Author: carissaricci

Going Solo (Part 2)

carissaricci

“If a tree falls in the woods, but no one is around to hear it, did it make a noise?” This feels related to a more relevant question for today: “If we don’t take pictures of our experiences and post them, did they really happen?” (In case you’re wondering? Yes. I realize how old I sound when I say things like that.) 

As I’m traveling, I regularly battle against the desire to take pictures of literally everything. Each time I turn a corner, there is some beautiful sight to behold and the temptation to capture it is so strong. After a couple of days of fighting the urge, I made a deal with myself. I could take a few pictures of whatever I wanted, but then I made myself put the phone away and just stand in the moment. Taking it all in. The light. The sounds. The smells. The feelings. And I let myself say things like “I can’t believe I’m actually standing here looking at this.” I allowed the goodness to wash over me and didn’t move on until I felt ready.

Photography is a favorite hobby of mine, so it’s ridiculously easy for me to get swept up in capturing a moment while forgetting to actually be in the moment. The lesson for me in all of this is to slow down and intentionally be present in my life as much as possible. Much easier said than done—but a worthy cause.

Similarly, I had to resist the pull to see “all the things”. As I walked the streets, a little voice in the back of my mind would whisper, “How can you come to [insert city name] and not see [insert name of famous structure/art piece/park…]? If you’re not seeing those things, are you really doing this trip right?” As the days passed, it became easier to quiet that voice. And the people I met along the way helped me. 

My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did.

About halfway through the train trip from Bilbao to Barcelona, we suddenly ground to a halt. Everyone around me was chattering away in Spanish and I had no clue what was going on. The woman next to me, seeing that I couldn’t understand, opened her phone and typed a phrase into Google Translate to let me know that the delay was likely going to be a long one—at least an hour. 

My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did. That first sentence she typed into Google Translate turned into hours of us typing back and forth to each other—a friendship forged out of what some would deem a misfortune. I learned about where she was from, things she loved to do, and some interests we had in common. When she found out I grew up in California, she said something that I didn’t understand and gestured like she was a gorilla. My quizzical expression sent her back to her phone and she typed “Arnold Schwarzenegger”. I laughed and typed back, “It’s sad to me that’s what people outside the states think of when they think of California,” which then sent us both into a fit of giggles and a handful of Terminator jokes. 

It then hit me that I would need to try and contact the person who was supposed to meet me where I was staying to let me in. It was already going to be a late check-in, but now I wondered how in the world I was supposed to expect someone to stay up past midnight to let me in. His response? “I won’t leave you sleeping in the streets! And remember: there’s nothing to worry about, we are in Spain!” Another lesson in trusting. In believing in the goodness of other humans. In rolling with the moment. Everything has a way of working out—even if it’s not in the way we expect. 

Looking up in La Sagrada Familia

After arriving in Barcelona and getting a good sleep, I found myself in La Sagrada Familia the next day. I had seen it from the outside before, but had never been inside and let me tell you—if you’re questioning whether or not to buy the ticket, DO IT. It was one of the few places I’ve been where my breath was literally taken away when I stepped through the doors. I let myself marvel at every incredible view. As I wondered into each nook and cranny, I found this small area in a back corner with an agent standing at the entrance. He informed me that the space was for meditation, reflection, or prayer and that there were no pictures allowed. I agreed and entered. It was a chapel space with a few pews and only one other person already there—he left soon after I took my seat in the back. My intention was for reflection. I’m not a religious person and trying to meditate in such a spectacular setting felt like it was just setting me up for failure in such a mind-blowingly beautiful place. Good luck not getting distracted, right? 

As I sat there reflecting on my life, and in particular, these last few years—the tears flowed freely. The culmination of the “everything’s” and the intensity of those “everything’s”. Joy. Grief. Pain. Exuberance. Gratitude. All at once. In this transcendent space, I let myself feel it all. A woman walked in a minute later and my first reaction was one of embarrassment until I realized that she was crying, too. She took her seat at the other end of the pew I was sitting in, and we both took in the gorgeous light of the stained glass windows while feeling all the feels. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know her name or what her life is like. I don’t know why she was crying. But in that moment, I felt inextricably connected to her. After I had processed what I felt like I needed, I got ready to leave. I looked over at her and she looked back at me. Tears still in our eyes, we each placed a hand over our hearts in acknowledgement of the other. A soft smile which was immediately reciprocated. And then I slipped out quietly, not wanting to disturb the rest of her time.

When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

When I finally stepped outside to get one last look at this massive architectural masterpiece, I felt an all-consuming warmth and contentment of spirit—and also a renewed resolve to continue following this path I’m on. Something has clicked in a big way for me on this trip. When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

Yesterday, I caught a train from Aix-en-Provence to Bordeaux and as I was waiting on the platform, three Italian women came and sat next to me, asking me if they were catching the right train. Trotting out the faithful Google Translate, we had a lovely conversation as we waited. When we parted at the transfer in Marseille, the woman I talked with the most thanked me for the chat, wished me a wonderful trip, and kissed me on each cheek with a “Ciao, bella!” and a hearty wave in farewell.

So, in answer to my previous question of “Am I doing this trip right?” The answer is YES. Absolutely. These new friends and moments of true connection mean more to me than any place I’ve visited. Although all of my experiences over the last few weeks will forever hold a special place in my heart, it’s the lovely interactions I will remember most—a vibrant reminder of our shared humanity. What a gift.

