Birthday Reflections.

This year, I tried to live in a way that would make my 9-year-old self and my 90-year-old self proud.

I learned how to rollerskate again. Experimented artistically with paper cut illustrations and acrylic paint and polymer clay. Walked barefoot in the grass and sand. Jumped in the ocean. Followed my curiosity. Was more playful and silly and loose. Laughed at myself. Wrote poems and shared them with new friends on the beach. Got better at accepting that failing is part of learning. Remembered that practice makes progress, not perfect. I made decisions from my heart more. Fell in love. Opened up again. Became more embodied with dance, massage, breathwork.

For my 90-year-old self, I focused on legacy and longevity. I traded HIIT for long morning walks in nature. Prioritized rest and recovery both physically and mentally. Went on retreats. Found mentors. Scheduled uninterrupted time off so I could have the creative space to devote to art projects. Dove deep into healing and shadow work. Stopped trying to “fix” situations and instead, listen. Started writing and illustrating my first book- something that’s been a huge dream of mine for years. Intentionally chose friends and experiences over things. Realized community is the new currency.

This was the year of discovering, creating, and surrendering. And simultaneously remembering and returning home. Back to myself.

Here’s to another year. Of integration, wholeness, awe, and wonder.

Into the Depths.

Latest work; 11x14” original alcohol ink on yupo paper. Available in my shop.

“It is not difficult to make things. What is difficult is to reach the place from which we can make things.”
— Brancusi, Sculptor

One teenage client I worked with in the past struggled with depression, anxiety, and ADHD. All of these largely affected his lifestyle choices, including his nutrition. When we started working together, he was so numb and disconnected from his body. My usual approaches of dietary suggestions fell flat because his emotions and anger blocked his motivation and desire to make changes. He could care less about his diet and what he fueled his body with.

But he agreed to make art with me.

For weeks, we would meet together and head to the park down the street from his house. We sat on the grass, I’d pull out my box of art supplies and we’d draw, color, scribble, and sketch. I watched him move from colored pencils to thick markers. One week he used oil pastels.

I noticed how his color palate shifted. Slowly, he introducing more vibrant colors. One week he drew a sun and flowers.

Drawing and coloring allowed him to access a part of himself that was buried. When words failed, he used images and color schemes to illuminate the joy and childlike wonder that was dormant underneath the layer of depression and anxiety.

Art helped him access his heart. It took time. But his ability to uncover that part of himself that was buried was the first step in his wellness path. Eventually we were able to talk about food. But it took time, patience, curiosity, and in this case, crayons and construction paper.

His ability to ultimately reach the place where he could make things turned out to be the key that allowed him to make changes.

Thank You, Body.

Running a 1/2 marathon along the Avenue of the Giants.

Our bodies are incredible.

We often forget this. With societal and cultural pressure bombarding us with messages that smaller bodies are sexier/more attractive, it’s no wonder why so many people are unhappy and dissatisfied with their bodies. A slight increase on the scale suddenly becomes a measurement of self-worth and failure in all areas of life. People forget that hormones fluctuate, in addition to hydration levels, food consumption, sodium, and bowel regimens.

Last Sunday, it was a breath of fresh air to celebrate so many different bodies running a 1/2 marathon and marathon along the magical and mystical Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt, California. So many different ages, body shapes and sizes- all running and smiling and simply celebrating the human body and what it’s capable of achieving.

In January, my friend Catherine donated her kidney to a friend. As an active, athletic woman, her one fear was that following the transplant, her body would somehow be less capable of experiencing and achieving many of the athletic feats she loved to pursue. Prior to her transplant date, she saw an ad for this 1/2 marathon in Humboldt. As her body was recovering and healing, she asked me in April if I would join her at this race as a way of celebrating her body and health in a full-circle moment.

Of course, I agreed.

Sunday’s race wasn’t about pace. It was about the journey we all go on, and how some journeys in health and in life, are more bearable and memorable with friends. We cheered on other runners. We stopped to take pictures with gigantic majestic Redwoods that lined the entire run course. When it felt hard, we double-downed and thanked our bodies for how amazing and resilient and strong they are.

We crossed the finish line bursting with joy and gratitude. It felt different than any other race I’d done. The ones where all I cared about were time, pace, and place.

This felt like a moving prayer offered on behalf of our bodies. Afterwards, Catherine placed her hand over her heart and cried.

So the next time you’re tempted to talk down on yourself because of what the scale may say, PAUSE.

Think about the times your body has been there for you. Supported you. Healed itself. Allowed you to walk, run, ride a bike, ski, snowboard, paddle, have a child, hike, dance, hug, offer a hand, drive a car, make love, make art, write, sing, and photograph the world.

Isn’t this worth celebrating?

Sometimes the most memorable and important experiences in life that our bodies accomplish don’t need finish lines.

Your Center.

Milagra Ridge, Pacifica

With every labyrinth, you have a choice.

Enter it. Or not.

