When I was a kid, I used to think that life was a long line of events, one leading to another. A neat and tidy row of experiences that would build on each other until I was a wise adult, and that as I got older, I would “figure it out”. I had no idea how involved the “figuring it out” phase would be or that it’s really just an illusion and absolutely no one has everything nailed. The “figuring it out” phase should really just be called life and that “phase” lasts the entirety of it.
And beginning again? It’s not just something that happens once.
Some of the hardest and most rewarding lessons have come when I admit that I don’t know what I’m doing. When there don’t seem to be any clear answers. When I feel lost. It’s in the grappling with all the everythings in those moments when my life has pivoted the most toward something that feels more aligned.
I’m at the start of an entirely new way of living. My house sold in September, and my dog and I are officially nomads. I left my full-time job and have launched into a mix of consulting, coaching, and retreat guiding which has been one of the best decisions I could have made. And yet…it still comes with all the symptoms of being in transition. I can think back to so many moments when I hesitated to take the leap or make a change for so many reasons—one of them being me trying to avoid those exact discomforts. As I’m writing this, it’s reminding me of those prescription ads with the long list of side effects: “Side effects of ‘taking the leap’ may include: fear of failure, night sweats, doubting yourself, fear of the unknown, ‘what-if’ syndrome, procrastination, nightmares,” and the list goes on…
When you find yourself “What-if’ing” yourself to death, change the “What if?” to “Even if.”
I’ve realized there’s no easy way to get myself out of a rut. The best way I’ve found is to just jump in and do it. Not when all my ducks are in a row. Not when I feel ready. Not when I feel comfortable. Not when success is assured. When I feel the pull and my intuition pointing me in the right direction, I know it’s time to take the leap and trust. One step at a time…even if it’s a winding road.
One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever gotten was this. When you find yourself “What-if’ing” yourself to death, change the “What if?” to “Even if.”
Instead of “What if I get lost on my way from the train station to the hotel?” it becomes “Even if I get lost on my way from the train station to the hotel…”
It has helped retrain me and reinforce that I’m a capable human, and if I find myself in an unexpected or stressful situation, I will find my way through. I will figure it out. I will ask for help when I need it. But I won’t let the What If’s keep me from taking chances.
If you’re also in the middle of a major transition, this quote might be helpful to remember:
Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it is the middle that counts the most. You need to remember that when you find yourself at the beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up.*
The beginning of this last start for me was scary for sure (and saying goodbye to the things I needed to let go of was difficult at times), but I’m so glad I took the chance—it has absolutely changed my life by leaps and bounds for the better. I’ve found a really good rhythm in this new way of living, have an incredible community of humans in my circle who I’m incredibly grateful for every day, and the “Sunday scaries” are no longer a pervasive part of my life.
If you’re beginning again like I am, take heart. EVEN IF things don’t go exactly the way you planned. EVEN IF some of your fears come true. EVEN IF it seems like you’ve lost your way. You will figure it out. Trust yourself. Lean on your community. Keep taking those steps forward. And leave room for a little hope to float up when you find yourself questioning whether you’re on the right track.
EVEN IF the last step you took didn’t result in what you thought it would, that doesn’t mean it was the wrong one. Keep going. Keep learning from each step you take. Bolster yourself with things that light you up.
And know that I’m right there with you.
*Borrowed from a 90’s rom-com…extra points if you can name the title.
Today started out like most Sundays do. I ran through my morning routine. Walked my dog. Ate some breakfast. And then headed out the door to meet up with a good friend at a coffee shop so we could prepare some things for a retreat we’ll be co-guiding together.
As we talked through preparations, I paused when we started to talk about a communication we were going to draft because I felt unsure of myself. Knowing that I was hesitating, she looked directly at me and said, “I’m going to challenge you. You are a great writer. You have so much experience. I trust you. You are enough. Just as you are.” Each sentence ended with an intentional pause. As soon as she said, “you are enough”, I felt the tears well up and couldn’t stop them. She gave me a big hug, allowing me time to feel the feels, and then asked, “Is there something underneath this?”
I was flooded with memories of countless times throughout my life when I haven’t felt good enough. Strong enough. Fast enough. Thin enough. Smart enough. Interesting enough. Pretty enough. Talented enough. Brave enough. I was reminded of all the problems I couldn’t solve. Things I couldn’t fix. People I couldn’t save.