Going Solo

carissaricci

You know that phrase, “Wherever you go, there you are”? That used to hold such a negative connotation for me—as if I had to drag the heavy luggage filled with all of my pain and trauma behind me for the rest of my life with no escape. At some point along the way, I reframed it. It was no longer about fighting against who I am, but embracing it. One of life’s many great ironies.

I began to take each piece of clothing out of that luggage and make friends with parts of myself that I had previously tried to shove out of sight. In grappling with that process, I’ve found a peace and calm in my life that I didn’t think I could have. Does that mean everything’s perfect and I feel like that all the time? No way. It’s an ongoing process. I often have to grab that luggage, sit on the floor, slide the zippers, fling it open, and redouble my efforts to accept all the pieces inside.

To help me take the leap, I planned a trip—a big one.

For most of my life, I’ve been waiting for someone to give me permission to be who I am, to accept myself, and to do the things I know are right for me. Why? Because it feels safer to walk that road…even if it means not living life to the fullest. I’ve decided I’m no longer willing to make that sacrifice. The latest chapter in my story has been asking me to take a different way. To honor my truest self. To craft my own path and write my story in a way that honors my deepest longing.  

To help me take the leap, I planned a trip—a big one. I offered a few different friends the opportunity to join me, but it didn’t end up working out. I wasn’t necessarily planning to do it solo, but something deep down within me knew that it needed to be. As my departure date approached, I found myself feeling grateful. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined doing something like this by myself, but lately, the yearning to explore has continued to knock at the door—louder and louder. And the thought of having the freedom to wander in my own way was eagerly beckoning.

To give myself even more of a challenge to step outside my comfort zone, I booked a few nights in a hostel dorm. I had no idea what to expect, but it has been one of my favorite experiences so far. So many kind humans have crossed my path, willing to share their tips and recommendations and allowing me to return the favor with my suggestions. After hitting it off with one particular dorm mate, we ended up spending the afternoon together on a trip down the river and then grabbed a bite to eat while swapping life stories and travel tales. One of many beautiful moments that will stay with me long after the trip ends.

The evening before, our hostel hosted a folk dancing night. Normally, this is something where I’d sit on the sidelines to enjoy it. But not here. Not only was I invited in, but I genuinely wanted to be part of it. There was so much joy and laughter exploding out of that room as we swung each other around, not caring if we “messed it up”…when we made a misstep, we just laughed harder. I went to bed that night with an incredibly full heart and a huge smile on my face.

So, what’s next? I’m currently on a train speeding through the European countryside watching the sun sink lower and lower in the sky, marveling at the beauty all around me. Not sure what my next few days of exploration will bring—and I don’t need to know. There’s so much joy in stepping off a train into a new town and getting lost in its streets. I have a few more weeks of adventuring to my heart’s content and I’m not rushing any part of it. I’m taking things one hour at a time and delighting in the unknown, which is new for me (but fits all the same). I have met so many wonderful people, and even though I’m traveling solo, I have never once felt alone. 

I know how I want to feel, and for now, that’s plenty good enough. My plan is to keep saying yes.

I’m only a little over a week in and my soul feels like it has been lit on fire in the best way. For the first time in a very long time, I feel completely in my life. This is giving me a small taste of so many things I want more of. I don’t know what the future is going to look like, but I’m okay with that. I know how I want to feel, and for now, that’s plenty good enough. My plan is to keep saying yes. To plane rides. To bus rides. To train rides. To trying new things. To making new friends. To living in other countries. To satisfying that curious wanderer in me. To continue expanding the edges of my comfort zone—all in pursuit of the continued returning home to myself. 

If you’re on the fence about jumping into something you know is right for you, but you’re feeling a little nervous about it, this is your sign. Take the leap. You’re not alone—I’m doing it right alongside you. We can jump together.

It’s Just Like Riding a Bike

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Remember when those training wheels first came off?

For me, I had a mix of thoughts like:

“Can I really do this?”

“What if I fall? How badly is it going to hurt?”

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like when I’m doing it right. How will I know?”

“What if I focus on the wrong things and keep crashing into them?”1

If only I knew then what a phenomenal metaphor this would be for trying anything new. Even when change is exciting and positive, I still find myself in a similar swirl of those thoughts. 

Having been through many situations that have stretched me before, this feeling is becoming more familiar, but each time I navigate a new challenge, I still have to work through the process. I do a 10-point check around my bike, make sure my helmet is securely fastened, and then pedal like hell—hoping to keep myself upright (or at least aim for a soft landing in a nearby bush).2 

There is this space between the familiar and the next step that feels daunting. That moment right before you lift your foot off the ground to place it on the pedal…the amount of trust it takes to raise that foot. The knowledge that you’ll be okay if you fall. That eventually, you’ll get it. That someday, you will be coasting down the path as if it’s second nature, and you won’t feel the same self-doubt when you raise your foot to the pedal anymore. You won’t even think about it. I try to channel that feeling when I face a new opportunity. Sometimes, it works…sometimes, it takes a little bit to get there.

As this restless feeling built, I put it out to the universe with the simple phrase, “I’m ready.” Little did I know quite how seriously the universe would take me. 

For months now, I’ve been playing around with the idea of doing something different in my professional life. The full-time corporate gig has never really fit who I am, and I have been feeling more and more restless as the months passed—wondering when the time would be right and how I would know when to take the leap. As this restless feeling built, I put it out to the universe with the simple phrase, “I’m ready.” Little did I know quite how seriously the universe would take me. 

