Author: carissaricci

Where’s the Fire?

carissaricci

When was the last time you asked yourself what sets your heart on fire and genuinely listened for the answer?

Over the course of my life, I have (over)thought my way in and out of too many things to count. This next season is requiring me to get out of my head and drop into my heart—which for an over-thinker like myself, can be a terrifying proposition. Holding onto the cerebral approach feels safer. Familiar. I can make the lists and rate the things. There are tangible ideas to grasp. Something to hang my hat on. 

Dipping into intuition and heart knowledge feels squishier. Less certain. There’s a part of me that wonders how I would justify decisions made from that place. And there’s another part (whose voice is becoming stronger) who wants to know why I care about defending my choices. To whom am I making the case? At the end of the day, the woman staring back at me in the mirror is the one who will ultimately hold me to account. And she’s learning to be more compassionate with herself these days.

So, what does it feel like to live from the heart? For me, it means clearing out the noise and paying attention to what makes me feel most alive. Noticing when it happens and making a “note to self”: Do this more.

When I was in college, I decided that I wanted to teach, write, make as big of an impact as I could on the humans I connected with, and see the world. That was the goal. As with many of us, my life took a major detour shortly after, and I allowed what I thought I “should” do to become the loudest voice in the room. The dream was shelved. I moved on and made peace with what my life had become (or so I thought). Now, many, many, years later, I’m finding my way back to what I’m realizing I always knew would light me up. It will look a little different than how I originally imagined it, but the heart and soul of it remain strong and true.

Go inside and listen to your body, because your body will never lie to you. Your mind will play tricks, but the way you feel in your heart, in your guts, is the truth.

Don Miguel Ruiz

On my spring travels abroad, I recognized the fire immediately. When I first landed in Portugal, I dropped my luggage at the place I was staying in Lisbon and headed out to find lunch while I was waiting for the check-in time to roll around. Stunningly intense jet lag aside, I felt the familiar pull and the quiet but strong whisper…“there it is”. That feeling persisted for the remaining 34 days I traveled and didn’t let up until my feet hit the inside of the plane that would take me back home.

Since then, I’ve felt it pop up at various times—I feel it in my body more than anywhere else and I know, without question, that I’m where I need to be when it does. If you’re facing some big questions, “Go inside and listen to your body, because your body will never lie to you. Your mind will play tricks, but the way you feel in your heart, in your guts, is the truth.” (Don Miguel Ruiz) When I look back at my life, I knew long before I made any decisions, what the right one was. I was just incredibly adept at talking myself out of it for the sake of what I thought I had to do.

Feeling the fire at the Plaza de España in Seville

In many of the personality tests I’ve taken over the years, responsibility (or some form of it) is always high up on the list—which isn’t necessarily a bad thing—until I realized that I wasn’t being as responsible to myself as I was to everything and everyone else. 

Your longing. Your heart. Your calling. All of those are just as important to maintain loyalty to as the other things that garner your energy.

I now take notice when these things happen:

  • I’m in what some people call “flow”. I lose track of time. Unintentionally skip meals. And am so focused on what I’m doing that it’s almost like I enter another dimension where everything else is muted.1
  • I feel giddy. A genuine happiness or excitement that emanates from the deepest part of my center. This can show up as a smile that suddenly stretches ear to ear…or sometimes, something different happens. When I stepped foot into La Sagrada Familia and first looked up, I was immediately moved to tears. Inspired, present, and in total awe of what I was experiencing. 
  • I get the “good chills” (Part 1). This usually happens in conversation with someone—when we have a moment of genuine connection about something we’re talking about. But talking isn’t always a requirement. Sometimes, just holding space for one another and silently acknowledging someone else’s experience can be just as powerful. In those moments, we both truly see into the soul of the other. When I think back to the most meaningful moments in my life, being a part of that reciprocity and vulnerability is one of the most beautiful things about being human. 
  • I get the “good chills” (Part 2). Music can reach me like little else can and always has something to teach me. I can’t get enough…never could and probably never will. When I was really young, I learned to play the piano and it changed the way I experienced music and my relationship to it. Even though I loved playing, I was never hankering to perform for crowded rooms. I was happiest when I was at the keys in an empty house. Just me and the music…dancing the dance. In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that I typically always have music going, and it’s true. It helps me feel connected to something bigger while also feeling deeply connected to myself. Whether I’m playing music or listening to it, the “good chills” can strike at any time—both grounding me and taking me to other places simultaneously.

There’s an unbelievable amount that we don’t know and so many things that still remain unexplained, but I believe we can tap into that feeling of interrelatedness…if we’re paying attention.

I’ve often wondered how the things we can’t see—the intangibles—can impact us so deeply. Recently, “scientists have detected a ‘cosmic background’ of ripples in the structure of space and time” and that “every star, every planet, every continent, every building, every person is vibrating along to the slow cosmic beat.” (Frank, 2023)2 We’re all so much more connected than we think. There’s an unbelievable amount that we don’t know and so many things that still remain unexplained, but I believe we can tap into that feeling of interrelatedness…if we’re paying attention.

In those moments when you’ve been places for the first time, but feel a familiarity—almost a knowing—that you’ve somehow been there before. The people you meet who you have an instant connection with—like your soul has known theirs for much longer than you’ve known them. Reading stories that resonate so deeply, you feel like they were written just for you. Listening to music that moves you in the very deepest part of yourself.

As we take steps toward rediscovering and following those dreams that are unique to each of us, those pesky fears may come up. Hesitations. Doubts. But we also each have a fierceness that lives within us. When the world tells us we can’t, let’s allow the hesitations, doubts, and fears to be there—but also let that fierceness push us forward anyway—even if old stories are relentlessly trying to keep us in suspension. 

Choosing to live from the heart is a courageous act. One that requires us to honor our innermost knowing, despite what our minds might be telling us. If you’re wondering whether you have that type of courage, this is your reminder that you do. You are stronger than you think. Braver than you would guess. And worthy of a life well-lived…with your heart on fire.

1 I stayed up 2 hours later than I normally do working on the first draft of this post. I’m finding it amusing that I was in the “flow” while writing about the “flow”. How meta of me.