As I’ve grown, I’ve started to rewrite those narratives, but as anyone knows who has tried to do this work…it’s not easy. The stories stack up over time and no matter how hard we try to rewire ourselves, the echoes remain. Trying to get to a place where no situation or person (including yourself) can ever make you feel “not good enough” is quite the task.
The fear of not measuring up can make us want to hide because that’s safer than being seen and judged as not enough. Invisibility becomes our comfort zone. So, in hindsight, it makes sense that putting myself out into the world in the context of this work would have triggered all these past feelings of “not enough-ness”. But I wasn’t prepared for the realization of how strongly those old stories still had a hold on me.
I hope we all have at least one person in our lives who sees the real us and believes in us like my friend did today. They lovingly remind us of who we are in our darkest moments and help us continue to fight through the hard days. I’m so grateful to all the people who have shown up for me when I’ve needed it most.
To wrap up this post, I have a challenge for you. The next time you’re with someone and catch them in a moment when they aren’t feeling like they’re enough, please remind them that they are.
And if you need a little encouragement today, I’ll leave you with this:
No one is you, and that is your power.
Dave Grohl
The world needs YOU. It’s time to come out of hiding and step into your power.
Think I’m in the right place. Realize it doesn’t fit anymore. Deconstruct. Take stock of what’s left. Process the feels. Redefine myself and my life. Repeat.
Every time I run through the cycle, I always feel resistance at the beginning. There’s a step between “think I’m in the right place” and “realize it doesn’t fit anymore” that I call: “try to pretend that I’m in the right place even though I know I’m not so I don’t have to face what comes with having to make yet another transition.” I can remember sitting on the threshold of some big decisions, asking if there was an easier way. If I could shortcut it. Work around it. Pretend that I could unsee what had been made so undeniably clear to me. But I also knew that I could no longer continue to betray myself.
Those realizations were the toughest I had ever faced because it meant that I had to consider things I didn’t feel ready to acknowledge. I was afraid that if I started to dismantle what I thought my life would be, that I’d never be able to put it back together again. That I didn’t know how to let go of the version of myself that I had created to survive and the picture I had held in my head of what my life would look like. She was all I had ever known, and my current life was the culmination of years of sacrifices and hard work.
While I’ve experienced big shifts in all areas of my life, some of the more recent shifts have been in my career—over the course of which, I bounced back and forth between the academic and the corporate worlds. But the moment I felt like I had finally “made it” was when I got the call from Nike. All those years of struggle and grind and burning the candle at both ends had landed me in a spot that I couldn’t quite believe. During my first few weeks, I was convinced that I would spend the remainder of my working days there. Why would I ever give that up? I was all in.
I didn’t know how to let go of the version of myself that I had created to survive and the picture I had held in my head of what my life would look like.
Fast forward nine years (quite a few of those last ones battling between what I knew in my heart and trying to hang on to the dream of retiring from Nike someday)…I had allowed myself to become completely burned out and it was all I could do to keep going. Even after setting some boundaries to get my life into better balance, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it up. And I also knew deep, deep down that I couldn’t stay while also living the life I knew was right for me—I couldn’t find alignment with myself there.
Was I really going to close the door on it? And face a blank canvas?
When I was in one of my painting classes in college, I can clearly remember the first time we were given an assignment to paint something abstract. I panicked. Well, maybe panic is a bit strong, but I wasn’t exactly excited about it. I liked order. And planning. And things to be in neat boxes. A still-life? On it. A landscape? You bet. Abstract painting? I felt completely out of my depth.
In that class, the professor made us build our own wooden stretcher frames and stretch our own canvases, and I’m not lying when I say I may have procrastinated that process a little. Okay, I procrastinated a lot. The miter cuts weren’t quite lining up right (translation…they would have worked fine, but weren’t perfect, so I started over). I re-stretched the canvas when I saw a little pucker in one corner (translation…it was on the backside of the frame where no one would have seen it anyway, but it needed to be fixed). You get the idea. I was doing anything and everything to avoid actually starting the painting.
To paint without anything to reference? To paint from the heart? To trust that something that looked like nothing concrete might still be beautiful? That process stretched me as much as I was stretching that canvas over the frame.
I spent DAYS painting, re-priming the canvas with gesso, and repainting. When I shared my struggles with my professor, she smiled and said, “Carissa. Let go of what you think it should be. Stop making rules for yourself where there don’t need to be. Relax and let go.”