To say that there’s uncertainty with the future of my current job is an understatement. Reflecting on the situation a few days ago, I heard the phrase, “You said you were ready,” and I had to smile. I did ask for it. And here it was. Asking me to trust myself and put my foot on the pedal.

The thing we can often forget is to lean on our community in these moments—people who have ridden this particular bike before. Those who want to lend a hand and hold onto the back of your seat until you’re finally confident enough for them to let go. I’m so grateful for the humans in my circle. The ones teaching me how to maneuver this new bike. The ones holding onto the seat for support. The ones cheering me on from the sidelines. 

This dream of mine will unlock so much I’ve been craving—freedom, flexibility, and the chance to craft a life that is well-lived and in full alignment with who I am. Is it a little scary? Sure. Does self-doubt sometimes creep in? You bet. Is that going to stop me? Not a chance. 

(Would it have stopped me 3 years ago? Probably. 5 years ago? Most certainly.)

I share all of this to say: we all have our own process and timing. If you’re feeling stuck or frustrated that fear is holding you back from where you want to go, I get it. I’ve been there. And honestly, I still grapple with it. The in-between stage of anything can feel paralyzing. We all have those moments where we’re faced with the decision to put our foot on the pedal or to play it safe and keep both rooted firmly to the ground. In this next phase of life, my intention is to pick my foot up more times than not and to start believing in myself more than I ever have before. Working through that self-doubt is no longer a “nice to have”…it’s a requirement—and it’s a battle I’m willing to keep waging because the prize is a life that feels like I’m no longer trying to shove a round peg in a square hole.

Lao Tzu said, “When I let go of what I am,
I become what I might be.”

I’ve had to say farewell to many different versions of myself over the last few years, and while painful, it has absolutely been worth it. With every shedding of a past self, I feel one step closer to the soul of who I really am. This is the light I always find on the other side of the difficult feelings that come when saying goodbye to a former version. 

As I prepare to step into this next chapter, I know I’ll see those familiar friends I’d rather not: self-doubt, grief, fear…but I am also buoyed up by the knowledge that I’m walking toward some other friends as well: joy, alignment, exhilaration, and contentment. Lao Tzu said, “When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” When I feel myself hesitate in that liminal place, I remember those words and let them gently push me forward.

As we let go of those parts of ourselves that are no longer serving our deepest purpose, we can find inspiration in all kinds of places. We can remind ourselves that even though the specifics of the situation might be different from others we’ve previously navigated, we’ve done this before. We can put our feet on those pedals and give it a go. We might wobble a bit. We might even fall a few times. But before we know it, we’ll be flying down a trail somewhere with the breeze on our faces and a strong sense of peace planted firmly in our hearts. And who knows? In doing so, we might also encourage others to grab a bike they’ve been wanting to ride, but haven’t yet plucked up the courage to try.

If anyone else wants to join me, it’s time to hit the trail. Let’s ride.

1 Simon Sinek talks about how important it is to focus on the path rather than the trees. This scene from Frasier also highlights this importance in a slightly more comical way. Bonus? The scene also involves bikes. #fullcircle

2 “Taking on a challenge is a lot like riding a horse, isn’t it? If you’re comfortable while you’re doing it, you’re probably doing it wrong.” – Ted Lasso 

Turning Grief Into Action

carissaricci

Trigger Warning: Death, Suicide, Mental Health

This year will be seven years since a good friend took his own life. Seven years. Every time I think about it, I’m immediately transported back to the moment I found out and exactly how it felt to hear those words. I have lost a lot of people in my life. In tragic ways. In unexpected ways. Whenever it happened, the grief cycle felt familiar—until that day. This was different. The denial was THICK. I literally couldn’t wrap my mind around what I was being told. It didn’t compute. This vibrant, charismatic, brilliant, funny, full-of-life friend…gone. And in a way that was unimaginable to me. My brain couldn’t comprehend it.

The next week was spent in the densest mental fog I’ve ever navigated. Coming to terms with the reality took…well, if I’m being honest, I’m still grappling with it. Grieving someone who leaves life in this way is an elusive beast. There is no closure. No rationalizing with it. And the relentless questions like, “What if I had just…?” plagued me as I analyzed every tiny detail of the last encounters I had with him. 

Shortly after I got the news, someone who was trying to comfort me said, “Life is hard. Some people just aren’t strong enough to make it.” My heart rate immediately skyrocketed. I was incensed. I knew that this was coming from a well-meaning place, but in the midst of my deep grief, the anger surfaced. Sharp and ready. Somehow, I managed to regulate myself enough to make a simple statement about how when someone makes that decision, it isn’t because they aren’t “strong” enough. 

Whether for a sprained ankle or chronic anxiety, we all deserve to feel unashamed to ask for help.

Needing support with mental health care does not mean someone is weak or lazy. They are not broken or deficient. They are not selfish. Yet these are some of the very reasons why people often don’t seek help—because they feel like they will be viewed in these ways. Weak. Lazy. Broken. Deficient. Selfish. These descriptors are categorically untrue, but words and perceptions hold a lot of weight in our world. Imagine these words being used to describe you if you broke your leg. Would it feel different to seek care if you thought that’s how people saw you? If they thought you should just be able to “tough it out”? 