2 If you want to read the full article, head over to The Atlantic.

Above the Clouds

carissaricci

The days are getting shorter. Colder. Darker. For those of us living in the Pacific Northwest, autumn has definitely arrived. And while I enjoy this season at it’s start, it’s also a marker for what’s to come…even shorter, colder, and darker days.

I know some people can’t wait for this time of year. They love to hibernate and have found ways to enjoy 9 months of chilly, gray days. I wish I could get there, but I’ll be honest…I’m dreading it. And so is my dog. Every year around this time when the clouds roll in and the rain starts to fall, her expressions vary between a wicked side-eye or a piercing glare depending on her mood that day. It’s almost as if she’s blaming me for flipping a switch that makes the sun go away. I keep telling her that I don’t control the weather, but I don’t think she believes me.

A few weeks ago, I made my way to the airport for some travels on a gloomy, wet day. As we took off and climbed upward, we broke through the clouds to a sky that was brilliantly blue and bright. I felt my mood instantly shift and then started to think about how much what we see—and our perception of it—can shape how we experience the world. 

Cloud Gazing in Central Park

Why isn’t it enough to know that the sun is there regardless of whether or not we can see it? As an avid reader throughout my life, I’ve developed a fairly extensive imagination. So, why can’t I just imagine that a gray day is a blue-sky day instead?

Ever since I was a kid, I have felt things really intensely and am deeply affected by the big feels. These last few years of life have pushed and pulled me in ways that I never expected, and have left me—in some moments—feeling as if I’m being buried under the clouds…making it difficult to remember that the sun exists above.

In those moments, I’ve learned to do things that will get me “above the clouds”. Things that help remind me that the sun is still there. Here are a few I’ve done recently:

  • Stood on my favorite Oregon beach—gazing out over the Pacific Ocean—and let myself feel a part of something bigger.
  • Visited with dear friends who are like family. Spent time in deep conversations. Hung with their kiddos and had dance parties and made silly faces. Read them stories. Played games. Remembered doing the exact same with her other kids when they were younger. 
  • Felt pure joy while riding in a pedicab through Times Square with a friend—enjoying the shared exhilaration of exploring a new place.
  • Allowed myself to be truly moved and fully swept away into the experience of my first Broadway show.
  • Laughed so hard with a friend that tears started streaming down our faces, finding it hard to recover.

Now, this isn’t to say that everything is all “rainbows and unicorns” when you find ways to get yourself above those clouds. Or that you should ignore the clouds. We have to acknowledge the hard things. The big feelings. But we also need moments of reprieve where we can feel love…joy…hope.

In honor of World Mental Health Day that was earlier this month, and in remembrance of a dear friend who took his life this same month seven years ago, I want to remind you that you are loved. You’re not alone. And if you’re having a hard time breaking through the clouds, it’s okay to ask for help. Another friend of mine who has also lost someone to suicide has compiled an extensive list of resources on Phoenix. If you’ve lost a loved one in this way, there’s support out there for you, too. Grieving this type of death comes with a unique set of things to process—make sure to prioritize self-care and lean on your people as you make your way through.

Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest.
Grief is just love with no place to go.

Jamie Anderson

As we navigate life, there are so many unexpected twists and turns. Sometimes, when things get really dark, we forget that the sun still exists above the clouds, even if we can’t see it. In those moments, let’s help each other remember. 

And to Ryan…I hope the sun is shining bright on you, my friend—for you were such a light to all of us when you were here. What an incredible gift you were to so many. I hope someday we’ll be able to raise a glass together on the other side. Until then, I’ll raise a glass from here. To your memory. The legacy you left. And what a bright soul you were. You are loved and missed beyond measure.

Sad Songs Say So Much

carissaricci

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

We’ve all heard about the the five stages of grief…the milestones that we used to think progressed neatly in a straight line. 

I don’t know about you, but grief definitely does not look that way for me. I might hit some (or all) of the above, but not typically in that order–and I’m certainly not done in just one pass through. If any of you have mastered that, please let me know how you did it. I always end up chaotically bouncing around those five stages like the balls in a pinball machine—sometimes hitting more than one stage at a time. I’m graceful like that. (I’m also a recovering overachiever/multi-tasker, so that might be contributing to the problem.)

The more we learn about grief, the more we realize we have left to learn. If we imagine grief as this large solid sphere that sits inside us, the previous ways of thinking indicate that the ball would shrink over time as we processed it—but that honestly never reflected my experience. The more accurate version doesn’t involve the ball changing size at all, but rather, we learn to construct our lives around it. As time passes, we get more adept at learning to live with it—as it is. Instead of fading away, it’s still very much present. We just learn how to sit with it differently.

Every so often, a smell, a sound (especially a song), or a visual glimpse of something can catch me off guard and immediately take me back to the feelings of that initial moment of grief. A stark reminder that the ball hasn’t shrunk at all…I’ve just gotten used to accommodating it. It has become a houseguest in my soul, and not always a great one. It doesn’t consistently pay the rent on time. It leaves the kitchen a mess and forgets to take the garbage out. Sometimes it kicks back and lets me rest for a bit, but occasionally, it slams into me head-on—demanding attention and not letting up until I acknowledge it.

Anything we have to say goodbye to–jobs, relationships, former selves, pets, places, ways of being–all require us to grieve what will no longer be.

The other myth about grief is that we only feel it when someone dies. The truth is that we will grieve many, many things…not just the deaths of those close to us. We experience so many “deaths” over the course of our lives. Anything we have to say goodbye to—jobs, relationships, former selves, pets, places, ways of being—all require us to grieve what will no longer be. 

In addition to the individual grief we feel, there are also moments of collective grief. I listened to a podcast episode during the pandemic where Brené Brown interviewed David Kessler1 and he talked about the idea of collective grief as well as what he calls the sixth stage of grief—finding meaning. Even though finding meaning can help as we make our way through, he clarifies that “you can’t use it to spiritually bypass the pain you have to go through. You’re going to be in pain, you’ve got to let the pain happen. There’s no way around the pain. If you don’t feel it, you can’t heal it. You’ve got to feel that pain.”

To experience life with our hearts open means signing up for all of it…and I’ll be honest. There have been days when I’ve wanted to slam the doors shut and just not feel. But then I remember what I’d be giving up if I did that, take a breather, and fling those doors back open. 

