Clear eyes. Full heart. Can’t lose.
This mantra from Friday Night Lights played in my mind on a drive home to Midland Texas. Often, I hit the Permian Basin at sunset, a perfect backdrop for the oil rigs, as the sky peaches and pinks. Like the opening credits in FNL, these diligent “steel cows” nod their heads amidst endless Texas terrain.
Read MoreCirca age three, my Great Grandmother Lucille taught me this rhyme and how to pump my legs to use our backyard swingset. This Thanksgiving offered a full-circle moment to that earliest memory.
Read More“Have you ever been apple picking?” my friend Leila asked.
“I’ve always wanted to go.” I kept my eyes on the road for our exit.
“I’ll tell you the trick,” said Leila. “You have to twist the apple. If it’s ready, the stem breaks right off. But when the fruit isn’t ripe, it simply won’t come off. You can keep twisting and twisting, and it still won’t come. Or you could force it off, but then it won’t taste good. You can’t tell just by looking.”
”So You don’t know until you try,” I said.
Somehow, a little fly got trapped inside my car. He flew in when I stopped to get a breakfast taco on my way to Midland.
“Please fly out little guy,” I coaxed, cracking a smile at my own little joke. Five minutes later, I waited at Sonic for my diet cherry and lime coke. “Okay buddy, both doors are open for you now.”
The windows in my lime green beetle stopped working in 2020, just like everything else. Mr. Buzzy had a choice to make: get out now, or wait a loooong time for the next stop.
#WestTexasDriving
Each time, he bzzzzzzed, fought and tried to “escape” at the window. I opened my door, and he just kept flying to the crack where he “should” have been able to escape. Buzz Buzz flew from window to window, totally missing the wide-open doors that waited for him.
Read MoreI knew right as I started to pour, something was off. The coffee sludged out of the press in my mug. Strange, I must have used too much. I like really dark coffee and it’s not uncommon for me to overdo it.
Still hopeful, I grabbed my new white chocolate creamer and mixed it in with a butter knife.
First sip thoughts: Woah, there are grounds in there. What did I do wrong?
Read MoreDuring a goal setting session with a friend, I shared self-disappointment.
“I love Brave Tutu so much and with everything going on, I regret that I haven’t written a piece in so long. I just don’t know where to begin.”
“Why don’t you start there?” she said.
“Start with my disappointment and sadness?”
“Yeah, and how you’re not sure where to kick it off,” my friend encouraged. “If nothing else, it will be a good free write.”
Oh Claire Campbell, you are so wise.
Brave Tutu’s essence is to shine the light on small moments of significance—to uncover their rawness, wonder, beauty and even grief. However, for months I’ve felt stalled out. With added pressure, I wanted the January piece to serve as a mighty capstone of the last year and offer solid hope moving forward. But after a mind mushed from 2020 and the deadly insurrection at the Capitol, picking up the pen to dive into this space felt like writing on college-ruled paper with a magic marker. Impossible.
Read MoreI hope you will forgive me when I break format for this post. I can’t provide a SINGLE circumstance in this piece because this dream come true for me was built on what feels like a million moments.
Read MoreAmidst a sea of positivity, I let one voice stop me from swimming. Anyone relate? I had a funny idea. One that makes me laugh just thinking of it. An idea that others joined in with amusement and encouraged me to try. Did I listen to their voices? Nope. Did I let the voice of one friend, who laughed (not in a good way) at my idea get to me?
YES!
Read MoreDuring the pandemic, I tend to begin messages this way— “I hope this email finds you well during this surreal season.” Whether it’s a work contact I’ve never met or someone I’ve known for years, I imagine saying so much more. Let’s face it, this one-sentence greeting barely scratches the surface of what may be happening off screen in their daily lives—of how the email really “finds” them. I want to reach through the ether and just give them a hug. I think about the words I wish to share…
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