I applied some gesso to get the canvas back to neutral, left the studio, and came back a couple of days later with her mantra ringing in my ears. I reluctantly pulled on my painting clothes, gathered all my supplies, prepared my palette, sat in front of the easel, popped my ear buds in to listen to some of my favorite tunes, took a deep breath, and let myself stare at the blank canvas for what felt like an hour (translation…probably more like 10 minutes). I looked down at all the blobs of paint I had put out on my palette, grabbed a brush, and felt that familiar sinking feeling of “Where do I start?” Out of nowhere, I heard an inner voice say “Just START.”
So, I did. I let go, and I just started slapping paint on the canvas. Colors I loved and shapes that felt fun. I stopped trying to make it look like anything. I stopped trying to make something someone else might find pleasing to look at, and instead, created something I found beautiful—regardless of what anyone else might think. It was one of the most freeing moments…giving myself permission to create something for the sheer joy of it. Not knowing what it was going to look like. Not having an end goal. Letting each stroke unfold as it was happening and being fully present in the process.
Those feelings I felt then are incredibly similar to what I’ve felt in some of the bigger life choices I’ve made in recent years. I have swiped coats of gesso on parts (or sometimes all) of previous versions of myself and visions for my life, stared at the pieces of blank canvas, let myself have a moment of panic, cranked the tunes to process the feels and fuel inspiration, and then started slapping the paint on…my heart leading the way.
Let go of what you think it should be. Stop making rules for yourself where there don’t need to be.
If you feel overwhelmed by that prospect, you’re not alone, and it can be helpful to remember that even though we’re staring at a blank canvas, it doesn’t mean we’re starting from a blank canvas. We may not be able to see the layers underneath, but they’re there. Influencing our future direction. Reminding us of lessons learned. Encouraging us on. We have experiences and wisdom that have been gathered over the years that will absolutely help propel us forward and provide inspiration. While it can feel daunting to stare at a blank slate, we can dig deep into who we are and what we know to help us create the next version of how we bring ourselves to the world and what our lives will become.
When I faced the decision to either stay at Nike or jump ship for something new, I landed at SVB1, and right before I pulled the trigger I remember thinking, “Am I actually going to do this?” My heart said, “You bet you are.” So I did. And then at the end of this last year, I made the BIG decision. The decision to go out and do my own thing. Did it feel empowering? Absolutely. Do I still struggle with doubts? For sure. The road feels uncertain at times, and I wonder if the world wants what I have to offer—if I can make a living doing what lights me up. But it was time. I had to put a coat of primer on and dig into the beginnings of yet another abstract creation.2
If you’re also working through a phase of your life where you’re making the decision to stop painting landscapes and try an abstract, I’ll give you the exact same advice my college professor did: “Let go of what you think it should be.”
What is your heart saying?
And as you work through the growing pains that inevitably come with embracing a new way of living, I’ll leave you with these wise words from Zanna Keithley:
You are going to have beautiful days and devastating days and light days and heavy days, and there will be chapters when the heavy and devastating feel like they’re all you’ve ever known. And you’re going to break down and break open and feel like the pain has buried itself in your lungs and in your cells and in your soul until you don’t know you from it or it from you, like it’s melded into your bones and intertwined with the intangible part of you that nobody else can see. And you will run and run and want to keep running until your shadows can no longer chase you and you can no longer breathe and this pain doesn’t feel so unbearable. And you will keep sitting with the pain and sitting with the pain and sitting with the pain, and some days it’ll feel a little lighter, and other days, it’ll feel like the entire ocean is crushing your chest and everything is heavy and is this the way it’ll always be? But in time, slowly, the weight will lift and the wounds will start to heal and that first unencumbered breath will be the best thing you’ve ever known. And you’ll begin to let go of this burden you’ve been carrying and remember what it’s like to be you again, and you’ll uncover that inner spark within you that’s been there all along. And you’ll turn your pain into your purpose and use it to try and help other people feel a little lighter and a little less alone and a little more seen. And the pages will keep turning and a new chapter will begin, and this time, you’re going to walk forward a little less afraid. And you’re going to live every inch of this beautiful and messy and wondrous human experience.
Because this—this is what you’re here for.
1 Some of you may have heard of it. It was a bank that imploded in spectacular fashion in under 48 hours. My former colleagues and I are eagerly awaiting the Netflix special that will undoubtedly be made depicting its epic demise.