Finding some respite in Glacier National Park

For those of you who know me well, this won’t be shocking—when things feel heavy, I often turn to music. Whether to help drag me out of the pit or to help me cry the tears that need to come out, I crank the tunes and let myself be where I need to be. If you’re looking for a song to help pick you up out of the grief for a respite, give Shake it Off by Florence + The Machine a go. If you’re looking for a song that will help you sit in the depths without completely pulling you under, try Sad Songs Say So Much by Elton John. And if you’re looking for something that will help get the tears flowing, Easy on Me by Adele just might do the trick.

I’m still working on letting my emotions be what they are and if you’re in that spot, too, remember that “it takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve—and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to.”2 Call on that strength when you need it and surround yourself with people who will encourage you to be exactly where you need to be. Those who will shed tears with you. Who will hike it out with you. Who will sit in silence with you when that’s all you have the energy to do.3

If you’re in the midst of grieving something right now, know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel the heaviness. The anger. The tears. The exhaustion. The disbelief. The hollowness. The desperation. And maybe even a little hope—that one day, you’ll become better friends with the ball of grief that is setting up camp in your space. That you’ll meet others who will understand what you’re carrying and sit with you while you try to make sense of your new reality. That even though the pain feels unbearable at times—you will make it through. One step at at time. One breath at a time. You’ve got this.

1If you want to listen to the entire episode, you can find it here.

2Fred Rogers knows what he’s talking about.

3These two penguins each lost a partner and meet regularly to comfort each other, standing together for hours watching the dancing lights of the nearby city. #friendshipgoals

The Messy Middle

carissaricci

Limbo. The in-between. Neither here nor there. In suspension. 

These are all phrases that describe the feeling when you’re in the process of big transitions and have jumped from one side but haven’t made it to the other yet. I personally prefer using the term “messy middle” because that’s realistically more of what it feels like to me. Let’s get rid of the fluffy language and inspirational posters about “enjoying the journey” and really dig into what it means to be in the space between.

When I find myself in the “messy middle”, the only remedies I’ve found that help me sit with the discomfort of those moments are getting out in nature and listening to music (not always done together or in that order).

If I’m sitting with something really big, I have to get outside. In true Pacific NW fashion, that typically means heading to a trail in the woods…preferably on a mountain somewhere. Away from my computer. Away from my phone. Away from distractions. That’s where I can catch my breath, clear out the noise, and just be.

One of my favorite ways to process hard things is to grab my backpack and spend the entire day hiking in the woods. Crossing streams. Sitting with my feet in waterfall pools. Listening to the wind in the trees. Hearing the impact of my hiking boots hitting the trail. My breath going in and out as I climb…and then taking in the amazing views when I make it to the top. Sitting in wonder—finally reconnecting to the heart of myself and also feeling like a small part of something so much bigger than me. That’s where I find my center.

If I can combine hikes with ocean views, I’m always down for that.

So, where does music come in?

My obsession with music started when I was a kid. I played it all the time. And I mean all the time. When the Walkman1 became a thing, I was hooked. It meant I could take my tunes with me wherever I went. Music has always spoken to my soul in a way that nothing else does—it goes beyond the words and melodies—it touches places within me that I can’t get to any other way. I still use music to process hard things, and even when I’m not in the midst of big stuff, I usually have something going in the background. Studying. Working. Hanging with friends. Road trips. Workouts. They all have soundtracks. 

These are some of the “messy middle” songs2 I’ve been listening to lately:

(Never Let Me Go  |   Florence + The Machine)

For me, this is a reminder to surrender to the unfolding and natural flow of life. So often, we try and control outcomes or make plans in an effort to protect ourselves. What if we let the “arms of the ocean” carry us for awhile instead?

(Every Teardrop is a Waterfall  |  Coldplay)

When I first heard this song, the lyrics about being “in the gap between the two trapezes” stuck with me. I’ve caught myself humming this song a lot lately because my life is feeling very much like I’m hanging in that gap. (Side note: This is a 2-for-1 growth opportunity for me. Since I have a fear of heights, I can work on that whilst I also try to make my peace with existing between one side and the other.)

(Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay  |  Otis Redding)

One of my favorite things is to sit on a sand dune and watch the waves roll in and out. It has been hard for me to embrace stillness, but I’m getting there. I’ve been working on finding the value in myself beyond what I can “produce” or “do”. There’s a peace that comes with knowing that our existence is enough. We are enough—just as we are.

(The Space Between  |  Dave Matthews Band)

The longer I’m alive, the more I realize just how much time we truly spend in “the space between”. Languishing. Longing. Yearning. Waiting for what’s next. I’ve been trying to embrace both the tears and the laughter, knowing that both are temporary and will undoubtedly come around—again and again—as we sit in the messy middles of life.

(The Eye  |  Brandi Carlile)

This conjures up such a beautiful image for me…and is also aspirational. It would be incredible to be able to let the chaos of life swirl around me, and instead of letting it batter me about, I could stay grounded in the eye of the storm. And dance.

As you swing from one trapeze to the next, remember who you are and that you are loved—regardless of when that other side rises up to meet you.

If you’re in some “messy middles” in your life, know this:

It’s okay to be in the mess. It’s okay to be exactly where you are—you don’t need to fix it or figure it out today. Find some anchors. In a close friend. A favorite song. A beautiful trail hike. Your own breath. Stay grounded in the knowledge that you are not alone in the in-between.3

As you swing from one trapeze to the next, remember who you are and that you are loved—regardless of when that other side rises up to meet you. Because it will. It might not look like what you thought it would, but it will come. Until then, let’s do our best to dance in the eye of the storm together. Maybe with a little flair. Because, let’s be real…it’s just more fun that way.

1 For those of you that are too young to know what a Walkman is, Google it and prepare to be amused. Side note: If you’re really young, you might also have to Google “cassette tape”.

2 Disclaimer: Everyone has their own interpretation of songs and there are usually many different ones out there—these interpretations are my own (and can also change by the minute depending on what I’m feeling in the moment), but feel free to steal them if they will help you process your own big stuff.

3 If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been so distracted by processing my own “messy middles” lately, that I absentmindedly put my keys in the freezer this morning. You’re doing just fine.

Finding True North

carissaricci

Creative or logical? Heart or intellect? 

