didn’t realize how inappropriately touchy the general population of men from New England are, until I moved away. Ladies, it might surprise you, but start paying attention when you go out; you may realize that you’re getting touched a lot by strangers and you don’t even recognize it. Let me start at the beginning. After graduating college in New Hampshire, I moved out to Wyoming.... the land of chivalrous men. I was in a totally new world. Doors were opened for me everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. In a bar, when a guy came up to say hello, they came to start a conversation and that’s ALL. They would introduce ...
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In college I started to write letters. I wrote to friends who were starting their new lives around the country. I wrote to my Grammy at home and my Grampa in South Carolina. I even wrote to my parents. At first, I wrote because I loved the idea of snuggling up with a blanket and a cup of coffee and writing in a window nook as the sun rose. Even still, I’ve never done that, by the way.... Secondly, I love mail, and (just like with many things in life) the only way to get it is to give it. So, I started sending letters. Each new place I lived I met new people and when we moved apart, I got their new address and I started to write. And guess what? It was a surprise at first, but people actually kept in touch. Give a letter, get a letter ...
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