If you decide to enter, there’s only one direction to walk. Towards the center.

Like most things, it’s easy to ignore and walk past. To put it off for later. For another time. There’s a million other distractions. That big project at work, emails, your partner’s needs. Your phone.

Wellness journeys are similar. You have a choice whether or not you’ll courageously step in.

But if you do, with each step you’ll shed old habits and learn new tools that get you closer and closer to the center.

To your center.

Strong Like Water.

My view during a late afternoon grounding/earthing session.

You tell me you want to be strong. But first, you must decide. Strong like rock? Or water?

One is heavy and grounded. Sturdy. It has the ability to crush and shatter.

The other is subtle. Soft and sweet. But give it enough time and it will erode the ground. Carve out a canyon. Carry the mountain into the ocean.

Choose Your Words Wisely.

Where you focus and how you frame things matters.

Along my morning walk I see a lot of “NO OUTLET” signs. It’s a tender, gentler way of saying “DEAD END.”

There are always two ways of telling the same story.

Words matter. They yield power and subconsciously shape our actions and how we view a situation.

My friend, freshly out of a 4-year partnership, decided to let his partner keep their apartment. Wanting to mend his tumultuous and complicated relationship with his mother, he is choosing to live with her (clearly this is leaning into discomfort) during this interim period. He looked at me and said, “It’s going to be SO HARD.”

Immediately he stopped and corrected himself.

“No. That’s a story I’m telling myself.”

He paused.

“This time together is going to incredibly transformational and healing for our relationship.”

I witnessed a powerful reframe. His new choice of words set the tone for an expansive time of growth and reconciliation. Yes, it will be so hard. But his new intention was couched in the larger setting of transformation and love.

Choose your words wisely. They set the framework for the house you live in and the future you create.

The Most Important Journey.

Forever grateful to Grandmother Ayahuasca for her divine wisdom, direction, lessons, and love.

“When you are no longer afraid
of the depth
or death,
even your own-
then you are finally free
to live.”
— Julianne Kanzaki

Before embarking on any type of journey, there’s always a sense of anticipation mixed with fear and excitement. You feel it when you’re corralled with a thousand other athletes waiting for the start gun to fire. You feel it when you’re waiting for your turn to go on stage to perform. There’s a pocket of space that exists between the preparation process and the actual event.

As we sat all dressed in white around a circle of flickering candles in 115 degree heat, I shared a piece of a spoken word poem I’d written last week:

Is it a breakdown or a breakthrough?

They are closer than they seem-

A caterpillar has everything that it needs

As it dissolves inside the chrysalis and starts to build its wings

It must surrender to the process before it flies free

And when you’re in the thick of it, it’s difficult to see

But exactly where you are right now is where you’re meant to be.

For the next 7 hours, we were each journeying in our own spiritual chrysalis- dissolving, breaking free from limiting beliefs, and emerging new and lighter.

The details of some experiences- like the 12-hour walk, plant medicine journeys, or even the most mind-blowing sex, are sacred.

When people ask, you can only smile and simply answer, “It was life-changing and unforgettable. I will never be the same again.”

Love is Everywhere.

When you learn to see, love is everywhere.

The parent who always nagged you to bring a jacket. Or asked you to call when you arrived to your destination. The friend who would deliberately make you change places while walking so he’d be closest to the street side, even if you were mid-conversation. The coach who encouraged you to race the 200 IM, even when you felt inadequate and afraid. The teacher who stayed after class to help you better understand a chemistry problem. The mentor who continued to meet with you weekly, even when you couldn’t see your own progress and felt frustrated. The friend who never abandoned you, even when everyone else was confused with decisions you’d made in life. The dog who wouldn’t leave your side when you couldn’t get out of bed. The partner who tucked love notes in your bag for you to find in the middle of your busy day, just so you could laugh and smile and be reminded of the simple things in life.

Love is everywhere when we learn to see.

Re-centered and Reshaped.

A few years after grad school, I returned home to live with my parents. I was broken, lost, self-destructive, and sad. It was impossible to see the way out of the hell I had created for myself. I just knew I was at rock bottom. Everything about my future was uncertain.

My dad gifted me the most powerful object lesson during that somber chapter. Sitting at the potter’s wheel, he held up a piece of clay.

“Sometimes the clay doesn’t turn out exactly how the Potter intended. Does this mean he throws away the clay?”

He paused, and gently looked me in the eyes. “No. He doesn’t give up on it. He simply re-centers and reshapes it.”

It’s been more than a decade since he told me this, but I think about it often. Sometimes life- in its lumpy, pathetic, lopsided form, just needs more time.

Needs generous amounts of patience and grace and second chances and hope.

Needs the humility to stay malleable.

Needs to believe there is something greater in store.

You may have thought you were destined to be a cup. And you felt angry and frustrated when you saw all the perfect cups around you while you were being shaped into something different. Trust the Potter.

You have a different purpose.

Perhaps you meant to be a bowl, deeper and wider.