I want to live in a world where everyone feels empowered to find the care and support they need. Whether for a sprained ankle or chronic anxiety, we all deserve to feel unashamed to ask for help. When I think about my friend and other bright souls who left this earth too early, the words, “It didn’t have to be this way” play over and over in my head. And that breaks my heart even more. They won’t get to see another sunrise or sunset. They won’t get to spend time with people they care about or make new memories on trips they would have taken. They won’t get to see the incredible impact they had on the other humans in their circle. They aren’t getting to experience their futures which were once full of possibilities. 

We must take action.


View from the end of a pier in Southern California—thinking about all the things.

I invite you to become an advocate in this space if you aren’t already—let’s do whatever we can to normalize this topic. For current generations, future generations, and those we’ve already lost to this battle. Let’s use the fire of their memory to light the way forward.

I’ve heard people say, “Check on your strong friends,” but I’d encourage us to do one better. Let’s check on all of our friends and make sure they know they’re loved and supported.

Whether you’ve lost someone in this way or not, we can all contribute to spreading the message that it’s okay to ask for help. In that spirit, a dear friend has kicked off a dream she’s had for awhile now. Please check out the Phoenix website for some creative ways to remind people that they matter and where to go for support. If you or anyone you or anyone you know is looking for mental health resources, she has curated a helpful list here.

I’ve heard people say, “Check on your strong friends,” but I’d encourage us to do one better. Let’s check on all of our friends and make sure they know they’re loved and supported. Let’s start having the uncomfortable conversations and reinforce the message that there is no shame in asking for help. If you hear someone say things like, “Well, I guess they just weren’t strong enough”, let’s be brave and speak up. It’s long past time to change the narrative…and it starts with each one of us. 

Disclaimer: This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your mental health professional or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have.

The Joy of Being an Introvert

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For most of my life, “introvert” felt like a bad word. When I was growing up, if you weren’t outgoing and didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, it was seen as weird. Labels like “quiet” and “reserved” felt less like categories and more like judgments. It didn’t feel like there was much space in the world for people who weren’t always clamoring to be in the center ring.

This thinking also set us up to put people into one of two categories. Introverted or extroverted. There was no middle ground. You either fit neatly into one box or the other so we knew what to call you. In addition, I’ve heard the misconceptions that if you’re introverted, you’re anti-social and if you’re extroverted, you’re the life of the party. I love being social. I just have a time limit. Introversion and extroversion are mostly about how people recharge best, but because of existing narratives and our incessant need to put people into categories, it can be exhausting to navigate it all. This is also potentially why I struggled so much with trying to figure out where I belonged. 

Have you seen those banners you can get for parties with special messages? Instead of “Happy Birthday”, they now make ones that say “Please Leave By 9”. I feel like that’s a perfect metaphor for how I operate.

Even though I’m mostly introverted, I’m not 100% introverted. I do have a bit of extrovert in me. She loves to connect with friends, go to parties, concerts, sporting events…but when she’s had her fun? She’s DONE. The introvert in me has gotten really good at tapping the extroverted part of me on the shoulder when it’s time to call it. Have you seen those banners you can get for parties with special messages? Instead of “Happy Birthday”, they now make ones that say “Please Leave By 9”. I feel like that’s a perfect metaphor for how I operate. I love you. I want to spend time with you. But I will need you to exit stage left when my battery dies.

I’ve always been an internal processor—someone who likes to go deep. Small talk bores me to tears. I’m not nearly as interested in what you think of the weather as I am about the last time you felt complete joy or worked through something really difficult. You’ll often find me asking questions like, “What was happening for you at that time?” “What did you find most meaningful about that moment?” Those are the answers I really want to know. I don’t mind some small talk and understand that we need it in our world, but if that’s all our conversations consist of, you’ll probably find me struggling to maintain eye contact while wondering what the barista behind the counter at the coffee shop we’re at is planning to do on her break. Or why the person in the corner booth has a worried expression on their face. Are they anxious about a loved one? Studying for a final exam? Trying to work through a leg cramp?

Transitioning into the professional world, I often felt as though I couldn’t truly be myself and that my potential and talent wasn’t seen the same way because I didn’t “show up” in the manner my more extroverted colleagues did. On multiple occasions, I’d be in casual conversation with coworkers on a project and inevitably, someone would say about someone else, “Well, you know they’re an introvert right?” as if it was some sort of horrible affliction. It was usually said in hushed tones so as not to offend said introvert if they happened to be walking by.  (FYI, the introverts in question usually know someone is talking about them because as it turns out, they tend to be fairly perceptive.) In those moments, I could literally feel the shame wash over me as I tried to smile and quickly come up with some sort of contribution to the conversation so that I wouldn’t be labeled with the same ghastly title.

I’m saying this as much to myself as I am to you: there is no shame in being exactly who you are.

I thought there was no way I was ever going to be accepted or successful unless I could beat that poor, tired, little introverted part right out of myself. I would consistently ramp myself up so that I could appear the way I thought I should. It wasn’t until recently when I realized that in doing that, I had been betraying myself. Over and over again. It was time to stop. 

I’m saying this as much to myself as I am to you: there is no shame in being exactly who you are. That doesn’t mean we don’t grow or change. But trying to twist yourself into a shape that doesn’t feel right while trying to convince yourself that it’s in the interest of your growth and development is something else entirely. 

