My oldest child is graduating high school in a few weeks.
As we entered this momentous school year, I was surprised by the deep sense of mourning I felt. His graduation felt like a loss, a milestone marking the end of my active, daily role in his life. I found myself counting off our “lasts” like one pulls petals off a daisy. Last Christmas break, last semester, last soccer season… Though I never overtly shared my emotions with him, my energy shone loud and clear. My words said, “This is amazing” but my vibe said, “I’m not happy for you.” It took me weeks to realize how important it was to re-frame this time in our lives. My mindset was dulling the brilliance of this occasion. And mindset is always a choice, something we have total control over. I was choosing to be blue in a season which should be exhilarating for my son. Sadness or celebration. Tears or champagne. I had all the power to decide. Shopping for his tuxedo offered the opportunity to marvel at the beautiful man he is becoming, inside and out. His broad shoulders stretched the midnight black jacket as pride stretched across my heart. How lucky I am to have a front row seat to his future! While I don’t know what next year will hold for him, I am certain that he will go forth and experience life to its fullest. Then, he’ll come home or call to tell me all about it. As the date grows ever near, my excitement is bubbling. I am riding a swelling wave of joy as we enter a season steeped in celebration. The next few weeks hold events, ceremonies, and parties—a right of passage for both him and me. As he steps boldly into this next phase of life, I can pause to acknowledge how far we have both come. As I made the conscious decision to be present and open to enjoying one of life’s bittersweet moments, I began to ponder what other areas of my life are coloured by my mindset and the language I use. Two phrases which slip out of my mouth on a regular basis are, “I’m tired” and “I’m busy.” While these statements are often so very true, they are also self-fulfilling prophecies, somewhat laced with negativity. Language is a powerful tool. It influences our mental health, our energy, and our general state of wellbeing. Yet we throw words around like confetti, letting them land haphazardly where they fall. What I have learned in walking towards my son’s graduation is that the words I use become the thought patterns which play over and over in my mind. Therefore, I need to become intentional with how I speak about life’s circumstances. I’m not saying we need to become happiness robots, because there is nothing more inauthentic or obnoxious. What suggesting is that energy flows where attention goes. If there is even the slightest glimmer of positivity in a situation, that’s where I am going to focus. That will become my reality. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am off to pour myself a glass of champagne and toast my son’s massive accomplishments, bright and shiny future, and my epic fucking emotional transformation. Cheers!
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There is no greater gift you can give yourself than time with your girlfriends.
To be in the presence of humans who innately understand your struggles as a female, a mother, and a spouse is a feeling every single woman deserves. To hear, the words “I totally get it” and know such deep empathy is authentically true, borders on divinity and forges a powerful connection. To be in the presence of humans who build you up, cheer you on, and joyfully celebrate your triumphs fills the soul with champagne bubbles and glittery sparkles like nothing else can. To be in the presence of humans who will step up in a pinch because they know how much you juggle, brings a sense of security and gratitude which forms a foundation so solid, we become empowered to carry the weight of our lives. Knowing there are people who can drop off meals, pick your kid up from school, and carpool helps us sleep better at night. Every woman needs a circle of badass girlfriends who have her back, pick her off the floor, lovingly mock her idiosyncrasies, hold her secrets, and love the crap out of her. Yet, we often fail to devote sacred time and energy to these beautifully fulfilling relationships. Why? Because life gets in the way. We are so busy that coffee dates are squeezed in between school drop off and grocery pick up. We schedule wine nights six weeks from Tuesday, three years from now. I’ve decided that this is no longer okay with me. My girlfriends are the bearers of gifts my husband simply cannot offer. I need them. Miguel doesn’t laugh at the same memes as I do because his life experience is vastly different than mine. He loves to dance with me romantically in the kitchen, but he won’t do the robot, the Running Man, or twerk to 90s hip hop. I guarantee the man won’t spend an hour choreographing a synchronized swimming routine in the pool simply because that tickles my sense of silliness and fun. My girlfriends will. When I tell Miguel that I ran 5km, cleaned the bathroom, baked spinach muffins, and re-painted the banisters all before lunch time, he thanks me for my efforts (Mostly because he isn’t a stupid man. He knows gratitude is the expected response.) but doesn’t share the deep gratification of being so productive. My girlfriends, however, will display the appropriate amount of awe and admiration. “Oh my God. You are a fucking rock star!” Don’t get me wrong. My husband is wonderful, and I adore him, but he understands me on a different plain than my girlfriends do. Obviously. One of the most damaging mistakes in a marriage is expecting your spouse to be your everything. Miguel is my rock, my partner in life, my best friend, my lover, and hopefully my future. However, we have diverse perspectives, opinions, and experiences which