bring it

Sometimes you’ll have a day when your kids are totally compliant.

When they say yes, do what you ask, move along with the bedtime routine.

You simmer in idyllic bubbly joy.

Sometimes you’ll have a day when your kids are royal pains in the a$s.

When they don’t say anything, do what they may, distract to the left, to the right, around and around again.

You simmer in infuriating kiddo chaos.

Sometimes you’ll have a day when the sun shines and the sky burns blue.

Sometimes you’ll have a day when the grey moves in and the cold wind bites to the bone.

Sometimes you’ll have a day when there is birth and beauty and new and bloom.

Sometimes you’ll have a day when there is death and hard and the ground is no more.

Sometimes there will be gain.
Sometimes there will be loss.

Different days, different ways.

This is what I tell my children.
This is what I tell myself.

And in these ways,
(all these ways)

there is (always)



Drip in it
Sit in it

ever morphing


Take good care,

p.s. If you’re in the hard stuff right now and want some softening à la Rachel, here’s a short 5 minute Progressive Muscle Relaxation that I recently recorded for a lovely client. Take a quick seat or lie down, try it out and know this – you’re doing great.

fill ‘er up, please

“Okay, this is a random ask but the next time that you make chai,
can I please have some?
Also just good morning and hope you’re doing well in general.”

This text made my heart


It came on a grey Thursday morning at 7:20am.

I know that normally when you get an ask at 7:20am you might not be the happiest camper.
But I was.
Seriously and truly.

This request put me up and over the top and squarely onto cloud nine.


Because she nailed it.

My neighbor nailed the sweet spot on this ask.

With very few words,
she asked me to share a little bit of my everyday joy.

When we do something – with love and pride – that someone else enjoys and the someone else proactively ask for that thing,

***joy sparks.***
This is the sweet spot.

When we are seen.

When we are seen for what we do well,
when we are told what we do well,
when we are asked for more of what we do well,
we feel fuller.

We touch the wholeness that is always there. 

And that feels magical. (Because it is.)

To be you is to be magical.

To be me is to be magical.

To be him is to be magical.

To be them is to be magical.

Say it.

Capital T “Truth” right there.

Take good care,

p.s. Today’s friendly PSA: Ask for help today and make someone magical. 💫✨🌟 😝

there she goes!

I remember her and smile.

5 years old and on the swing.

Her knees extending and flexing, extending and flexing.

Until finally,

she was up.

Soaring forward


flying back.

Forward ,
back ,
forward ,
The smile on her face,
the chains creaking,
the blue sky behind her.

I didn’t know you could do that!
I yelled up at her when she flew by once more.

She smiled, ear to ear an expanse of white teeth shining,

I always had it in me – but I hadn’t found it yet!!!

Her pumping continued, her swinging continued, but the words stuck.


I smile to remember. And to wonder.

What’s hiding out in me waiting to be found?

What’s hiding out in you waiting to be found?

hmm… to wonder.

Take good care,

mystery solved!

Good news!!!

We don’t have to live in the dark any longer!
(haha… I crack myself up.)

My brother, a general contractor, has enlightened us as to what the “Self Healing” head-scratcher of a sign on the power pole means.

Ready for it??

It’s part of the new smart power grid system. It can tell when customers don’t have power and reroute the power.
What!!!??? How cool is that?
I’m gonna’ be hoping for that sticker to appear on my power pole from here on out.


it’s up to you.

As we now know a little more about that mysterious box and how it works, take a pause.

How does its little re-routing process offer a metaphor for your own taking???

What does the little box’s process of rerouting teach you about yourself? Perhaps about how you choose now – or – how you might choose differently in the future?


Drop me a note and let me know if you want to.

Take good care,

perplexed by this sign

First, you know you need to do the thing. That’s like Monday or Tuesdayish.

I need to write my blog. It’s the week for it and I post on Thursdays at 6:00am.

Right. Need to do it. Got it.

Except you don’t do it. Because you do other things. Which are either “worthy” things like make soup for a dear friend or “unworthy” things like watch Grace & Frankie.


Then you realize.

The minutes are ticking down until the kids get home.

It’s officially too late to do the thing without the crush.

So watchya’ gonna’ do?
Go left?
Or right?

Do you do the thing? Crunch and twist and squeeze to make it happen? Tighten up and bear down and crash through the defensive line of your family, ignoring the lush bed and soft sheets at your bedtime to turn instead toward the screen, the thunderous keystrokes, the grinding gears of guilt laden creativity???

The yellow eyed, devil horned, fire-engine red demon growls down at you,


eh. Maybe so. Maybe not.

Perhaps instead. You do not do the thing (aka the blog) because you’ve passed what you deem is the 11th hour. For your steady existence versus the slick slope into survival. Sacrificing the sleep you know you need to not just feel like non-crap but to also really and truly be in your life.

And instead you choose to make dinner, read to your kids, take a shower, do your daily reflection, turn off the light, sleep, wake up in the morning and get on your mat to move, sit for a few minutes in silence, and move onward into the day.