For much of my life, I felt like those (seemingly) opposite approaches were always locked in an intense game of tug-of-war any time I needed to make a big decision—and most of the time, the logical and intellectual parts would end up getting most of the airtime. For those who don’t know, color-coded Post-it pro/con lists with weighted categories are one of my specialities. If you can relate, you’re in good company. Over thinkers of the world, unite!1

As I head into this next season of my life, there are a couple of big decisions I need to make over the next few months and I’m finding myself in familiar territory. Asking myself questions like, “Is this my fear talking or my intuition?” “How will this affect the people in my life?” “What if I make the wrong call?” 

And then I remind myself of what I’ve learned along the way. (Spoiler alert—that doesn’t make it any less scary or take the over thinking away completely…but it helps.)

Something might “feel” impossible.
Until you do it.

Here are some of the lessons I’m taking forward:

1. A list will only get you so far.

      When I look back at some of the situations I kept myself in, I can rattle off all the reasons why. I had stacked up an impressive list about why choosing something else was “impossible”. It wasn’t until I changed the word “was” to “feels” that I started to consider a different perspective. Something might “feel” impossible. Until you do it.

      2. Focus on the big questions.

      In both of the biggest life decisions I’ve made so far—the ones that truly turned my world upside down—I trotted out the aforementioned list in Lesson #1 to a friend. Her response? “That’s a great list, Carissa, but have you asked yourself the real questions yet? If you stay in the current situation, do you see a future where you can be unabashedly and completely yourself and be celebrated…not just tolerated? Where you can thrive instead of just exist?”

      Pardon my French here, but the word “shit” was the first thing that popped into my head. In the split second after she asked those questions, I knew the answer. And I also knew it meant I would have to navigate the uber-harrowing list of things (that felt impossible) to make it happen. 

      If I’m being honest with myself—and this is a hard one to admit—I also realized I had known the answer to both decisions for years. I had let the lists stop me. Silence me. And keep me locked in places that didn’t allow me to be fully me. I had become so used to contorting myself into all sorts of shapes to satisfy expectations, honor others’ desires, and not “rock the boat”…that I had lost huge pieces of myself in the process.

      3. Let the fear exist, but don’t let it stop you.

      I had gotten so comfortable with the “devil I knew” that it had lulled me into apathy. I was the queen of “Well…let me give it another 6 months and see how things are then.” The 6 months would come and go. Nothing significant would have changed. And yet…I stayed. Why? Fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear that I wouldn’t survive the ridiculously long list I’d have to navigate to make a different choice. Fear about how it would affect the people in my life. Fear that it meant I had failed.

      But here’s the truth. If I compromise the core of who I am to stay in any situation—professional or personal—I’m only living halfway (if that). I wouldn’t be giving the best version of myself to the people in my circle. And at the end of the day, that doesn’t serve anyone well. 

      I firmly believe that we are here to be unapologetically ourselves. To honor our spark. Our uniqueness. Our dreams. Our passions. FULLY. And in order to do that, we have to be intentional about our careers, who we surround ourselves with, and where we put our time and energy.

      Snowshoeing at Mt. Hood…sometimes the best view is off the main path.

      When I was in the depths of one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made, a dear friend shared this with me:

      “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I promise you—it will get better. And then you’re not going to believe how much different you’re going to feel. It’s like walking around with an abscessed tooth for years. You get used to the intense pain over time, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay. The pulling of the tooth is incredibly painful. And the healing process can be, too. But after it’s over, and the wound isn’t as raw, you are going to wonder how you walked around with it in your mouth for that long.” 2

      At the time, I was in so much emotional pain, I couldn’t grasp what it would feel like to be on the other side—but I clung to her promise like a lifeline. And she was right. 100%. That is exactly what it felt like.

      Truth be told, I already know the answers just like I did then.

      As I’m facing down these next decisions, I’m once again battling between heart and mind. I’m resisting the urge to immediately run for the Post-its. I’m going back to the lessons I’ve learned, and I’m asking myself the hard questions. Truth be told, I already know the answers just like I did then. Now, it’s about summoning the courage to take the leap and knowing when to jump.

      I’m still scared…questioning myself…wanting to fall back into the comfortable. 

      But I know too much now. I can hear my future self on the “other side” beckoning me—reminding me of what things look like from her perspective.

      The bottom line? Deciding to jump is always the hardest part. If you’re facing a scary leap on the way to your true north, take heart…the best is yet to come.

      1 Side effects of overthinking include, but may not be limited to: sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling, vicious cycles, fatigue, headaches, stomach aches, and long calls with friends who tell you to stop making lists and focus on the big questions (especially the ones that you don’t want to answer).

      2 I’m paraphrasing from memory on this one, but the metaphor was so spot on that it has stuck with me over the years.

      Soul Friends

      carissaricci

      “Is it going to be awkward?”

      “What will I say?”

      “What if she doesn’t like me once we hang out in person?”

      These thoughts were flying through my head—as quickly as the plane I was on—as I made my way across the country to see my best friend for the first time. She and I had met through a pen-pal program when we were 8 years old. After countless letters and phone calls, the day had finally arrived…now at 16, I was headed out to her family home.

      After the first few minutes of “I can’t believe it’s really YOU!”, we settled into our comfortable rhythm. We did what most teenagers do—ate junk food, stayed up way too late talking and giggling into the wee hours of the morning, and tooling around her quaint country hometown. After a couple of weeks, an irrevocable bond had been strengthened. Her family had become my family…and the rest is history.

      Soul friends have a way of helping you from one side of the river to the other.

      For those of you who know me well, you know of whom I speak. For those that don’t, here’s all you need to know: she is the most important human in my life. My person. My ride or die. We joke that when we get older, we’re going to move in together and live out our final years in each other’s company. I have no doubt that we’re going to have a rip-roaring good time until the very end. 

      Our connection started early—almost instantly. We both loved reading books. And when I say we both loved reading books, I mean A LOT. Our letters were chock full of reading recommendations. We talked about our families. Our friends. As we got older, we started sharing more of the real things. Dreams. Love. Heartbreak. Big changes. Loss. Triumphs. Fears. Joys. Life. 

      Every so often, we talk about how rare connections like ours are. When you feel as if a string is connected from your soul to theirs. When you don’t have to ask how they’re feeling because you just know. 