So how do I (sometimes clumsily attempt to) navigate this? The first step is to tackle self-judgment. That tenacious and relentless beast. Look it right in the eyes and thank it for trying to protect you, but then tell it that you’ve got this and you don’t need it to be in the forefront anymore. If I’m in a place where I have to fundamentally change who I am to be fully valued and appreciated, that’s not the place for me. If you’re struggling with this same thing right now, I’m here to deliver a message. There are places where you can be yourself. Where the people will celebrate the very things that other environments you’ve experienced didn’t. Where you can share your gifts, exactly as you are. Keep searching. Those places are out there. I promise. While no situation is perfect, you’ll know the right one when you find it.

Even when you find a good spot to land, there are always challenges to tackle. We know that there’s value in having a mix of extroverts and introverts on a project, but we have not yet perfected how to get the most out of those moments and experiences. If we’re still having our meetings in the same ways we always have, then we’re not doing those conversations justice. If we’re still operating under the assumption that meetings are the only effective ways to collaborate, we’re missing the mark. And also missing out on a whole lot of great ideas that might never see the light of day because of the limited ways in which we view how to get work done.

Walking the beach with no one in sight…one of the best ways to recharge this introvert’s battery.

In my life outside of work, I have friends who fall into the introverted box, the extroverted box, and all the boxes in the middle, and I can say with absolute certainty that my life is so much richer for it. The thing I love the most is that we just get each other. Instead of being ashamed of who we are, we recognize it and appreciate it. We find the joy in it. When I’m hanging out with my most extroverted friend, it’s like they can literally see a battery icon on my forehead. When it gets to the red zone, they give me the biggest of hugs and say, “Let’s connect again soon!” 

How wonderful would it be if we all did that for each other?

To all my brilliantly exuberant extroverts: I see you. I honor you. Yes, I’ll go to that concert or party. I’ll dance until 2AM (as long as it’s not two nights in a row).

To all of the ambiverted in-betweeners: I see you. I honor you. I’ll always be up for trying something that sounds energizing to us both. Even if it’s a mishmash of seemingly unrelated activities. I’m down.

To all my fellow introverts: I see you. I honor you. And I’ll always leave by 9.

Stepping Out of the Box

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There is no greater threat to innovative thinking than the phrase, “We should do it that way because that’s the way we’ve always done it.” What if we looked at all the ways we’re living and the hidden assumptions we’re making underneath it all? Why is it that we do things the “way we do”?

Take weddings, for example. In the states, there is a prescribed “right way” to do it. From cutting the wedding cake (which always seems to be dry…why is that?) to the different dances (which usually includes watching at least 1 person dance like Elaine)…it all seems so prescribed. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve attended some really beautiful weddings. But the weddings that leave more of a mark on my memory are the unique ones. When the couple steps outside the traditional box and does things their own way, throwing these made-up requirements into the wind–it looks like fun. Maybe we should do that more.

In that spirit, I’m no longer going to accept the phrase, “because that’s just the way it is” so fair warning—if you say this to me, get ready to hear me respond with, “What if we tried something different?” As my dear Ted Lasso1 so eloquently illustrated, what if we were curious instead of judgmental? What if we started questioning (without judgment) why we think and do the things the way we do?


Searching for what is familiar is a way to feel safe and secure, even if it’s only a feeling.
An illusion.

To help, I’ve started using what I’m calling the “impatient toddler method” on myself. When I’m doing something that seems mainstream or when I feel like I’m in a rut, I ask myself why I’m doing it that way. When my mind gives me an answer, I respond back with the typical question a toddler might ask next: “But, why?” I respond to the little tyke again. And then I let the toddler keep pestering me with, “But, why?” If the answer at the end of the the string of questions is “because that’s just how it is”, I enter into reality check mode. Does what I’m doing really align with me or not? If not, I’m experimenting with giving myself permission to let it go and try something that feels more like me. I’m nowhere near perfect at this, and I still get sucked into old habits and ways of thinking for a lot of reasons.

Why I’ve done things “because that’s how they’re done”:

  1. Going with the status quo is comfortable. Fitting in feels far better than the judgment that sometimes comes from others when we do something “different”. Research has shown that social exclusion activates the same parts of the brain as physical pain.2 It makes complete sense why we would subconsciously tend to go with the comfortable instead of throwing the rule book out the window to embrace our own way of doing things. When faced with the choice between potentially falling down a staircase or a guarantee that we wouldn’t take a tumble, I think we can all agree that the latter definitely sounds more appealing.3
  2. Searching for what is familiar is a way to feel safe and secure, even if it’s only a feeling. An illusion. For a moment, I could feel grounded because I recognized what was around me. Even if (and this is the kicker), it was an unhealthy situation for me.


If it means I have to keep deconstructing my life brick by brick to rebuild something more aligned and true, bring it on. If you’re feeling a similar call, let’s be bold together.

As I started playing around with coloring outside the lines, I was fearful of unraveling everything I had worked so hard for and was equally trepidatious to dive into the unknowns that come when we begin to consider the possibility that maybe we’ve been living half asleep. On the conveyor belt. Checking off all the tick boxes we feel we “need to”. And then I realized I’d rather strive to live fully awake and with intentionality, even if it makes me pause for a second (or in some cases, a few years) to consider if I have the courage to actually do it than to never attempt it at all.