You embrace the ordinary.
(This time.)

Which then delivers you to your next pause.

And now. Now you choose to sit down, open the computer and write.

You celebrate that you did it at all. (Go me!)

You have compassion for where you fell off your intended plans – and for where you did choose to show up in your life. (Making dinner with Ruthie was super fun… and it’s beautiful that I chose it.)

You have curiosity for how it went and how it might go differently next time. (I do it earlier, I pull a piece of writing from one of a billion past musings saved on this brick of metal and memory, or some other scenario I haven’t even dreamed up yet.)

Then you smile at yourself.

Your very human self.

And you journey onward.

Curiosity. Compassion. Celebration.

These matter.

How can you visit with CCC today? Let me know if you desire.

Take good care,

let’s make up some words together

It’s 8:30pm. On a Wednesday night.

Dude next door is in his carport with a sawzall (I think) cutting apart his adorable hobby-time VW beetle.

When he takes a test drive down the neighborhood street, it’s literally the exterior frame around the interior seats… no doors, no trunk.

There *might* be a hood. I can’t guarantee it.

Overall, it’s highly entertaining.

My kids love it.

So do I.

And neighbor guy is truly fabulous in his soft spoken, humble smile, highly skilled self.

Listening to his power tools at this time of evening makes me nostalgic for my way-back-then teenage brother with his 1970’s International Scouts up on concrete blocks missing various critical vehicle pieces on any given day.

(I’m assuredly digressing from my intended audience here but if you’re still following then my trucker hat’s off to you.)

The point is.

Neighbor guy next door has a power tool going at 8:35pm.

Problem (for me) is

at 8:35pm,

I want it ALL to be

The kids are finally in bed.
My husband’s out of town.
The cats are done fighting.

It’s supposed to be quiet.

But it’s not.

So here’s the question.

Can I be content with that?

Can I be calm, still waters, and pure peace at the whine of the sawzall?


Heck, no!

I feel the buzz in my chest, a tightness in my throat and a grabbing in my back.

Look at that.

A thing is happening out there.

Next, lots of things happen “in here.” (aka the body)

That’s the game.

It’s a call and response of sorts.
From the outside world to my body.

We interact, intertwine, and interplay.

So the question isn’t so much,
“Can I be content with the sawzall?”

but instead,

“Can I be content with the sawzall
this chitter stir shiver inside thing
that is happening in response?”

Well, yeah.

Yeah, I can do that.

Except when I can’t.

And when I can’t, I suppose I’m discontent (or uncontent or subcontent or decontent or whatever the real or made-up negative is that sounds fun and best).

And then. Then I get to wonder,
can I be content with being discontent?


Over time,
and practice,
(lots of good and annoying practice)
our state of being becomes less personal and more…


A worthwhile exploration.

Of self.

Of context.

Of all on the vine and in the weave of the vines.

I wish this for all of us

That we could feel our lives and ourselves a little less personally and with a little more intrigue.

It takes perspective, practice, and perseverance to dive in this way.

But the rewards are breathtaking.
They really are.

If you’re ready to try out the job of explorer, join me for the iRest Yoga Nidra 4 week series at Cary Yoga Collective. It starts today, Thursday, January 11th, from 1:45-2:45pm and there’s still space to signup here.

Or – if you need to miss today – you could drop in for the next 3 classes to build out this exploration. This wonder. This curiosity.

Of you.

This path of reflection, growth, and healing can be a doozy.

Yoga offers us some wickedly helpful tools along the way.

Come be in good company as you do good work.

On you and for you.

Hope to see you soon.

Take good care,

happy birthday to me

Tomorrow is my birthday.

I’ll be 32, I think.

2022-1980 = 32.
Yes, that’s right.

Nope, that’s wrong.

42. I’ll be 42.

When I wrote 32, it felt a little lighter.

A time hop of sorts.

Much had not happened at 32 that has now happened at 42.

When I write 42, there is a bit more weight to it in my heart, in my chest, and in my throat.

There’s a bit more sadness.

But there’s also something else.

A bit more awe.

At all of it.

I don’t think I would trade the awe for no sadness. I don’t think I would.

Because the awe, the wonder, the magic, the grace, the stunning crispness of the moments I catch in full technicolor.

They are poignant.

They are poignant because they are Now.

Crisp and clear around the edges.

Fading into next with the shimmer glow smudge.


It is miraculous.


Three things I wish for you on my birthday are 3 things that have brought me to Now. Like this.

The first one is,
the Pause.

Learning to quiet, to still, to reject the “We are allergic to stillness” stance that our society seems to have adopted. To stop and become an epicenter of the rotation. For a single moment in time to be the center.

The second one is,
the Feeling.

Not good, not bad, not right, not wrong. Just the chance for pulse and throb and flow to be in your veins, arms and torso. To feel shimmer and shake inside of you like the power that it is. Always and forever it is.

The third one is,
the Hope.

