Copyright Vicki Rivard 2017

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On Being Alive

Because this business of becoming conscious, of being a writer,

is ultimately about asking yourself,

'How alive am I willing to be?''"

(Anne Lamott)

June 23, 2019

I have dreamt of this. 

This. A four-year old boy, digging in the sand, building a castle (“for the mice”) with his dad.

This. A ten-month old boy, sitting in the freshly-cut grass, picking miniature wildflowers with plump baby fingers and tickling his own nose.

This. A s...

April 26, 2019

When it is your door, it will swing open effortlessly on its hinges and summon you through, towards the light that is a direct reflection of the light that is within you.

When it is your wave, it will swoop under you, lifting you up as it swells and grows and you will s...

April 26, 2019

I knew my beloved Grandpa was going to die before anyone else did. I was eight years old. He was not sick. He was young and vibrant and beautiful. The day before he died, I knew. I didn’t know it in my mind, but I knew it in my body.

I had just said bye to him, after sp...

April 25, 2019

On Saturday, I will be travelling to Toronto to begin my studies in Contemplative End-of-Life Care. I have wanted to enrol in this program for many years. I will be leaving my 8.5 month-old for the first time (cue tears). I have purchased a manual breast pump for the m...

March 28, 2019

Every day—every moment of every day—is an opportunity to take a deeper breath, to make a different choice, to break a harmful pattern and embrace a lighter load. Every day—every moment of every day—is a chance not to “get it right,” but to do it well (as well as we can...

August 10, 2018

Here we are, sweet baby, teetering on the cusp—the cusp of Life on Earth (for you), the cusp of Life as a Mama of Two (for me). 

We are ready for this, though we don’t feel ready at all. (Here’s a secret, baby: We never feel ready, for anything, until we suddenly are, b...

April 22, 2018

My little family and I just moved from the bustling city of Toronto to the wilderness of northeastern Ontario. We left the city of our dreams—where we spent a decade growing, learning, and loving—for the wilderness of our longing. The move happened at a time when we ne...

October 28, 2017

Before I wanted to be a mother. A traveller. An actor. A teacher. A healer. Before I wanted to be anything at all, I wanted to be a writer.

This, I remember, was my first dream. But it was also more than a dream and less than a dream.

It was more than a dream because it...

October 20, 2017

Does it count?

When she's eight years old, in the bath, and her older male cousin walks in and watches her bathe and she says, “please leave” and she says, “stop looking at me like that” and his mom—her aunt—walks in and the girl tells her, “I don’t like him being in he...

June 17, 2017

There comes a time, in everyone's life, when the fear must drop away so that we can drop down into the space we are meant to occupy, here.

When the incessant messages of "not-good-enough-ness" and "too-much-ness" must get overwritten by messages of "just-right-for-right...

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