Wherever You Go, There You Are.

"Wherever you go, there you are." It's a truth that's both liberating and terrifying. I thought about this while riding the coast last Monday. If nothing was chaining you to a place- no mortgage, significant other, kids, permanent career, and you had the choice to transplant, where would you go?

It's a good question. It extracted me from autopilot mode and forced me to observe my life in detail. Challenged me to evaluate what makes a life rewarding and full.

By Thursday I was convinced. I'm moving to Portland. 

Or maybe Bend.

The cost of living is less. I'd start fresh in a new city on my own terms versus being unexpectedly uprooted. People would know me only starting with my smile. It would test my sense of self in the largest possible way. Without social context and history that people construct of you over time, you're essentially a clean slate. Some artists are paralyzed by the blank page. I find it ripe with potential, bursting with possibility. In Oregon, I'd explore new trails and write in quaint corner coffee shops and make new friends with the locals and learn how to mountain bike. I'd have to be brave and adventurous and ask for help.

And yet I fundamentally knew what I'd be leaving behind. We are meant to have tribes, to be among people who've witnessed the undulations of our lives. Who know our stories. Walked us through devastation and helped resurrect us from the ashes. Who genuinely care for us. I have that here. I have my 'joy network,' as a friend aptly called it. My family. Triathletes to celebrate with after races who inquire about the details- what was my mantra? How did I feel exiting the swim? A guitarist who practices songs so we can perform at open mics together. A lovely writer friend who sips tea with me and meticulously combs through my work and gives me constructive feedback to make me better.  PK, who cultivates curiosity and celebrates my small wins- when I was finally able to meditate longer than five minutes and stopped eating processed lunchmeat- and who teaches me how to move through this world by her own example. My friend who climbs rocks with me and listens to my endless stream of consciousness ideas and challenges me to read science fiction. It's true. No single person can possibly fulfill all of these multi-faceted parts of our lives that make us feel seen and heard and understood. We need a network. A joy network. So what makes someone just abandon their existing tribe to leave and start from scratch?

All of this was swarming in my head. The desire to have novelty in my life, mixed with adventure. Torn between having the luxury of freedom and independence, yet aware of my desire for partnership. Later on in the day, my friend held my hand and looked into my confused eyes and said, "Oh, Julianne, you're already whole. You're spinning on an axis in a beautiful way, already complete. You're just looking for the perfect place to lay down your roots." I could only nod. I had no words.

I like this wishbone-shaped tree because it reminds me that we have agency over our lives. Wishbones rarely crack in your favor. Wishes are good for birthday candles. But for my life, I want to make conscious, deliberate and well-planned choices. Thrive and stretch towards the sun. Put my roots down in fertile soil and trust they'll firmly intertwine with my joy network, wherever that may be.

Keep Exploring.

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”

— Eleanor Roosevelt

Russian Gulch State Park, Mendocino.

Glass Beach.

Glass Beach, Fort Bragg

Glass Beach offers a visual reminder of how some art can only be created through the transformational process of breaking. I watch kids and adults alike, hunched over, sifting through the sand and searching for pieces of colorful broken glass. Radiant shards illuminate the sun and woo people towards them.

The most beautiful and whole-hearted individuals I know are those whose lives have been shattered in some shape or form. The difficult times we fear will destroy us are very often the ones that break us open and allow us to redefine who we were meant to be.

I am drawn to these people. They have known loss and tragedy and have a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. I want to pick them out from the plethora of grey rocks. Hold them in my hand. Admire their beauty.

The Journey.

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver

Look Around.

“If, then, I were asked for the most important advice I could give, that which I considered to be the most useful to the men of our century, I should simply say: in the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.”

— Leo Tolstoy

China Rock, Monterey

Putting the Pieces Together.

Everytime I run Marin Headlands, I explore a different trail. Today, I ran farther than anticipated. I panicked when I realized that an out-and-back would be 20 miles. My only option was to piece together past trail runs and figure out a way to loop back to my car. I was on unfamiliar terrain when I spotted a group of kids and their hike leader. 

"How far to Miwok trail?" I gasped. 

"Just around the corner," he answered.

The kids gave me a line of high-fives and cheered me on as I ran past them. Once I turned the corner, I recognized where I was. It was my "Aha!" moment of utter exhilaration and relief. It felt like my trail runs were now all scotch-taped together in a way that made perfect sense.

Rodeo Beach, Marin Headlands

Coastal Trail, Marin Headlands

I once heard about a novelist who approaches writing in a non-linear fashion. She doesn't write a book from start to finish. She writes independent scenes instead. Random. Unique. Inspired in that moment. Much later in her writing process, she prints them out and rearranges them like puzzle pieces and physically tapes all those sheets of paper together. The raw material for her storyline is literally held together by scotch tape. What a magical moment for her to sit cross-legged on the floor and witness months of labor come together in a synergistic way.

We go through life as though our experiences are independent events. That job. That relationship. That move. We should take the time to connect the dots, to sit on the floor with scissors and tape and piece together our narrative. Our story. In a way that feels meaningful and makes sense to us. 

What we tell ourselves is largely self-constructed. You'll be overwhelmed with delight when you see the beauty in your own story arc for the first time. It's like getting high-fived by a whole line of kids as you run towards the sun.