2 Stay tuned…more to come soon on my newest creation.
How many of us have a string of unfulfilled New Year’s resolutions in our pasts? I’m hoping it’s not just me…that would be embarrassing. If you can relate, take comfort in the fact that you’re not alone. I rarely persisted the whole year with any resolution I set. I would always draft them with the best of intentions, but they never truly got to the heart of what my soul was longing for. Because they weren’t tied to what mattered most to me, I could never consistently check those boxes.
With the beginning of each new year, I now choose a word of intention instead. Something I can keep coming back to. Something that will ground me when I feel lost or need encouragement. Last year’s word was “trust” and I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I leaned into that one hard most of those 365 days. It stretched me and pushed me in ways I wasn’t expecting—and provided me with some of the most incredible experiences I’ve ever had.
View from Piestewa Peak Summit
After sitting with my reflection on the 365 days behind me, I turned my attention to the 365 days ahead of me and experimented with some words to see how they fit. I wanted something that indicated movement and action-taking. Forward? No. Onward? Still not quite right…but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I found a quiet space and let myself settle into how I want to feel in 2024. And that’s when the word dropped in. Toward. It implies not just a forward motion, but a forward motion with a specific intention.
So, what am I moving toward?
A career that feels more fully me. Where I can do work that is directly tied to where my soul is calling me to be.
Connections with people that are genuine—with vulnerability, depth, heart, and light.
Moments when I am fully present and that bring me a sense of wonder and joy.
Adventures in new places where I can explore to my heart’s content. Meet new people. Try new food. And experience a part of the world I’ve never been before.
It’s all well and good to make statements and express desires, but if there’s no driving force behind it, they often fall into the same wastebasket as crumpled up New Year’s resolutions that were never realized. There needs to be some fuel behind them. They need to be connected to something real inside you, and sometimes, you need your community or other sources of inspiration to keep you going.
Here are some quotes I’ve seen lately that have helped me stay grounded:
The longer you resist the calling of your soul, the harder it is to find your way back. Intuition isn’t instilled in us for nothing. It’s the movement inside us that we must listen to if we want the void to vanish.
Nikki Rowe
I can corroborate this one. For so long, I lived in the ways I thought I “should”. It took me a long time to find my way back and to trust my own intuition again.
Your soul calling will never leave you alone until you honor it and follow it.
Rhys Thomas
For me, this looked like little internal whispers…followed by little nudges…followed by bigger pushes. I’ve been working hard to get better at hearing the whispers and honoring them the first time I hear them. I don’t want to wait until the “push” stage again. I liken that stage to what a baby bird must feel like being thrown out of the nest by their mother…not the best sensation. Just sayin’.
Pay close attention to the reason you get up in the morning. The daydreams you lose yourself in, the books that ignite your imagination, and the songs that make your atoms want to dance. Pay close attention to the people that energize you, the conversations that spark curiosity, and the jokes that make you laugh—these are the clues to your happiness.
Taj Arora
When you get so wrapped up in something that you lose track of time…maybe unintentionally skip a meal. If you hear yourself saying, “I would do this even if I wasn’t paid for it,” that’s a good indication that you’re on the right path.
I’ve also heard the term “energy vampire” recently which made me laugh at first, but then realized how much sense it made. Pay attention to how you feel after spending time with someone. Are you energized or drained? If it’s the latter, that’s a great opportunity to reevaluate how much of your energy you’re willing to put there.
Our happiness is something we cultivate, and we can do it with intentionality—exploring what is true for each of us.
To honor all of this, I must embrace a persistent willingness to say “yes”. To things I think aren’t possible. To things I’m not sure will work out. To things that feel BIG…and maybe a little uncomfortable. If I feel alignment in my soul, then “yes” has to be the answer. Even if I’m not sure how I’m going to get there or what it will look like.
For those of you that are setting your own intentions for the year ahead, know that I’m rooting for each of you and cheering you on. Even when the road ahead seems uncertain. On the days you want to give up. When there seem to be more questions than answers. You’ve got this.
And if you get stuck, remember to let your soul take the lead. It knows the way.
I’m at the stage in my life where I’ve been expecting the dreaded “mid-life crisis” to rear its ugly head. For the record, I haven’t yet dyed my hair, purchased an expensive vehicle, or run away to Vermont in search of a Hallmark-movie-worthy lumberjack decked out in some sort of plaid flannel.1 (If I do, you’ll be the first to know.)