The best gift we can give the world is bringing our fullest and truest selves. It doesn’t have to be a big thing all at once. Like the story of the tortoise and the hare, slow and steady wins the race. One small step at a time.

Potential Site of the Race Between the Tortoise and the Hare
(The Columbia River Gorge is incredibly scenic and the perfect spot for a race.)

Even if it means I have to be scared while I do it, I’ve decided I’m going to continue to march toward what I know feels right for me anyway. I’m accepting that there may be stretches along the way where I will be inching forward on my tiny little tortoise legs instead of sprinting like a bunny. (You just pictured me as a tortoise, didn’t you? That’s ok. I set myself up for that one.) 

If I have to deconstruct my life brick by brick to rebuild something more aligned and true, bring it on. If you’re feeling a similar call, let’s be bold together. Let’s step out of the box, dance however we want, and embrace our wonderful uniqueness. Our individual and collective healing depends on it.

1If you haven’t watched Ted Lasso yet, here’s the shameless plug for it. Take 31 minutes to watch the first episode. If you aren’t hooked at that point, I’m not sure we can be friends. Just kidding! I would still be friends with you. But you’d have to be okay with the fact that I might be wearing my Ted Lasso socks every time we hung out. (Disclaimer: Since the 3rd season isn’t yet out, I’m not responsible if it takes a hard left turn. This recommendation is based solely on Seasons 1 and 2.)

2 Rejection is Like Pain to the Brain

3 I’ve actually fallen down staircases twice in my life, so I can vouch for the fact that it hurts. Ironically, they both happened in similar ways. Tripped at the top, fell on my front, and bounced all the way down. Once I realized I was falling and there was no way to recover, I tried to do it as gracefully as possible. In case you were wondering, there is absolutely no way to fall down a staircase in a dignified manner. I’m feeling like there might be a life metaphor buried in there somewhere…

Presence Over Perfection

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Meditation. It’s meant to be relaxing, right? But for YEARS, I would approach my meditation practice kicking and screaming. Even lasting 3 minutes* was torture—my mind churning through my to-do lists, all the things I’d rather be doing, and whether or not I turned the stove off. And that was just in the first 5 seconds. That still left 175 seconds for internal dialogue like, “Why can’t I just clear my mind for 3 minutes? I’m never going to be good meditator if I keep this up. Maybe if I hiked more, clearing my mind would come easier. I need to pick up some trail mix this week. My big toe hurts. I wonder if I tweaked it when I worked out this week. Should I stretch more next time? How do you stretch your toes? When is my yoga class this week? What day is it, again?” The chatter in my head rivals that of Lorelai Gilmore. The only thing missing from mine is a similar triumphant ending of “…monkey, monkey, underpants”.

Over the years, I’ve heard the term “progress over perfection” bandied about in different circles. That still doesn’t feel exactly right to me, though. Presence over perfection seems like a better approach.

I decided I had to start small. Smaller than 3 minutes a day, you ask? Yep. I started with 3 intentional rounds of breath a day. 4 counts in, hold for 4, out for 4 and hold for 4 at the bottom of the breath. It’s called box breathing, and that’s how I started to build a daily habit. It’s all I could commit to at first without feeling overwhelmed. And it’s something I knew I could do. Every day. For a recovering perfectionist like myself, I had to set an achievable consistent first step so that I wouldn’t shame myself into quitting altogether. Even though it’s called a meditation practice, I still found myself slipping into “but it has to be perfect” thinking. Ironically, this is something that meditation can help you overcome, but to get there, you have to first be okay with imperfection in your practice. So, you can see the problem. Hello, vicious cycle.

Over the years, I’ve heard the term “progress over perfection” bandied about in different circles. That still doesn’t feel exactly right to me, though. Presence over perfection seems like a better approach. Even if you don’t make what you deem “progress” over a week, the very fact that you intentionally chose to be present is a win. Give yourself props and keep going. There is no “one-size-fits-all” approach and trying to adopt a meditation style that doesn’t fit isn’t going to work. It’s going to feel like when we all went from wearing sweatpants every day during the pandemic lockdown to putting on jeans for the first time after months of luxuriously stretchy trousers. I don’t know about you, but those first steps back to denim were a solid “nope” for me.

There are visualizations, binaural beats or music that can help, breathing patterns, and the full-on “sit in silence” method. Play around and experiment! Try different combinations. But the most important thing—and I can’t emphasize this enough—is to start small and practice non-judgment. As a heads up (if you didn’t already know) that is much harder than it sounds. But it’s worth the work. When I judge myself for not doing enough or being enough or “doing it right”, it automatically shuts me down and prevents me from continuing to build the habit I was striving for, and I decided I didn’t want to keep getting in my own way.

The road to self compassion is an ongoing and challenging one. We can be so scathingly self-critical. Someone once said, “If you talked to your friends the way you talked to yourself, I’m guessing you wouldn’t have many friends.” And she was right. Now, when I catch myself being a bully to myself, I pause and recognize that I deserve better than that. I ask myself: if my friend came to me with this situation or problem, how would I respond to them? Often, it makes me realize just how much I expect from myself and how ridiculously unrealistic it is. Let yourself be human and fallible…and pick it back up again tomorrow.

Sometimes, nothing comes in the quiet. Sometimes, no matter what we do, we can’t calm our minds. But sometimes, profound revelations can happen when we make the space for them. That’s where the magic is.