      On my last visit, she was getting a couple of her kids situated in the car. It wasn’t quite going to plan. I was sitting in the passenger seat, and she looked over at me with a knowing glance. I looked back with an equally knowing glance, and she said “See? This is why we’re friends. You know exactly what I’m thinking right now and I don’t have to say a word.” And then we laughed as we pulled out of the parking lot. 

      That moment when it hits you—the feeling like you’ve known them in another life or something.

      There is such comfort in our friendship. Whenever I’m around her, I feel like I can finally exhale. I feel safe, seen, held, and loved—simply because of her existence in the world. I can be fully myself. No judgment. What a lucky woman I am…and what a gift to have been given.

      There have only been a couple of other times when I have felt that type of deep soul connection with someone. That moment when it hits you—the feeling like you’ve known them in another life or something. You’re seeing directly into their heart as they’re looking into yours. No filter. No pretense. Just depth. And realness. And a connection so strong, you almost can’t believe it exists.

      Friendship isn’t a big thing.
      It’s a million little things.

      Becca Anderson

      If you find those soul friends, cherish every moment with them. They don’t come around very often and you never know how long you’ll have with them when they do. From the 5-minute conversations as one (or both) of you are running errands, to the week-long visits—every moment counts. 

      Often, we think that friendship needs to be this big, grand thing, but the truth is that “Friendship isn’t a big thing. It’s a million little things.” (Becca Anderson)1 

      The soul friendships I’ve been lucky enough to find have not only helped me feel deeply connected to something bigger, but have also helped me find my way. 

      While Stephen Cope2 talks about many different types of soul friends—this definition is the most resonant for me:

      “They have been irreplaceable companions as you’ve worked your way up the path toward an understanding of the meaning of your life. They’ve shared your struggles to understand, to make meaning, to express and fulfill your true self, and to see into the depths of your soul. They have become conscious partners and allies in your search for an authentic and fulfilled life.”

      I couldn’t have said it better. 

      A huge thank you to all of my soul friends—without you, I wouldn’t be me. You have shaped my experience. Held space for me. Seen me. Loved me. Celebrated with me in the high moments—and sat with me in my darkest days. What an honor it is to be in true connection with you.3

      Cheers to the million little things we’ve shared so far…and the million little things to come. I wouldn’t want to do life any other way.

      1 Need a good cry? Watch A Million Little Things.

      2 If the topic of Soul Friends interests you, check out this book. It provides a fascinating look at all of the different types of soul friendships you might encounter.

      3 If you have a soul friend (or two), this is your sign to call them. Or text them. Or just send them a little love.

      Ghost Stories & Yellow Brick Roads

      carissaricci

      Many of you know me as Carissa, but in some circles, I go by Casper. Living in a place where 81% of the days of the year are cloudy, it’s quite fitting. My skin is so pale in the winter that sometimes it really does feel like I’m translucent. There are other reasons why Casper became my “AKA”, but the most important thing about the name for me isn’t the initial reason why I was first named Casper—it’s everything else that surrounds it. The relationships with people who know me by that name, and the discoveries I’ve made about what it means to me, are what truly matters.

      On the surface, it’s a fun name about a friendly ghost who you may or may not know.1 But deeper down, there are other reasons why this name is so fitting for me. Casper is a nonconformist who packs up his belongings and goes out into the world as an explorer. Instead of scaring people, he likes to make friends with them. If Casper was real, I’m pretty sure he and I would get along just fine.

      In addition to pondering the fact that Casper and I would be besties, I’ve also been reflecting on the other reasons this name has such a profound meaning for me. There are many debates about whether or not ghosts are real…and if you’re looking for me to give you an answer, I’m going to sorely disappoint you. We all have to decide what we believe. But regardless of whether or not they exist in terms of the dictionary definition of the word, I have figuratively danced with many ghosts in my life. The echos of memories made with people I’ve lost. Phases of my life never to be entered into again. Shadows of my former selves. 

      Finding yourself is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering of who you were before the world got its hands on you.

      Emily McDowell

      The journey to come back home to myself has been a long one—and I’m not there yet. I used to think that the goal was to “find myself”, but I came across a quote years ago that felt more like the honest truth. “Finding yourself is not really how it works. You aren’t a ten dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are. Finding yourself is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering of who you were before the world got its hands on you.” (Emily McDowell)

      About four years ago, I can remember staring at myself in the mirror one night. I had allowed myself to become buried under “should’s” and “cannot’s” and “Who am I’s?”. I felt hollow. Scared. Numb. And a deep sadness sunk into my bones. On the outside, I was checking all the boxes. On the inside, I had completely lost sight of who I really was—I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. I had shushed my intuition over and over again so I could keep checking those boxes and was now dealing with the consequences. At that point, I didn’t know the way back or how to even start taking the first steps. But I had this profound knowing that I couldn’t stay on my current path much longer. I wouldn’t survive it. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz2, I kept wandering the Yellow Brick Road looking for answers in all the wrong places. It took some time to recognize what I needed to do and to find the courage to take my first shaky steps forward—but once I started, I began to hear that inner voice more loudly and clearly.

      It’s an incredibly scary feeling to think that you’ve completely lost yourself. In a job. In a relationship. In the hamster wheel of life. Or all of the above. If you’re having that moment—take heart. All is not lost. You are not lost. You are still there and can be reclaimed again…even if you might have to uncover a few (or many) layers to get there. 

      Channeling my inner Casper and walking the Utrecht canals in the evening…

      If giving yourself a moniker will help you along your path, do it (I’ll even let you borrow the name “Casper” if it fits). Mine was bestowed upon me by others, but your story can be different. You can pick your own! Or if a name doesn’t work for you, maybe it’s an artifact you bring into your physical space to remind you of who you are. Perhaps it’s a word or phrase written on a Post-it that you stick to your computer screen. Find something that resonates with you and put it front-and-center. If anyone asks you why, you have my permission to tell them, “Because Casper said so.”

      You’re worth the work to make the return trip back to the truest version of you. As Dorothy once did, you might think the answers you need to find your way home lie outside of yourself, but the truth is…you’ve had them inside you all along. So, let’s grab our ruby slippers, recruit some friends to help us, and keep exploring the road ahead and—more importantly—the one within. It’s time to go home.

      1To brush up on your Casper trivia, go here.