do not always align. We have very different senses of humor, hobbies, and interests. We thrive in spending time apart. I don’t need Miguel to fulfill these parts of my life because I have chosen to nurture close relationships with my girlfriends. They are key ingredients to making my life feel whole. Recently, Miguel asked if I would remarry if he were to die before me. After thinking for a moment, I offered a response which surprised both him and me. While I would like to date casually, and maybe even experience meaningful connection with another man, I don’t see myself marrying again. Instead, I will buy a cozy house with a large deck and a lush garden and open my home to my girlfriends. How easy would it be to live with people who communicate like me, think like me, and know how to sweep the fucking floor without being asked? I’ll ride out the rest of my life enjoying a gigantic slumber party with brilliant women who make me giggle. The Golden Girls knew where it was at! “Won’t you miss having someone to sleep beside at night?” he wondered. “I’ll buy a dog.” The truth is, if I really want this dream to become my reality, I need to prioritize my female relationships and nurture them lovingly. I need to make time for them, organize gatherings and adventures, show up in times of adversity, and support their journeys through life. They will, after all, be the ones changing my adult diaper in years to come. Not long ago, my husband asked why I’ve always been unafraid to make enormous changes in my life.
He went on to explain that other people seem to contemplate change, imagine a different reality, plan and plot but never take action. Their desire for consistency, comfort, and certainty trumps any wondering about the unknown. Despite what I’d like you to think, bravery is not what drives me towards change. The motivating force behind my ability to step into uncertainty is depression. My mental health motto used to be, “Fuck depression. It sucks.” As I grow wiser (I’ve stopped using the phrase “grow older”.), I am slowly befriending my mental health and am beginning to embrace the ways depression serves me. When I reflect on seasons in my life which have been highly transitionary, each one of them has been preceded by depression. It seems that my brain is incapable of ignoring even the tiniest seedling that something in my life is in misalignment. The longer I push aside an inkling, not wanting to pay attention, the more it takes root, grows larger, and eventually wraps its tendrils around every thought. As I sink deeper into melancholy, I begin to realize that unless I address the issue, the vines will continue to squeeze until I suffocate. Take action or be pulled into the dark depths of the soil. For me, there are no other options. Do I wish my brain worked another way? Often. But in retrospect, I can see that my depression serves as a pause. In the context of my busy life—full of obligations and distraction—my mental health slows me down so I can evaluate the situation. It is only from this place that I feel inclined to make the massive, necessary shifts to improve and evolve my life. As author and psychologist Richard Schwartz Ph.D. teaches, there are no bad parts of us. Every trait we have developed has served a purpose—to protect, to cope, to motivate. In my forties, I am beginning to believe this to be true. We need to acknowledge and honor even the most inconvenient aspects of ourselves. And, I can honestly say that while every massive change I have undertaken has been terrifying (and the preceding depression, no fun at all), it has also paid off one way or another. Have I known that in the moment? Hell no! Any sane human will (and should) question their own drastic choices. Was this epically stupid or outrageously brave? TomAto, tomato. Only time will tell. After talking with my husband, I took a moment to look back at my history of decision-making. I can confidently say that even when outcome of my choices were harder than anticipated, I have learned a lot. You need to look back to keep moving forward. Many of us panic in the gap between where we’ve been and where we’d like to be. One strategy which reminds us to dig deep and keep moving forward is to pause and look back on how far we’ve come. If we only look forward, we will only be reminded that we aren’t there yet. And, the target keeps moving as we achieve and re-adjust our goals. Whenever I am in a moment of unsurmountable doubt, I make a list of all the audacious choices, small wins, and life-changing wisdom I’ve acquired through striving for change. Asking “What have I gained?” reminds me that progress, no matter how small, is still forward movement. You cannot change by remaining the same. If I truly desire to alter my life and create more balance, adventure, and joy I have to let go of anything which feels stale (but safe). Drastic difference requires drastic action. Become a barnacle upon someone who’s already done the hard thing. You don’t know what you don’t know. When embarking upon a new chapter, the best thing to do is find someone who has achieved what you desire, or who has survived the giant obstacle and come out thriving. Educate yourself, find a mentor, and emulate those who’ve already found success. Regardless of the outcome—lifechanging win or dumpster fire disaster—I will always be proud that I tried, that I attempted to claim a lifestyle I wanted live rather than be trapped in one that wasn't fulfilling. Even when I fail, I become a better, smarter, wiser human. No regrets. Thank you, Depression. The older I get, the more cognizant I am of the rarity of beautiful, magical moments. You know the ones—a glistening bubble of perfection which hovers in the air for just a moment before it pops. They are fleeting, but you know they existed long after they dissipate.