As Elizabeth Gilbert learned from her friend, it’s okay to let go:

“At some point, as Richard keeps telling me, you gotta let go and sit still and allow contentment to come to you. Letting go, of course, is a scary enterprise for those of us who believe that the world revolves only because it has a handle on the top of it which we personally turn, and that if we were to drop this handle for even a moment, well—that would be the end of the universe. But try dropping it…sit quietly for now and cease your relentless participation. Watch what happens. The birds do not crash dead out of the sky in mid-flight after all. The trees do not wither and die, the rivers do not run red with blood. Life continues to go on…Why are you so sure that your micromanagement of every moment in this whole world is so essential? Why don’t you let it be?”1

Sometimes, nothing comes in the quiet. Sometimes, no matter what we do, we can’t calm our minds. But sometimes, profound revelations can happen when we make the space for them. That’s where the magic is. We just have to be brave enough to sit with all the things that may bubble up to the surface when we clear out the noise. Make friends with them. Even the ones that might be hard to befriend. They are all parts of us and deserve to be seen, heard, and acknowledged. May we find peace in the allowance of their presence and in our evolving relationship with them. 

And as you continue experimenting with your practice, you might want to try ending each of your meditation sessions with your version of, “…monkey, monkey, underpants”. Because life is too short to take ourselves so seriously and no one said meditation couldn’t also be fun. 

It’s time to make our own rules. Throw out the jeans (who needs ‘em?), break out the yoga pants (hello, non-constricting fabric), remember to breathe (box style, perhaps?), and give yourself permission to try again tomorrow if things don’t go the way you’d hoped today. You’ve got this.

* I’ve managed to work my way up to a consistent practice of 30 minutes a day. I’m not saying this to say, “Look how great I am!” I wanted to share this because I NEVER thought I’d ever be able to do it. But I found something that worked for me and that was the key. So, go on fellow experimenter! Find what works for you and don’t be afraid to try something new.

1Excerpt from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

What Lights Me Up?

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Connections. 

Meaningful Moments. 

Creating safe spaces for people to be authentically themselves and discover new possibilities. To grow. To learn. 

Being able to share my experiences in the hopes they might inspire someone else to relentlessly pursue their truth.

Doing things to better the world. I’ll be honest—this one used to feel paralyzing. I felt like if I wasn’t rescuing orphans in third world countries, what good was I in this space? This type of extreme thinking was tragically keeping me from doing even the smallest of things that would have made a difference in the world. And so, I started rethinking what that meant to me.

So let’s be as intentional as we can about each of those moments. And in the words of the great Mary Oliver, let’s continue to ask ourselves “…what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

As I think about legacy, I’ve heard people say that their children are their legacy. Since I’m not having children of my own, I often wondered what kind of legacy I might leave behind—thinking it needed to be something grand…something that would land me in a history book or something. But the truth is, we leave a legacy every day. Every time we interact with someone. When we lend a shoulder to a friend in need. When we hold a door open for a stranger. Being fully present with someone who needs to be seen. When we are brave enough to share our truth and others silently breathe a sigh of relief when they hear it, thinking “Oh, thank god I’m not alone!” Those things all have a ripple effect out into the world. We won’t see most of the impact we have, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. 

Portland Japanese Garden
–
A favorite place to ponder…

Take a moment to think about all the interactions you’ve had in the last 24 hours. What if all of those people you interacted with were positively impacted by their time with you, no matter how small. Now think about their families and friends. The other people they may have encountered in the last 24 hours. And the impact they have on those people. We have a much bigger impact on our world than we might think. So let’s be as intentional as we can about each of those moments. And in the words of the great Mary Oliver, let’s continue to ask ourselves “…what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Honoring the spark within ourselves is contagious. It spills out, encouraging others to do the exact same thing. It’s one of the many ways we can change the world. One moment at a time.

The Spark Calls

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Looking back, there have been many times when I’ve felt the spark light up. For a good portion of my younger years, I was oblivious to what that felt like when it called. I was heavily shrouded in the plans I had made for my life. With my head under a dark hood, focused only on what I thought I had to do, I plunged forward. Hell-bent on checking off the boxes I thought I should and numb to what my inner self was trying to tell me.

This picture is the first time I can remember feeling and recognizing it. I was on a work trip in Europe. I left my Amsterdam hotel the first morning I was there and went for a walk—not sure what the day would hold and blinded by the exhaustion of the long flight and sleepless night. The sights, the smells, the people, the tapestry of different languages being spoken around me…it was magic. I was completely hooked. Even if I was also so exhausted that it felt like I was simultaneously drunk and hungover (thanks, jet lag), I was completely enamored.

I can’t remember where I heard this quote, but it sticks with me to this day. “I feel most at home when I’m traveling.” That sentiment resonated into my very bones.

I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat of an odd duck. When most of my friends can’t wait to get home after a trip, I’m already jonesing to buy another ticket to somewhere else and hop a flight. I used to think there was something wrong with me. Broken perhaps. But then I started meeting other people who felt similarly and my world opened up. I wasn’t alone. That’s when my practical side started tugging at my pant leg like an impatient toddler. How was I going to be able to support myself in a way that would still allow me to fully explore this part of myself?

So, here I am. Researching and planning for what I can. That’s the easy part. Trust? That’s the hard part. 

As I pondered different potential options, the familiar narratives of, “How in the world are you going to build a future that will allow you to do that?” and “There’s no way that’s possible,” reared their ugly heads. My psyche was doing everything it could to keep me pinned in to the familiar. The comfortable.

