Square One is Sacred Ground.

Sometimes revisiting old pieces of writing helps someone else who is navigating a similar situation. I wrote this in November 2018. It was a good reminder, looking back seven years later, that this moment of starting again at square one was indeed sacred. It was the biggest gift the Universe gave me. The ashes from which I was forced to rebuild helped me to rediscover my path and purpose.

“Square one is sacred ground.”
— Sam Lamott

“Square one is sacred ground.” I first read these words one week ago while navigating and processing that gut-wrenching feeling that comes with the dissolution of a relationship, and they made me weep. When the reality you’ve known and built your world around suddenly comes crashing down in flames, it’s easy to recognize that you’re back to square one. It’s a mixture of disbelief, anger, fear, and uncertainty. I’ve learned that most of our deepest hurt comes from relationships. But even more importantly, so does our healing. When we’re knocked down and shaking uncontrollably with rage on the floor, it’s our friends who spoon feed us truth, wrap us in love, and remind us of who we are.

Square one humbles us, softens us, opens us up, and acts as the fertile soil for new growth and possibility. It feels like a mixture of daunting fear, fragility, and yet, new hope and promise.

Perhaps you’re at square one too. Maybe you’ve reached a point in your physical health, in a certain relationship, or even in your mental health where you feel like you’re back to the beginning. The very last thing you may feel in this moment is promise. It feels impossible to fathom the beauty in the ashes, that destruction makes way for possibility, and that you’re standing on sacred ground that is filled with opportunities for new growth and potential.

I’m here to invite you to look at your situation with new eyes. It’s not all about the mountaintops that we reach; it’s about the way we put back together the broken pieces from the floor, the way we rebuild and find renewal and restoration in these new beginnings. This is square one. And this, my friends— is sacred ground.

Endings and Beginnings.

Last week, I supported a few clients affected by the recent layoffs. Some expressed mixed emotions of relief, while others were upset and still in shock. When we’re blindsided by a sudden, drastic, life-altering change that disrupts the foundation of our lives, I call this a “Tower Moment.” The entire tower on which we’ve built our sense of safety, belonging, and security suddenly crumbles and we’re left with the ruins and forced to rebuild.

Starting over. Beginning from scratch. It’s simultaneously terrifying and freeing.

But here’s the truth- Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

I created this altar at the end of my workday with these clients in mind. The dried, crinkled leaves represent the ‘ending’ of what was. To me, they also resembled outstretched hands. I placed tiny blossoms inside of each, as an ode to the new beginnings that would come. Acorns remind us that from tiny seeds, mighty oaks grow. The Prickly Poppy in the center symbolizes the work at their previous company, and the smaller dandelion flowers at the edge signify how those skills will ripple out in new ways moving forward.

As a provider and clinician, art helps me transmute the complexity of emotions into something tangible and meaningful.

You can try it too. Gather whatever you have around you. Arrange your materials in a way that helps you make sense of everything you’re feeling. Place it down, along with your heavy emotions, onto the solid earth. Then offer it up and let it go. Everything, after all, is impermanent.

Magic.

How will you make magic in your life this year?

What’s helped me is to begin by attuning myself to the vibration of making magic- doing things and being around people who make me feel sparkly. When I feel sparkly, I feel more alive, vibrant, creative, open, and expansive. And funny enough, staying in this vibration attracts the right people and opportunities.

What are you attuning to, and as a result, what are you attracting?

Everything is a mirror.

Practicing “Goodbye.”

My best friend had open heart surgery yesterday. Knowing this, she changed her “death day” to 2/12/25. This made the “Year to Live” social experiment all the more real. On Sunday, while most of the world was watching the Super Bowl, we reviewed the different scenarios within an Advance Directive. Would you want a tracheostomy? Would you want to survive if you were paralyzed from the waist down? Would you want a permanent PEG tube placement? Practicing saying goodbye the day before her ‘death day’ reiterated to me just how important she was in my life and how much I loved her as a friend.

The surgery went smoothly, thankfully. But during those hours when she was intubated and unable to communicate, I realized that one of the hardest parts of losing someone was the inability to talk to them. There were tiny things that happened during the day- jokes or things I wanted to text her- that I knew she wouldn’t be able to receive.

I had a brief sense of what most experience when they lose a loved one for good. I’d taken for granted the small, seemingly insignificant exchange of words sprinkled throughout the day that we could always share. The memes, inside jokes, new ideas, and random stories that I knew only she would understand.

Now that the surgery has gone smoothly, every day feels like a gift. I have another moment to appreciate her. Another chance to make more memories. Another opportunity to tell her yet again how much I love her.

When we practice saying goodbye to our loved ones, we welcome a newness and appreciation for the life we share with them while they’re still here.

Life-changing Moments.

“Is this seat taken?” Lacing up your running shoes for the first time in years. Putting in your two week’s notice. “I’m pregnant.” Walking into your first AA meeting. Buying the one-way ticket. An urgent voicemail from your doctor’s office- “Please call us back immediately.” Journeying with plant medicine. Pressing “Publish.” A 3:45 am phone call. Smiling at a stranger from across the room. Turning in your final thesis. Signing the divorce papers. Signing up for singing lessons. Receiving the keys to your first house. Adopting a puppy. Making your first sale in your business. “I think we should talk.” Deciding to leave. Deciding to stay. Deciding to wear your bike helmet even though you’re riding just a few blocks away. Meeting your best friend at 53. Finally getting that mole checked out. Choosing to change cities. Choosing to change jobs. Choosing yourself. Opening up that email. Opening up to a friend for the first time. Opening up to life.