I recently went on vacation with my husband, children, and parents. In the months of planning leading up to this adventure, my husband and I worried about how to balance the realism of our budget with the loftiness of our vision. With one child graduating in mere months and age creeping up on my parents, I knew this window in time might be our only opportunity in the impending future. We decided to just go for it—plan the vacation of our dreams. If it took six months to pay off our debt, the investment in creating a core memory for our family would be worth every penny spent. We weren’t wrong. The end of each day brought a fulfilling exhaustion resulting from hours of exploration and fun. While our days were filled with awe and joy, each one held a specific moment which shined brighter than all the rest. Three teenage boys silent around a dinner table, except for groans of gratitude as the spice and salt of a taco hit their tongues. The eruption of laughter, so deep from the belly that it halted our ability to walk. The sight of my mother unabashedly diving into the crashing waves with her grandsons. Bubbles of perfection. I recognize that vacations aren’t attainable for all. Magical moments are, however. They float across our awareness in everyday life. Often, we are too busy to notice their momentary presence. The sound of your children singing in the back seat of the car. The sight of your spouse immersed in a culinary experience—humming and swaying to the background music as they sprinkle the exact amount of spice over a simmering pan. A dragonfly gently hovering over a blooming flower. Sitting on a patio, sun warming your face, as your girlfriends double over in laughter. Notice these bubbles before they pop. Sear them into your brain. Life gives us little gifts consistently and often. Even though the bubbles are so delicate that they break as quickly as they are formed, we can hold them forever in our memories. We can come back to them again and again, especially on difficult days. When my children no longer live in my home, when my parents are gone, I will have these moments crystalized in my mind forever. And then, I will continue to look for more—with my friends, my spouse, and even on my own. It’s one o’clock in the morning as I write this. And no, Reader, I am not a night owl who does her best work after the world has gone to sleep. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am often in bed as the hands on the clock strike eight thirty, deeply grateful that the time has come to get cozy in my duvet and crack open a juicy novel.
Why am I awake at this God-forsaken hour of the night? Because I have a love-hate relationship with red wine. I am no stranger to terrible sleep patterns. My REM is often disrupted by stress or hormones, causing me to sneak downstairs to read in the middle of the night, hoping the soft rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall lulls me back into Dream Land. The correlation to red wine, however, seems to have forged in the last few months and I am deeply annoyed by it. I understand that age alters metabolism. As a result, in recent years I have given up meat, most dairy products, and sugar. Not because I am a diehard health nut who treats her body as a temple, but because of the way those foods make me feel. Bloated, gassy, painful stomach aches ravaged my late thirties until I slowly learned which foods my body could tolerate. The list of banned substances seems to be ever-growing in my quest to feel good. I can live without ice cream, bread, and steak. But now red wine? Come on! Give a girl a break! As I type these words in the wee hours of the morning, I am pondering other ways my body is changing. Perimenopause seems to be the gift that keeps on giving! Night sweats are a treat. I swear they started the day after I turned forty when I woke up marinating in my own juices. These spells seem to come and go, cycling with my hormones. There will be weeks when my internal furnace functions optimally and others when someone has cranked the thermostat to “Flaming Hot Cheetos” levels. Waking up with my t-shirt soaking wet and stuck to my skin has really put a damper on morning cuddles with my hubby. It’s just not cute. All of this makes me wonder when I should stop ingesting that little white pill I’ve religiously swallowed since I was a sixteen-year-old girl. At what point do I cease to chemically control my hormones and let my body follow its natural course? And what will happen when I do? If insomnia and night sweats are pushing through the chemical barrier of a regulated cycle, what the holy hell will happen when the road is “all clear”? I’m aware that the signs are beginning to point towards Menopause Town, but I also fear an unexpected detour into Pregnancy-ville. Just the thought of strollers, bottles, and diapers makes me want to keep taking The Pill well into my eighties. And, just to make you giggle, I will admit to trying face yoga recently. Apparently, the Instagram algorithms are detecting my age, as face yoga apps keep popping up in my feed. One app suggestion, I could bypass with ease. Two piqued my curiosity. Three made me examine my jawline in the mirror. Suddenly, it made sense. I have always exercised the rest