      2The Wizard of Oz has both entertained and disturbed children for many, many years. It was a rite of passage when I was a kid, and I appreciate it on a whole other level as an adult. If you have somehow avoided watching it up until now and want more info, here’s the synopsis. 

      What Would Your Inner Child Say?

      carissaricci

      A dinosaur. A castle. An airplane. A cupcake. 

      Lying on my back watching the tree branches sway and the clouds drift by, I let my imagination run wild as I found the shapes in them—just like I used to when I was a kid. Walking the trail by my house, I had seen a bench down by the creek which I often pass without a second thought. But on that day, I wanted to try something different. So I laid on the bench for a few minutes and simply enjoyed the moment…while trying not to fixate on the intrusive thoughts that often plague us when we’re attempting to be in the mindful present.

      “What will people think if they see a grown woman resting on a bench in the woods looking up the sky?”

      “Am I laying in someone’s discarded gum?”

      “What if I fall asleep and am late to my next meeting?”

      “Am I doing this right?”

      To pull myself back to the current moment, I focused on the clouds again—not caring if I “got it right”. If the cupcake-shaped cloud became a pie, what did it matter? Why and when did I become so achievement-based? That also got me thinking about when I started to care if I “got things right”.

      I’ve had a few interesting conversations with my inner child lately, and she has been encouraging me to let go. To enjoy for the sake of pleasure and to wander for the sake of delight and genuine curiosity. No achievement needed. Until recently, it was difficult (and sometimes impossible) for me to say the simple phrase, “I deserve good things” without a qualifier. In my head, I would believe I deserved good things, but only if I did ‘xyz’ thing or checked the box on an important goal. To believe that I deserved good things simply for being me was a foreign concept.

      If you’re having a hard time believing or saying that to yourself, here’s your reminder: You deserve good things simply for being YOU. If you want to take it a step further, say it to yourself out loud. And if you’d like a bigger challenge, say it out loud to yourself in the mirror. Real talk? I’m still working on that one.

      The truth is, when you believe you deserve good things and let your inner child lead the way—beautiful things can happen. 

      Here are a couple of my recent favorites.

      • In the middle of working on a rather long to-do list, the song “Unstoppable” by Sia1 came on. Instead of ignoring it and carrying on, I decided it was time for a dance party. I had a spoon in my hand that I had just taken out of the dishwasher, and I didn’t even stop to put it down. I cranked the volume and tore it up in my kitchen for those 3 minutes–not a care in the world.
      • When I was in Spain, I woke up one morning and remembered I had brought back half of a pizza that I couldn’t finish the night before. I could have just gotten ready for the day and saved it for lunch or dinner that night, but I rolled right out of bed and straight to the fridge for some cold pizza for breakfast. Still in my pajamas, I took it out to the balcony and listened to the sounds of the city waking up while I enjoyed every single bite that was left as I basked in the morning sun.

      We don’t get to know who we are because we’re not listening.

      Keri Smith

      Giving ourselves permission to throw out the rule book and look at things with childlike wonder can help us see things from a different perspective. And exploring without expectations or a destination, can help us uncover things within ourselves that may have been hidden…sometimes for a very long time. But as Keri Smith says, if we don’t clear out the noise, “We never get to hear our own inner voice-we don’t develop a relationship with ourselves and our minds. We don’t get to know who we are because we’re not listening.”

      As a child, Mister Roger’s Neighborhood was one of my favorite shows to watch for this very reason. He was an adult who wasn’t afraid of being honest with children. In helping us tap into real emotions and not being ashamed of them, he normalized so many of the things that it means to be human. Instead of feeling ashamed of anger or frustration or sadness, he made it okay to feel those things. He gave us permission to dream and imagine and be silly. To be unapologetically US. And to encourage others to do the same. In the wise words of Fred Rogers2, “As human beings, our job in life is to help people realize how rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has something that no one else has or ever will have–something inside that is unique to all time. It’s our job to encourage each other to discover that uniqueness and to provide ways of developing its expression.”


      I’ll be taking little-kid-Carissa energy into the rest of 2023 and beyond. Watch out world.

      We have become experts at filling every spare moment with something to do and entertaining ourselves with all kinds of distractions in those few moments we find “downtime”. Instead of paying attention to the spark within us, we’re bogged down in all the things we think we “should do” and then recovering from the exhaustion by drowning ourselves with various diversions. What if we all channeled our inner children and took 5 minutes a day to go lay down outside somewhere and find shapes in the clouds? If we let ourselves enjoy a slice of cold pizza straight out of the fridge first thing in the morning? If we turned up the volume of one of our favorite songs to an obscene level and danced around the kitchen while waving a large spoon? Or spatula…I’m not here to judge.

      Maybe instead of thinking me foolish for lying on a bench looking at the clouds, witnessing my few minutes of cloud-gazing gave someone else permission to honor their inner child. My point? Let’s spend more time leaning into things that light us up. Not only will it bring us joy, but it might be just what someone else needs to see to feel bold enough to do to the same.

      Onward, inner 6-year-olds! Now, let’s go name some clouds.

      1 If you’re looking for dance-around-your-kitchen song options, here’s a start:

      • “Unstoppable” by Sia
      • “Shake it Out” by Florence + the Machine
      • “Legendary” by Welshly Arms
      • “Green Light” by Lorde
      • “Now I’m in It” by HAIM
      • “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys
      • “Hello” by Dragonette
      • “I A’int Worried” by One Republic
      • “Dancing Queen” by ABBA
      • “Don’t Go Yet” by Camila Cabello

      2 If you haven’t read “I’m Proud of You: My Friendship with Fred Rogers” by Tim Madigan, do it. You won’t regret it.

      It’s Not All Glitz and Glamour

      carissaricci

      “What if I completely lose my balance, slam into the door—accidentally opening it—and fall out with my pants down around my ankles and toilet paper wrapped around me like a mummy?” This was an actual thought I had while attempting the hover technique over a toilet while on a high-speed train. I had tried to hold it, but the water I had downed earlier was looking for a new home and there was no way my bare skin was going to touch the toilet seat in its current state. My fitness tracker told me that I had climbed the equivalent of 97 flights the day before, and when I say that I was feeling a little shaky, that’s an understatement. One of many memories that made me laugh afterwards, but was one of the less glamorous moments of my trip.

