August 4th, 2023

I’ve spent a long time running from joy. 

Maybe because I didn’t think it was attainable. 

Maybe because I didn’t think I deserved it. 

Maybe because I didn’t think that joy was meant for me. 

Now, slowly, I’m starting to find the things meant for me.

I’m starting to lean into the things that give me joy.

The things that feel right.

I’m starting to make choices about leaving the things that don’t serve me.

I’m starting to believe that you can claim the things you want.

I’m starting to understand at long last, that failure is an intrinsic part of life. 

I had my doubts about starting a blog.

I wondered what others would think. What they would think of me. What they would think of my writing.

I dismissed the idea several times because I thought that what I felt and wrote was not important.

But the vision never left. I knew its name. I could see the colour.

Then, when disillusions crept in about work and the world, I knew I would do it.

I wanted to create a retreat. One that I could visit and that others could visit too.

The name Lumiere was born from my love of photography and film. 

I also knew that in French ‘lumiere’ means light and I’d decided many years ago, during a particularly difficult time, that I wanted to be a beacon.

My aim for this blog is to illuminate moments in life; the beautiful, and the truthful, including the ones that sting. 

Upon further exploration I discovered that ‘lumiere’ is a colour that falls somewhere between green and blue; aqua-blue or sky-green.

Given my love of nature, it felt serendipitous. I’d chanced upon a word that encompassed the sky, the earth and the sea.

And resembled the colour of my grandmother’s glass. 

My mother had always called green glass old-fashioned, yet now there sits a green glass vase on the mantel above the fire. 

My maternal grandmother passed away when I was three years old.

I wish I’d been able to get to know her. I know she lived a tumultuous life, but that she kept a smile on her face, and a positive attitude.

I know that she has passed onto me her heart and her backbone. And I will be forever grateful for that.

I mourn her passing for my mother and her siblings, and I mourn all the funny and enlightening conversations we will never have.

I wish that she could be the voice of her own stories. This reminds me how important it is to tell our stories while we can.

I suppose in some way, this is me telling mine, whatever there is to tell. 

I hope you stay as we both grow and change. No doubt my house creaks when I walk. The floors are warped.

But as everything develops beyond control and we become ever more efficient, I want to keep something a little bit inconvenient. A little wild.

Something that requires the navigation and thoughtfulness that I fear we are steadily losing.

There are so many things I wish to share with you. 

Sometimes I think that writing is the only thing that anchors me to the world.

Something to hold onto in the waves.

I hope that my writing can be an anchor for others, too.

~ Ameline …