of my body but have naively ignored my face. Did you know there are forty-three muscles which I’ve been neglecting? Now, in the privacy of my bathroom, I can be found looking waaay up and sticking my tongue out as far as it will go. I stretch my neck like an elderly turtle and make O shapes with my mouth. But you’ve gotta keep that jawline taut, girl! Despite the increasing unfamiliarity I have with my body, I am also growing to love her more and more. It’s paradoxical, I know. After years of rigorous activity in the pursuit of athleticism—cross fit, marathons, triathlons… After jogging thousands of miles to keep myself fit… I have learned to approach exercise in a gentler, loving way. My daily runs have been replaced by long walks where I listen to audiobooks and podcasts. My face yoga is complemented by “normal person yoga” stretching my body in a graceful way. I’ve learned to appreciate going to the gym because weightlifting makes me feel strong. I am listening to my body more and more, realizing that she tells me what she needs. And, after serving me well for four and a half decades and birthing two babies, I am learning that she sometimes deserves a break. Go easy today, Kel, I am tired. Even though I am ten pounds heavier than I was a few years ago, I can honestly say this is the most confident I’ve ever felt in my own skin. Maybe age and wisdom has put things in perspective a little. So, even though my body demands that I give up red wine… Even when she sweats during the night like I’ve slept in the fiery pits of Hell… Even when she begins to look differently in the mirror… I am grateful for her strength and endurance. May we grow old together. I talk to myself. A lot.
I don’t actually speak to me, but to a future version of me. She’s wiser and more grounded. She has walked through the fire and come out the other side. She gives less fucks. I’ve named her Joy. I met Joy through the process of a guided meditation which my mentor calls “Your Future Best Self”. Joy has been with me ever since. The meditation invites you to envision a future version of yourself--ten or twenty years from now. Settling into my breath, Joy began to appear. I envisioned her in beautiful detail—the silver of her hair, the slender shape of her body, the luxurious, flowy clothes she wore, and the simple jewelry she chose to accentuate with. Most of all, I felt her energy—calm, knowing, inviting, warm. I witnessed the way she drew people in. I could hear the sound of her laughter—explosive and boisterous, full of well, joy. As the meditation came to a close, I was invited to write a letter to Joy. In it, I shared my hopes, my dreams, and my struggles with her. Joy wrote back and drew upon a depth of wisdom and love--imparting advice, and direction. Let’s pause to acknowledge the ridiculousness of that last sentence because I can hear you judging. She knows that she’s writing to herself, right? Yes, thank you. I know that I’m writing to me from me. Until you try it, you might not understand the power of writing a letter to yourself. Pretending to be My Future Best Self offered a degree of separation from my current struggles. That space created room for wisdom. Try it. I dare you! Soon, I realized I could talk to Joy whenever I wanted. Sometimes I write to her. Other times I speak to her in meditation or aloud as I am driving alone in my car. I ask her questions and wait patiently for her to respond. What would you do, Joy? What brings me closer to you? What do you think about this opportunity? Who would you ask for help? How would you handle this conversation? She always, always answers. I know. It all sounds totally woo-woo. It’s a little out there. (Maybe for some, it’s really out there.) But here’s why it works, at least for me. Joy is my North Star. She reminds me of who and how I want to be. The wisdom she holds, the warmth she emanates lives within me all of the time. The more I access those traits, the more I become her in real time. Joy is me. I am Joy. If you are familiar with Dr. Seuss, you may remember this classic passage:
The Waiting Place… …for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go Or a bus to come, or a plane to go Or the mail to come, or the rain to go Or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow Or waiting around for a Yes or No Or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting. ~ Oh, the Places You’ll Go These words perfectly sum up the theme of my life over the past six months—the purgatory of a mother who is not needed as often as she’s used to. As my boys grow into men and begin to venture into the world on their own, I found myself in this strange new parenting phase. I saw it coming and thought I was emotionally prepared. After all, they are becoming confidently independent, as they should be. My job, I decided, was to simply hold space for my kids—letting them have as much freedom as they could handle responsibly, and simply be available when they needed to talk, solve problems, or wanted to share. However, as their lives grew bigger and richer, they had less and less time to spend with me. They were busy and content and I was still holding space. Alone. Thus, The Waiting Place. I was waiting for the phone to ring Or a text to come Or a problem