The suction of how hard it can all feel, how gnarly messy twisty you can pull against and yet how steadily, how magnetically, the slipstream grabs you and allows you to keep your head above water if you go with her. Go with her.

So that’s it. That’s what I wish for you on this eve of my birth. (Doesn’t that sound fancy?)

The Pause. The Feeling. The Hope.

One of the yoga tools that is central to my clarity is consistent Yoga Nidra. I’m teaching an iRest yoga nidra workshop on Saturday, January 7th, from 1:30 to 4:30pm, to slide you into this incredibly accessible, efficient and effective piece of my own practice. Find all the details and a chance to register here.

Please join me if clarity is something you seek.

Join me if the Pause, the Feeling, and the Hope are gifts that you desire too.

Happy birthday to me. 😊

Take good care,

touch in, touch down



Hey, you there…

How’s the whirl twirl of the season feeling??

Are you skimming across the ice backward, sideways and with seamless pivots? Are you pushing the blue plastic skate “aid” thing along plowing the 2 inch thick layer of NC fake snow with your rented skate blades? Are you sitting over in the corner of the rink making piles of snow since that’s more interesting (and even possible at all) than trying to do this thing of skating?

(Yes, I witnessed all of this on the rink near our house last week.)

No matter.

Christmas and this season can feel all ways. From one minute to the next, it can be a ride.


In the midst of it as in the midst of all, there are constants.

Softening of comforts large and small that is everywhere. It’s shock absorbers in the hard stuff.

Spacious and lightening. It’s a soaring upward and outward with tailwinds all its own.

Enveloping and courageous. It’s to love it all, “Come on in and stay a while” in rest from cold exile.

Grounding and expanding. It’s bowing down to it all, the gifts both clear and confounding.

Steady. It’s quiet and stillness deep in center.

Beneath the layers of loud, they’re always waiting.
Always present.

A place to sit back and rest when the hard is too hard, the pain is too high, the sticky is too stuck. A place to pause for even a moment and rest back into something bigger.

The realm of the heart.

May you touch the heart this holiday season. In the midst of the boom and bustle, the clinking glasses and the tinkling bells. May you be still enough to touch the heart in all its shades of splendor.

Grace. Joy. Compassion. Gratitude. Peace.

Welcome to you all. Welcome.

Take good care,

p.s. I’ve got a 1/2 day workshop coming up on Saturday, January 7th where we’ll practice touching these constants of the heart. This tool of deep rest is a very favorite in my own practice. Set the pace for your New Year and signup here. I’d love to spend time with you.

give it freely

My grandmother was


She was magical because

around her

I felt loved



I am.

When I think of her now,

my heart gapes.

She and my Granddaddy were the sun to our earth, moon and stars. And at Christmas, our time together was brilliant.

There were endless cookies and candies that she and my mother produced from the oven. There were bag laden shopping trips to Heronimous and a slew of other department stores. There were visits to the mall where we’d ride the little train to see Santa, through the tiny cave with the elves making their toys, my heart clambering with excitement to see the man in the red suit and to whisper tentatively what I wanted for Christmas. There was Christmas Eve at my childhood home playing with the olivewood manger scene on the fireplace hearth and waiting – w a i t i n g – waiting for my grandparents Buick (exact model progressing with the decade of reference). When that car finally heaved up my parents steep, black asphalt driveway, joy was allowed to explode in my chest.

They were here!!!

My time with these people felt like this year round. Magical.

I remember.

I can feel the magic, the joy, the space and light as I remember it in detail… her voice and her laugh, her lips brushing my cheek (and my subsequent wiping it off), her long fingers and manicured nails, her winter coat on my skin.

I remember.

And in remembering, I choose to embrace the feelings as alive here and now.

When I remember, she is with me.

So I know.

That when I dive into this memory with all its sights, sounds, and beautiful textures, a flip will eventually sneak through. Most days.

A sadness. That their bodies are done now.
That they are lives complete.

I miss them.

I honor them each holiday with active remembering. And with time for active grief. Grief that I invite in with a compassionate and loving group of people that also recognizes this sacred act.

Over the past 5 years of my holiday Grief & Gratitude donation class, I’ve had the honor of sitting with people in their loss. Each year, it’s a small but intimate group. And we move a little (because this somehow makes it all a little easier), then we pour chai and sip a little, then we talk a little.

Some people stay quiet because they want to hold their memories that way.

Some people speak because they want to hold their memories that way.

Some people are filled with love for those that have passed.

Some people are confused about how they feel for those that have passed.

Some people have someone who is in the process of passing.

It looks all ways.

And there is space for all of it.

So whether you choose to join me in-person on Saturday, December 10th or it’s not quite right for you, please slow down to remember that which has passed this holiday. Do it in the way that fits what you need – in a church, in the chapel of nature, in your living room with a single lit candle.

Choose time to remember, choose time for the tears or anger or confusion. And know there is a group of us holding your grief with loving care.

Holding you with loving care.

Just as my Grandmother did for me.

With so much love,

p.s. Click here if you want to register. Or even if you don’t want to but decide you need to. That works too.