I’ve decided to take a different approach to this season of my life. Am I doing things some people might think are out of the ordinary? Absolutely. This is the time for big change. But I’m not doing it to distract myself from the reality of my own mortality or to run from the inevitable. I’m making some bold decisions in service of running toward what feels most right for me—something I’ve neglected to do for a large portion of my life and which I’m no longer willing to do.
I was recently in a conversation with someone and started a sentence with, “I’ve never really been much of a risk taker…” to which she interrupted me with a laugh. And then said, “You’ve taken more risks in the last few years than I’ve taken in my entire life, so I think you need to stop saying that.” It was a stark reminder for me about how we see ourselves and how we often hold on to old ideas about who we are. I’ve never seen myself as a risk taker, and to be honest, I wasn’t in my younger years. This friend has only known me in what I’m calling “Phase 2” of my life and it got me thinking…it might be time for a rewrite of the story I’ve been telling myself about who I am—to adjust the narrative and step into who I am today.
As I’ve been talking to various people in my life, it seems that many of us are in a time of major transition. Exploring difficult questions. Making hard choices. Closing the doors on previous chapters so we can flip the page on new ones. All of those things can feel overwhelming and BIG. My hope for us is that we start thinking about this phase of our lives a bit differently. Rather than diving headfirst into crisis-mode, what if we took this as an opportunity to reevaluate? To take an unapologetically honest look at our lives and identify what still fits and what needs to change.
The truth is, once you have that realization, you can’t unsee it—and it requires you to make the call between staying stationary or making your way down a new path.
Pre-Phase 2, I was keeping myself in situations that were unhealthy and where I couldn’t bring my fullest and truest self. I had tricked myself into thinking I was “stuck”, but the reality was that I was the one keeping myself stuck. Sometimes, I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was in the driver’s seat of my life. That I had choices…even if they felt impossible to consider and insurmountable to make.
Once I acknowledged this, though, it meant that I was responsible for either keeping myself in those situations or choosing another option (which usually felt like the scarier of the roads). But the truth is, once you have that realization, you can’t unsee it—and it requires you to make the call between staying stationary or making your way down a new path.
Staring down the barrel of another cold, dark, and wet winter in the Pacific Northwest, I decided to follow the sun2 and booked an Airbnb somewhere warm for a few months. I hesitated right before I confirmed it—I wasn’t sure how my dog was going to do being away from home for that long. In chatting with a friend and sharing that concern, she said, “What if she thrives being on the road with you and being somewhere warmer?” Once again, I was being challenged to question my default assumptions and confront myself with a familiar inquiry: “Am I looking for reasons to keep myself stuck in what feels comfortable even if it’s not honoring what I feel called to do?”
So, I decided to take the plunge. And guess what? My dog is doing better here. She’s acting like she did when she was two or three years younger—more energy, better sleep, less pain. And I’m feeling similarly.
Feeling the warmth on a sunset walk
Some of the biggest leaps I’ve taken have resulted in some of the best experiences I’ve had, reminding me to keep going—urging me on. To try new things. To persist. To run after what feels right.
To honor these major transitions that many of us are navigating, I’d like to propose a change in terminology for the “mid-life crisis”. I want us to think of it more as a mid-life awakening. A time for us to take stock of all the things that got us here. All the things that make us who we are. What lights us up. What propels us forward. What dreams are still unfulfilled. And then I want us to relentlessly run after all of it—full out. Yes, our time here is limited. But instead of that scaring us into distractions and denial, let’s allow it to strip away the things that have been holding us back so we can step into this next phase as fullyalive as we can possibly be.
When I look back on my life, I want to know that I honored that call…even if I had to let fear come along for the ride. If you’re in a similar spot, take some deep breaths. Remember everything you’ve survived to get here and stand firm in the knowledge that we can do scary things.
Let’s embrace the awakening—it’s here to help us find our way to what is most resonant for each of us. I know it might be easier to just dye our hair purple and jet off to a quaint town in search of someone who can teach us how to tap a tree…but will that really satisfy what our soul craves? I want to challenge us to run toward what lights us up instead of away from what feels daunting.
Am I scared? You bet. But I’m going to keep going anyway. If you want to join me, consider this an open invitation. We ride at dawn.
1 I’m not a fan of Hallmark Christmas movies (no judgment if you are), but if you’re in the same boat and are ever in a situation where you are subjected to a Hallmark movie watch party against your will, Google “Hallmark Movie Bingo” and play along to entertain yourself for that hour and a half of your life that you’re never getting back.
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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
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.
Follow the Spark 