to arise Or a task for Mom I was just freaking waiting. Needless to say, boredom grew into loneliness and loneliness grew into misery. One day, listening to a podcast while at the gym, I was struck by a wisdom bomb dropped by comedian Tig Notaro who said, "The best gift you can give anyone is a well-lived life of your own.” Read that again. It’s profound. It struck me that I was not living my own life. For nearly eighteen years, I lived for my boys and forgot about myself. While I thought I was personifying a deep value and joy for parenting, what I actually modeled was that my life was secondary to theirs. Would I want my kids to be paralyzed in The Waiting Place? Would I want my life for my kids? No! My greatest hope for my children is for them to live joyfully, passionately, and with immense gratitude for their blessings. I want them to wake with intention and live with purpose. Yet, I wasn’t doing that for myself. If, like me, you have found yourself in The Waiting Place, here are the tools I used to extricate myself:
As cliché as it sounds, life is too short to be wasting away, waiting for others to need you. Take control and learn to love your own life. And, as Dr. Seuss says, Be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray Or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea, You’re off to Great Places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So, get on your way! I’m a lil hungover as I write this. The after glow of my drinking is not extreme--like my internal organs went on strike, picketing against the unfair treatment they endured during the fiesta that took place within my stomach last night. It’s more like the slow pickling of my brain in a salty brine of self-doubt. How did I behave last night?
Thus, in the wee hours of this morning (as I was pleasantly surprised that my mind could formulate coherent thoughts), I decided to embark on an experience I have never tried before: Dry February. Not because February is the shortest month of the year (though that is definitely an added bonus) but because it begins in three days’ time. Hell, I’ll just start today! (While the thought of a beverage makes the waves in my stomach roll, I am choosing to start now because I am a committed human. When a decision is made, I am all in.) No sooner than I had voiced my intention to both the Universe and this blog, did I realize a teensy hiccup in my plan: My husband and I are scheduled for a weekend away in Palm Desert on February 2nd. Oops! I would normally celebrate a weekend adventure by indulging in a few beverages, however, this presents an opportunity to lean into self-discovery. Do I need a few drinks to have fun? Can I enjoy an evening without a little lubrication? Actually, I’m curious about a number of potential upsides:
The more I ponder, the more Dry February seems like a great idea! As the fog of last night’s beveraging wears off, my excitement and willingness to embrace this challenge is growing. I pause to congratulate myself on this choice and glance up from my keyboard to the calendar hanging on the wall. This February is a leap year. Fuck. My family calls me, Bruja (broo-ha), which means “witch” in Spanish.
When my boys were young, the term referred to my magical Mommy superpowers—knowing what mischief they tried to hide, intuitively understanding their emotions and needs. Now, they use it lovingly (I think) to make fun of my interest in karma, manifestation, energy. The nickname was strongly reinforced when a psychic once told me I hail from a long line of sorcery. Plus, I have bony, veiny hands--which apparently give off a very witchy vibe. A few months ago, my inner bruja decided to attend a wellness tradeshow. As I wandered the aisles of massage therapists, yoga attire, and protein powders, I was drawn towards a woman who sat cross-legged on a satin covered cushion, looking positively peaceful amongst the bustling atmosphere. As she invited me to sit with her, I was immediately attracted to the warm glow of her spirit. She radiated a loving gentleness and to have access to an ancient wisdom which the rest of us mere mortals are not privy to. Her name was Sahej. I wanted to know her secret. A few weeks later, Sahej invited me to attend a sound bath and breathwork ceremony. The intention was to usher in a new year with clean, vibrant energy. Embracing my word of the year—adventure—I decided to go. Wanting to share this unique experience with someone, I texted numerous girlfriends who were suddenly inexplicably “busy” or responded with “I love that for you.” It seemed I was destined to go alone. On a dark and rainy evening, I stepped into the rural hall where the ceremony was to be held—a heritage building with a century’s worth of memories within its wooden walls. The twenty-foot ceiling was alight with hundreds of twinkling stars projected upon it. Images of swirling universe gases in gorgeous hues of emerald, indigo, and fuchsia danced amongst the constellations. The colourful textiles laid upon the floor were surrounded by white pillar candles. Soothing music played in the background and fragrant rooibos tea brewed on the counter. Sahej sat, smiling, behind a shrine of golden marigolds and sound bowls. Once we settled, Sahej invited her guests