The Importance of Margins.

"How are you?"

"Busy. Really busy."

We all know individuals who repeatedly respond with this answer. Busy feels important. Busy means you have real duties and obligations you must tend to. Busy means you are needed. 

I know, because I used to be one of those people. Running from task to task, checking things off "The List" continuously from 5am to 11pm fed the task-oriented hungry wolf inside. Simultaneously, it also starved creativity- the quiet little sheep that needed time to roam in the grass and soak in the sunshine, unhindered by Time and Obligation.

“A broad margin of leisure is as beautiful in a man’s life as in a book.”

— Henry David Thoreau

Running clears my lungs and my mind. Logging the miles along the Coastal Trail this morning.

Deliberately creating space in your life to play is the catalyst for creativity. Ideas need room to breathe. The jam-packed To-Do list is seductive, but it also leaves little room for serendipity.

Took a break and climbed all the way to Pirates Cove to watch the waves.

I listened to an interview with Adam Grant, the author of Originals: How Non-Conformists Move the World. He mentions how procrastination may be the enemy of productivity, yet it also serves as a resource for creativity. When we are not actively engaged in a specific task, we can enter the flow state more readily and access a wealth of ideas. Build margins into your life. With the extra free time, listen to Adam Grant. Guard that space like your life depends on it. It does. And so does your creativity.

Surround Yourself...

“You are the average of the 5 people you spend the most time with. Surround yourself with the dreamers and the doers, the believers and thinkers. But most of all, surround yourself with those who see greatness within you.”

— Jim Rohn

Saturday's crew.

Every few months I do a self-assessment and one of the questions included in that mix is, "Who are the Top 5 people in my inner circle?" In retrospect, I can clearly see how the company I have kept in my inner circle have inspired me to take creative risks, introduced me to new ideas, and expanded my view of the world. I ask myself a follow-up question, "How am I contributing value to their lives as well?"

True love moves freely in both directions. We do our most generous and meaningful work when we are surrounded by those who share our vision. Be selective. Life is too short to settle for mediocrity.

Save the Date!

A huge thank you to everyone who attended our last 1/2 Day Wellness Retreat. Mark your calendars for our next event, REVITALIZE, on April 30! Space is limited. We'd love it if you were there to join in on the fun. CLICK HERE for the exact deets. 

The Art of Adventure.

Discovering new parts of the Coastal Trail in Marin Headlands...

Growing up, my mom gave us huge tri-fold pieces of paper to draw our dream house on. At age 10, I drew a special 'pet room' and 'music room' since those were the things that I loved. I learned at a young age that anything I could imagine could be created on that paper. It was my own artistic creation and there were no wrong answers. Later on, I drew an entirely new house on a fresh sheet of paper because the old model no longer reflected who I was. 

As adults we often hear people say, "Find your passion." I think that's backwards. Passion isn't something we find, it's something we create. I laugh when people ask me my 5-year plan. To know exactly where I'll be and what I'll be doing in 5 years sounds awful. I have no idea. All I know is life is a continuous and beautiful unfolding, and our job is to listen, to be present, and to always stay curious.

“A man practices the art of adventure when he breaks the chain of routine and renews his life through reading new books, traveling to new places, making new friends, taking up new hobbies and adopting new viewpoints.”

— Wilfred Peterson

Adventuring around Marin Headlands...

At the beginning of the year, I skipped the resolutions and instead chose core desires. Ways that I wanted to feel this year. Two of my core desires are adventure and exploration. Each day I ask myself what I can do to feel those desires. Already in one month, I've been able to inoculate myself to fears I harbored in the past and step outside of my comfort zone. It's been a fun ride, and it's only February...

View above the clouds on East Peak, Mt. Tam.

Finally learned how to skateboard on Thursday!

One of the greatest skills in life is to learn how to learn. Stay curious. Ask questions, Seek help from those around you. What you can imagine, you can create. It doesn't only apply to dream houses drawn on tri-fold pieces of paper.

Underlining Trails.

Exploring new trails this morning at Lake Chabot.

One of my favorite things is reading a used book and stumbling across underlined sentences and notes scribbled in the margins. I try to imagine who the previous reader was before me, and how I know nothing except for the fact that we are moved by the same words, and this strangely connects us in a magical way.

What if trails were like sentences in books that you could underline and write in the margins? 

"This was the trail that I ran time and again while grieving the loss of my brother."

"This trail was the only familiar place to me when I first moved to California, and it gave me a sense of belonging for all the times I felt uprooted and disoriented."

"This trail was where I processed through the most painful parts of my divorce. It was long enough for me to sort through the anger and bitterness, until I finally broke through to the other side and found grace and forgiveness."

"This was the trail where I realized she was the woman I wanted to marry."

Revisiting old familiar trails with a friend this afternoon at Redwood Regional Park.

If a trail could be underlined like a sentence in a book, it would be a history of sorts, passed on from runner to runner, making us understand and appreciate the sacredness of the ground we tread upon. It would connect us all together in pleasure and in pain- just as running does.

I'm tempted to leave notebooks and pens at each trailhead from now on.