A Life of Gratitude.

This past Dec 31st, my friend and I opened our gratitude slips together and shared this 11-year tradition in person.

Many of my clients are seeking ways of getting offline before bed and cultivating a calming wind-down routine. Since this is the beginning of the year, I’d like to share my evening practice of going back to the analog method of writing down daily gratitude and ending my day with positive emotions.

For the past eleven years, my best friend and I have kept a gratitude jar. We have a New Year’s Eve tradition of opening each gratitude slip and reliving and remembering all the tiny miracles and blessings from the past year.

There are small wins and big wins. Moments of connection with a friend or a stranger (who later became a friend). Glimpses of happiness that I would’ve normally forgotten about during the year. I open each one and remember that particular day with clarity and nostalgia. I take pictures of certain ones and send them to friends so they can share in this joy.

At the end of the year, I stack all these Post-its into a huge pile and place them in a plastic bag. Each bag contains a time capsule of all my happiest moments of that year.

This year marked eleven years of memories.

I’d like to think that when I’m gone, someone will find this shoebox filled with the happiest moments of my life. It wouldn’t be recreated by AI or owned by anyone online.

It would simply be tangible proof of a life rich with joy and gratitude.

To Return to my Trees.

Fall Creek trail, Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park (photo by Anthony Lê)

My friend’s mom passed away suddenly this week.

She shared the date and time of her funeral services. Both fall on the same date and time as my dad’s 80th birthday celebration. Oh, the irony.

I recently learned a new Welsh phrase- “Dod yn ôl at fy nghoed”- which means “to return to a balanced state of mind.”

When translated, it means “to return to my trees.'“

Being here amongst my trees did just that. It returned me to a balanced state of mind. A place where I could simultaneously hold space for both celebration and grief. Love and loss. Life and death.

Nature, like our hearts, can hold it all too.

Signs You're in a Good Place.

You wake up before your alarm.

When someone cuts you off on the freeway, you give them the benefit of the doubt- “Maybe their wife just went into labor.”

You have time to pet all the dogs on your daily walk.

Things that used to bother you no longer do.

You’re more future-oriented than past-oriented.

Recent Google searches include: ‘What time is low tide?’ ‘Best romantic brunch spots near me.’ ‘Best 80th birthday party game ideas.’

When you’re feeling down, you have someone to call.

When something amazing happens to you, you have someone to call.

You drink more water than coffee.

Strangers smile back at you.

You go to sleep looking forward to the next day.

You have a ton of fun, sexy photos on your camera roll, but you don’t feel the need to post them.

Time slows because you’re learning new things and visiting new places.

You spend more time reading books than scrolling on social media.

Friends’ wins feel like your own.

You understand that everything can change in an instant, but for now, you’re happy and grateful that things are just the way they are.

You realize every day is a gift because time is precious and sacred.

And running out.

Misogi.

We work hard on our work resumes.

But what about our life resumes?

The years I remember the most were the ones when I had a year-defining event that I was actively and relentlessly working toward. Completing an Ironman. Quitting my clinical nutrition job and starting my own private practice. Writing and self-publishing my book.

I came across the concept of ‘misogi’ recently. In Shinto faith, ‘misogi’ means ‘water cleansing.’ In practice, individuals make a yearly pilgrimage to frigid waterfalls, lakes, and rivers to purify and cleanse their minds and bodies. The aim is to scrub yourself clean of the contamination caused by modern conveniences.

In current society, some have adapted ‘misogi’ to represent their year-defining challenge. An event, adventure, or personal/professional milestone that is extremely challenging and hard. One that forces someone to ‘cleanse off’ their self-doubt, worries, laziness, and fear to complete. One where there’s a possibility that you may not complete it, finish it, or reach it. That slight possibility is what make it your misogi, versus just another adventure. By relentlessly working toward your misogi and pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone, you discover new potential in yourself. You unlock a new gear. Find your new edge.

When someone asks you about 2025, what do you want to be extremely proud of working toward and completing?

What scares you and excites you at the same time?

Make this your misogi.

Then put it on your 2025 calendar.

An Ode to Our Younger Selves.

Ewoldsen Trail, Big Sur

There’s beauty in returning to places that honor our younger selves.

I last visited Ewoldsen trail in Oct 2016, during a time when I felt stuck and unhappy. Exploring this place solo allowed me to feel brave and curious, two elements that created a cocktail of bigger dreams. I used photos from that hike when building my website. This trail encompasses what’s required when confronting change- winding through the mist, crossing streams, and climbing…only to be rewarded with a jaw-dropping panoramic view that makes everything worth it.

Discontent is a quiet nudge. The first step was accepting how dissatisfied I was. The second was allowing myself the space and permission to dream bigger. Coming back here was a love letter to my younger self. She was uncertain and terrified to leave her comfort zone, but stepping away enabled new doors to open.

I hope this year we continually grow and explore. That we take that small but brave action for our future selves. That we believe in what’s possible. And never quit before the miracle.