      When posting about travels, I often share the beautiful pictures and wonderful memories made and leave out the “other stuff”. Let’s face it. That “other stuff” can be uncomfortable. Daunting. Disappointing. And sometimes a little scary. For me, agreeing to experience that “other stuff” is absolutely worth it, but I feel like it’s important to talk about because in many ways, it draws a remarkable parallel to what we encounter in life even when we’re not traveling. What about all the muck and gunk we have to wade through to get to the good stuff sometimes? Buckle up, dear reader. I’m going to lay it bare. 

      I’m here to tell you…it doesn’t matter how much you prepare and plan, you will encounter moments that make you feel embarrassed, confused, and completely over your skis.

      While abroad, I encountered a lot of unexpected things. Closures. Delays. Unclear directions. A bee in my scarf (more on that later). Various toilet “situations”. Feeling like the dumb out-of-towner. Now, this one I expected to feel at times, but I wasn’t expecting to feel it as much as I did. I’m here to tell you…it doesn’t matter how much you prepare and plan, you will encounter moments that make you feel embarrassed, confused, and completely over your skis. 

      Lesson 1: It’s Okay to Ask for Help (Yes, Really. It’s Okay.)

      By the time I got to Paris, I was feeling pretty confident about my ability to get around. I was on the back half of my trip and had learned a lot about how to navigate in different countries. The place I was staying was a 5-minute walk from the metro station and a 22-minute subway ride from the heart of Paris. I looked up the different metro lines, found the one I needed, and got myself to the station quickly. Easy peasy, right? Then, I got to the ticket kiosk. It took me a couple of minutes to figure it out, but I worked through it and ended up with a tiny paper ticket in hand. Feeling fairly proud of myself, I then walked to the turnstile. 

      This is where it all fell apart. I could not for the life of me figure out where to put my ticket. The only thing I saw was a scanner where people badged in with their metro cards. I couldn’t see anywhere to put my ticket. I tried everything I could think of and was at a complete loss. A sweet, small, elderly woman saw me struggling. She walked right up to me, grabbed my ticket, put it in this tiny notch next to the scanner, and the ticket flew in and popped out by the turnstile. She gestured that I was supposed to take the ticket. As I grabbed it, I felt a hard shove on my back as she pushed me through. When I looked back to thank her, she was smiling and waving at me. No words were exchanged, but it was yet another moment where a kind stranger took pity on a clueless traveler and helped her find her way.

      Lesson 2: Sometimes, Things Aren’t as Complicated as We Make Them

      Remember the bee I mentioned earlier? I was sitting outside this beautiful cathedral in Bordeaux, soaking up the sun and taking in the views when this large bee flew in between my neck and the scarf I was wearing. Paralyzed, I was scared to move a muscle at first—trying to figure out if I could remove my scarf gently enough so that it wouldn’t sting me. I very slowly started to loosen it, and the bee simply flew away. In my mind, I was already doing the mental gymnastics I thought necessary to strategize how I was going to get this bee out and visualizing scenarios of it stinging me and my head swelling up to twice its normal size. But there was no need. Just a little space and a soft nudge was all that was required.

      Lesson 3: Have a Conversation with Your Fear

      In order to see some of the things I was wanting to see, I knew I was going to have to step outside my “happy place” when it came to heights. When I was climbing the 300 steps up the dome at Sacré-Coeur, I stopped halfway—not sure I could do it. I almost turned around and bailed. I was standing on this little landing that had a sign saying something like, “Only 167 steps to go!” and could feel the anxiety building. With my hand on the wall, my fear tried to talk me out of continuing. “You don’t really need to make it to the top. The view from the bottom is pretty amazing, even if you are surrounded by hordes of people. You’re scared now, but it could get worse. You don’t know what’s ahead.” That’s when I marshaled my courage and said, “That’s right. You don’t know what’s ahead. It could be amazing. You’re safe, and you can do this.” I know it sounds corny, but the pep talk worked and I kept moving. Shakily and one step at a time. 

      When I got to an outdoor space before the next flight of stairs, a woman and her son were resting. She asked if I was okay and I said, “Yeah, thanks. I’m just not a fan of heights.” She smiled in understanding and replied, “My husband isn’t, either. He tells people that it’s not a fear…it’s an ‘intolerance’.” We both laughed and I told her I was going to steal that phrase. When I made it to the top, I let myself take as much time as I wanted to soak it all in. Not just because the views were incredible, but because I had done one more thing I wasn’t sure I could do. I had taken one more step toward tolerating my intolerance.

      One of the views from the top of the dome of Sacré-Coeur

      So often, we associate discomfort with “bad” and avoid it like the plague. We’re wired to. But living in (and with) discomfort is necessary in order to get to the heart of what it means to live a real life. This trip was a serious lesson in the radical acceptance of the present moment. There were so many incredible, jaw-droppingly beautiful moments. What a pity it would have been if I had let the few uncomfortable ones keep me from experiencing all the rest.

      I would have missed out on getting to know the lady who ran the smoothie shop I visited when I desperately needed something to cool me down from hiking up and down steep city streets in the middle of a heat wave.

      I might not have witnessed someone painting one of the famous Portuguese tiles in a small tile shop I randomly wandered across if the tile museum hadn’t been closed on the one day I could go, nudging me to explore elsewhere.

      I would have never found the best sorbet ever if I hadn’t been desperate to find a bathroom and decided it was worth it to purchase something so I could get access to a toilet.

      The moral of the story? Life will get bumpy sometimes. We’ll find ourselves in uncomfortable spots. Disheartened. Sad. Unsure. Grossed out. Embarrassed. Frustrated. Anxious. It is an ongoing battle for me to accept those feelings when they come. But it’s getting better…bit by bit. Navigating the bumps is worth it, and by leaning into those moments, we grow. And we get to experience some truly amazing and potentially life-changing things we wouldn’t have otherwise.

      We often want to post the Instagram-“worthy” pictures and stories about phenomenal moments. And that’s ok! But I think we’re missing out if we don’t also share the other non-Instagrammable moments*. I hope by putting some of these stories out into the world, it helps others feel freer to share theirs. We are not alone in wading through the “other stuff”. This I know. May we cheer each other on in the glitz and the glamour and the muck and the gunk—for it is all a part of this perplexing, strange, and beautiful life.

