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Marti Maley
Bio
Hi š my name is Marti. I am an artist and healer living in Alaska & Arizona. I believe in good coffee, chihuahuas, and mental health. I love connecting with fellow artistsš @msmartimaley
Achievements (1)
Stories (30/0)
Midnight Sun. Runner-up in Summer Solstice Challenge.
My dog trots happily behind my boyfriend, occasionally looking back to make sure I havenāt been separated from the pack. Midnight is only minutes away, and as usual, weāre running late. For the first time in over fifty years, the entire town is gathering by the river to honor and celebrate the summer solstice. That may sound impressive, but the reality is that there are barely 2,000 residents in the small town of Girdwood, which makes for a close-knit (granted, sometimes too close) community. People are bound to gossip if we are late, but I donāt care. The sky is too beautiful. People wonder how Alaskans can tolerate such long, harsh wintersā for them, not even a summer of endless daylight can justify nine months of darkness. But these people have never witnessed snow-capped mountains kissing white clouds in a cool blue sky in the middle of the night. I breathe in deeply. The air smells like the rainforestācrisp, green, and invigorating. And the sounds: river rushing, birds chirping, twigs snapping beneath my feet. Everything is alive. My dog stops in the middle of the path again, looking back impatiently. I catch up with her and my boyfriend, who is used to my trailing behind; understanding my need for walking in the woods to be a moving meditation.
By Marti Maley21 days ago in Fiction
An English Fairy Tale
I watch the tiny bubbles of my champagne race to the top of the delicate glass, the effervescence hypnotizing. I am perched on a stool in a First Class Lounge at the Seattle airport, surrounded by stiff businessman and wealthy middle aged ladies, only minutes away from boarding. I feel drastically out of place, with my oversize Top Gun sweatshirt and unwashed hair, and am reminded of Cinderella. Surely she must have experienced imposter syndrome at such a fancy ball surrounded by the rich and entitled, yet somehow she managed to pull it off. I catch a lady clad almost entirely in Chanel eyeing the holes in my sweatpants.
By Marti Maley2 months ago in Wander
Clinging to Childhood. Top Story - April 2024.
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minuteā a decision Iām beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesnāt pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley3 months ago in Fiction
The Humble Guru
āStraighten your arms. No, your elbows are bent. Straighten them.ā I blink rapidly as sweat drips directly into my eye. Iām standing in a 105-degree heated room with my arms over my head sideways and a pile of sweat pooling underneath me. Iām desperately trying to straighten my arms. This is only the first posture.
By Marti Maley5 months ago in Humans
More than a Mom
The runnerās jog past me, eyes downcast and shoulders sagging. It is the 20-mile mark, the most challenging leg of the 26.2-mile race. A cheer from the crowd perks them up, and the marathonerās posture changes, making their feet a little lighter. I clap along with them, but my eyes scan the horde for the only person I truly care about: my mom. I see her in the distance, her powerful legs moving rhythmically as she approaches the checkpoint, her arms pumping. āGO MOM!ā I shout out excitedly. My dad and brother join in, and we continue cheering in unison until sheās right in front of us. Breathing heavily, she acknowledges us with a smile and continues on, body and mind resolute. She has more than three hours of non-stop running behind her and still more than an hour left to go. As I watch her round the corner, I think to myself for the millionth time: My mom is a superhero.
By Marti Maley5 months ago in Families
Peace of Body
I have to admit, Iām sick and tired of trying to change my body. I find the same diet trends that disappear and then resurface on instagram anxiety-inducing; the flurry of workouts that pop up incessantly on facebook exhausting. Iām burnt out from the high protein breakfast ideas, as well as the āwhat I eat in a dayā trends that seem almost identical. Even more so, Iām frustrated that despite living in an era that is more than ever in favor of loving your body, I still struggle with accepting mine. All this being said, I still find myself taking screen-shots of brownies made from sweet potatoes that Iām never going to try.
By Marti Maley5 months ago in Journal
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