This was breaking new ground for me. Anyone who knows me, knows that if I’m passionate about something, I put my full weight behind it and go for it. All out. 100%. So, here I am. Researching and planning for what I can. That’s the easy part. Trust? That’s the hard part. 

This next phase of my life is about learning to trust: myself, my intuition, and that I might have something unique to offer the world. My fear and doubt want desperately to dispute and cast a shadow over all of that, but this isn’t 2008 Carissa or 2017 Carissa—the woman that had shockingly low self-worth and felt most comfortable in the back of the cave hiding under a blanket and white-knuckling it through life. This is 2023 Carissa. She’s a bit of a badass. And unwilling to settle for things that don’t feel right for her anymore. 

Every time I feel those dark corners moving in, I remind myself to keep taking steps forward toward that spark. It has led me out of the darkness before, and I will continue to follow it again and again—until trusting myself becomes as easy as breathing, and I know I’m honoring what’s most true for me. 

Homecoming

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“Stop ‘should-ing’ on yourself,” someone once said to me. It made me laugh when she said it, and then I immediately realized how much I had been “should-ing” on myself my entire life. 

We are conditioned for it. Our upbringings, societal pressures, and life experiences can all lead us into massive amounts of self-limiting behavior. “I can’t do that.” “That would never work out.” “I’m not good enough for that.” I was adept at regularly telling myself those false stories.

In March of 2020, the real awakening began for me. I was staring down the barrel of the COVID pandemic lockdown, having just received word that my divorce was final. I realized that I had “should-ed” my way through too many years in a marriage that didn’t feel right and felt trapped in a job that was becoming more and more unhealthy.

For many people (myself included), lockdown was uncomfortable because it meant sitting with all of the hard feelings we usually try so hard to distract ourselves from or otherwise avoid. I was in a swirl of some of the most difficult feelings I’d ever encountered, and ended up spending way more quality time with myself than I would have preferred. Looking back now, though, it was exactly what I needed. Excruciating, but simultaneously freeing, it opened my eyes to how many dreams I had put on the shelf all in the name of “should”. How much I had lost faith in myself and given that power to others, all because I thought I “should”. How I let fear take the wheel far too often and, in the process, sacrificed the very thing that makes me a vital and vibrant human…being true to what I know is right for me.

I had tried so hard to live a more conventional life. Good job. House in the suburbs. Married. A dog. I didn’t have the white picket fence yet, but that was on the list for the following year. 

I was bored, miserable, and completely burned out.


When I started to question what my life would be like if I took those limits off, it felt scary. I liked plans. Order.

When I was younger, I used to pretend I wanted a more conventional life because I thought that’s what I “should” want, when in reality, I was in the corner flipping through National Geographic magazines and encyclopedias*, dreaming of seeing as many places as I could before I died. I aspired to be “successful” (i.e. good job, nice car, beach house) because that’s, of course, what I thought I “should” do in order to be accepted as someone who wasn’t a failure. As a teenager, I went on unhealthy diets trying desperately to shrink myself into an image of what I thought I “should” look like. I was a straight-A student. Valedictorian of my 8th grade class. Enrolled in Honors and AP courses in high school. Nothing was ever good enough, and running on that hamster wheel of “should’s” was exhausting. Always trying to fit into the boxes laid out for me, no matter how uncomfortable. Trying to cram myself into them was going to be the end of me.

Manzanita, Oregon
–
Dreaming big dreams while standing on this dune was
a pivotal moment in the returning to myself.

When I started to question what my life would be like if I took those limits off, it felt scary. I liked plans. Order. It felt good to know what was coming around the bend…or at least to have planned and overthought every eventuality so I could prepare myself for anything. 

In service of trying to plan for some of those worst case scenarios, I was frequently the master of the “What if….?” What if I end up penniless on the street corner? What if I fail? A good friend looked at me after a session of my “What if-ing” and said, “Yeah, but…what if it all works out?” I remember that now anytime I feel myself slip into catastrophizing. “What if…” can actually be a really empowering question.


Success means something very different to me now than it did a few years ago.

So, what does all this mean for me now? I’m certainly not perfect at it, but I’ve made some significant progress at keeping the “should’s” in their place. And my “What if’s…” are now reframed as dreams when I catch them peeking around the corner at me trying to entice me down the fear-based rabbit hole. When I used to think about the future, it would be 90% terror and 10% excitement. Now, it’s the other way around.

I’m completely in love with the fact that I’m no longer striving for a conventional life. I have been liberated now that I’m not trying to contort myself to fit into those boxes anymore. I don’t know the specifics of what the future holds, but I know this…I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and my dreams are no longer collecting dust on the shelf. Success means something very different to me now than it did a few years ago. 

I took the leap into a job that was much healthier for me. I’m going to be self-publishing a book that took me years to write. I don’t care if it becomes a bestseller—putting my creation out into the world is enough. I’ll be traveling overseas this spring and am counting down the days like a kid counting the days until Christmas. I’m pursuing a future that will allow me to live abroad and see the places I saw only in pictures as a child. And I will continue to run full-out toward the soul of myself again and again. No matter what. I hope you do, too.

*If you’re too young to know what an encyclopedia is, check this out and be glad you’ve never had to flip through an index with 8-point font and a 28-47% chance of finding what you wanted.