      *Disclaimer: These particular moments don’t need to be photographed. I feel like you all owe me a thank-you note for not including a picture of myself tangled in toilet paper, looking like a cartoon character as I balanced and braced myself in that train bathroom. 

      Going Solo (Part 3)

      carissaricci

      “Bad GPS!” I heard the Uber driver yell as he attempted to get me from the train station to the place I was staying for the night. He knew very little English and I knew even less Portuguese. As we continued to wind through the streets in the dark, I checked to see if my GPS would work properly…and it did. Thankfully. I managed to communicate to him to pull over so I could get in the front seat. My phone wouldn’t fit in the device where he had his, so I held it at eye level for him. The entire trip. My arm was shaking by the time we got there. The situation was so funny, that we ended up bursting into laughter a number of times before we finally found the location and he dropped me off. Another moment that still brings a smile to my face.

      So often, we want or expect things to go a certain way—but many times, they don’t. These last few weeks have been such good practice for me to roll with the unexpected while learning some lessons along the way.

      Lesson 1: Don’t Assume (You Know What They Say About Assuming, Right?)

      In my Bilbao hotel, the shower situation seemed wonky. It was in a small corner in the bathroom which was no big deal. But when I went to open the door, it opened in toward the shower and left barely enough space for me to squeeze myself inside before shutting the door. For the first couple of nights, I found myself wondering how anyone who was any bigger than me would fit. There was no way. Did they pole vault themselves in over the top? Most of my shower time those first days were spent pondering that question. 

      On the last night, I grabbed the shower door handle to push it forward and then slipped a little and the shower door went the other direction leaving plenty of space for me to walk in. Yep. That’s right. The shower door opened both directions. I spent my last shower in that hotel room laughing at myself. How many times in life have I done things like that? Making an assumption that the first thing I try is the right way to do it instead of trying the opposite tactic (or at the very least, a different one). 

      Lesson 2: Get Creative

      On a train from Spain to France, I was sitting next to a man who was reading a graphic novel in Japanese, but he also had his phone open. Puzzled, but not wanting to seem stalker-ish, I ventured a quick glance to see what he was doing. On his phone, he had the same book pulled up in what I guessed was a language he felt confident with. He had headphones on–I’m not sure if he was also listening to it or jamming to his favorite tunes, but I thought it was such a cool way to learn a new language. Learn something new by doing something you love. Another lesson in opening the aperture to different possibilities. 

      Lesson 3: TRUST

      One of the last legs of my trip took me from Paris to Bruges. Another train ride, with this one connecting through Brussels. When I got off the train to catch the next one, I checked my ticket and asked one of the employees on the platform if she could help me find the train I needed since the train number on my ticket didn’t match any of the departing trains listed on the board. She told me it was the next one coming on the same platform, but I hesitated because that one was going to Amsterdam which was not in the direction I needed to travel. 3 more people later, I finally found someone who looked at the code on my ticket and said, “Yeah, this isn’t going to get you there. Your ticket is for an intercity train. That’s not this one. And I don’t know where it’s leaving from. You’ll just have to check the boards.” With only 5 minutes left to catch it, I could feel urgency pumping through my veins as I scanned the boards. Nothing I could see had my destination, but there was another one going to somewhere else in Belgium and left at the same time as it said on my ticket. It was the best bet, so I grabbed my luggage and raced all the way to Platform 16. Out of breath and wondering if I was even in the ballpark of where I needed to be, I could only hope. Looking at the board on the platform, they finally listed the stops and Bruges was one. It was delayed 8 minutes…I would have made it even if I hadn’t sprinted. 

      This particular lesson keeps chasing me down, reminding me to let go and trust. To lean on my intuition and know that I will handle what comes my way.

      When I walked back through the door of my home, the oddest feeling came over me—like I was a stranger in my own house.

      As my current round of travels have come to a close, I find myself already wanting to buy the next plane ticket to somewhere I haven’t explored yet. I opened Pandora’s Box and there’s no way I’m going to be able to shove everything back inside—and I don’t want to. 

      When I walked back through the door of my home, the oddest feeling came over me—like I was a stranger in my own house. I have outgrown my former life. It no longer fits. I was snatched completely out of the hamster wheel of my “normal” life for an extended period of time, and now those patterns that felt slightly uncomfortable before? They feel unbearable now. Instead of feeling like that irritating itch on the back of your neck you get from t-shirt tags, it feels like I’m now wearing clothes made entirely of those same tags.

      When I was eating dinner in Lisbon one evening, the server who was taking care of me asked me if it was my first trip to Portugal. I replied that it was, but that I have Portuguese heritage. His eyebrows rose in delight, and then he leaned in and put his hand on my shoulder. “Well then,” he said, “welcome home.” I hadn’t planned on giving my dinner a sprinkling of tears that night, but as I’ve learned…when the tears come, I need to let them be. 

      As I’m continuing to reflect on my time abroad, the memory of that moment with the waiter in Portugal keeps coming up, and I think I know why. This trip was another huge step in the returning home to myself. Even if my physical house doesn’t feel like home anymore, I’ve realized I’m at home wherever I go—as long as I’m living in a way that is authentically me.

      Exploring Lisbon

      Thinking about living the life I want, it sometimes feels like a lonely road. I don’t know a lot of people who want the same type of life I do, but I remind myself that no matter how far the physical distance, I will always be connected to the people I love.

      When I was traveling, I messaged a good friend with, “No idea how I’m going to go back to normal life after this.” He replied, “But what if this becomes your new normal life?” As soon as I read what he wrote, I smiled the biggest smile. On my way home, another dear friend messaged me with, “May you be gentle with you and go slow. Everything may look the same as when you left – and yet I have a sense you may not be.”

      I keep going back to those wise words from both friends as I try to find my way into whatever this next phase looks like for me. They are another reminder that no matter where I go, the bonds of friendship formed over the years will forever be interwoven into my journey. This is what gives me the courage to keep taking steps forward. To all of the friends in my life who are cheering me on—thank you. Your love and support are helping fuel my feet as I continue to seek out what’s next.

      To all of us who are continuing to march toward our own true north, I know it’s hard. Some days, excruciating. But we’ve got this. We really do. So, let’s keep going.