to cocoon ourselves in warm blankets and lay upon the ground. Get comfortable and open our hearts to whatever was destined to occur that evening. While I won’t share the details of the ceremony because each of us experienced our own journey, I will say that the evening felt sacred and profound. Why am I writing all of this, you might be wondering? You’re likely thinking, “That’s nice for you, Kel, but what does it mean for us?” The intention of this blog is two-fold. One, there may be moments in life when you are inexplicably attracted to a human you meet in passing. I’m not talking about sexual attraction (though that opportunity may hold adventure as well!). I am talking about an energetic connection. When you seem to be vibing at the same frequency as another human you have just met, lean into that moment. They likely have a story, a skill, or a lesson to share with you. Sahej reminded me of the power of my breath, of creating deliciously quiet moments, and of setting meaningful intentions. Two, when the opportunity to experience something new falls into your lap, seize it. The sound bath ceremony was out of my comfort zone, especially knowing I had to walk into that room solo. I am so glad I was able to get over my nerves and attend this incredible night. I met very cool people, gained new insight into myself and my life, and now have an amazing story to tell you. Admittedly I may be more woo-woo than you and a sound bath ceremony might not be your jam. That’s fine because it’s not the point of this tale. In writing this blog, I hope to encourage you to walk through the world looking for ways to grow, play, and try new things. Bruja or not, you deserve to live an adventurous life! And, if the woo-woo does appeal to you, please check out the website alchemyofheart.ca to learn more about Sahej and her special brand of magic. Ease.
That was the word I chose to represent my intention for 2023. Written on a Post It Note and stuck to my bathroom mirror, it was a daily reminder of how I wanted to move through the world and the energy I wanted to bring. You see, I may have developed a habit of something my husband affectionately refers to as, “fighting the Universe”, which is akin to bulldozing my way through life. If I set my sights on something, I would battle for it, even if I had to forcefully shove that square peg into the round hole. Sound exhausting? It was—for me and those who live and work alongside this overachiever. Thus, “ease” became my new mantra. I no longer wanted to force, to manipulate, to exhaust, to hustle my way through life. While I am still wildly goal oriented, I also wanted to hold space for the Universe to offer opportunities in ways which were off my radar and beyond my imagination. It worked! I can readily say that several goals I set did not pan out as expected. In fact, some of them went down in flames, yet in the ashes, the seeds of something new began to sprout. Instead of walking away from the fire, I stopped to investigate the new smoldering and wonder what had potential to grow from it. I set aside my pride, and leaned into curiosity, often pleasantly surprised at what I found. Lesson learned. After some contemplation, I’ve decided that the word for 2024 is “adventure”. This year, I intend to say “yes” to travel, to play, to stretching outside of my comfort zone. In my effort to chase joy, I need to actively seek moments which invoke awe, laughter, and a different kind of accomplishment. The kind of accomplishment I now crave is one of trying new things just for the sake of the experience. I want to look like a fool, trip and scrape my knees, belly laugh with failure, and celebrate small victories simply because they were fun. In the spirit of plunging into 2024 in search of adventure, I spent New Years Day doing something I never thought I would—jumping into the freezing cold ocean with a thousand other fun-seeking humans. The Polar Bear Swim. For someone who rarely swims, even on the hottest summer day, I stood upon the shoreline cursing the inspiration which brought me to the beach on January 1st. Reminding myself that sometimes discomfort is exactly what the doctor ordered, I hushed the cranky voice within me and tried to become present in the moment. The energy was humming, as participants laughed nervously and music pumped in the background. And, when the time came, I ran straight towards the ocean and went for it. Did I dive in? Hell no! Baby steps, people! But I did it. And, perhaps I created a new tradition. Maybe. I truly believe in the power of intention setting. New Years Resolutions are often broken because of their specificity. When you don’t lose the twenty pounds, eat less sugar, watch less TV, you are sucked into a spiral of shame. Intention setting is purposefully broad and leaves room for creativity in your approach. It is less about what you want to do, and more about how you want to be. We are, after all, human beings who walk through life making mistakes and failing all of the time. An intention is a reminder of your mindset, your attitude, your desire to evolve. So, what is your word for 2024? Share it below! |
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October 2024
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