Looking back, the whole ‘quitting my job the second I got significantly more overhead and diving into new dreams’ was a real cute idea, tbh. I laughed as I put my two weeks in, I mocked my panicked mother screaming at me through Facebook messenger—and then I tumbled into my own fear. As you read from the last post, it was not always easy to keep faith… Though I believe it could have been.

It’s only risk that makes me feel alive, ya’ll. What a blessing and curse. And as always, the money came. I can’t even tell you all the odd jobs that more or less fell into my lap this year: from holiday flower delivery gigs to crafting flower arrangements in that shop (which I absolutely loved), to writing papers for people’s college classes (oops) and writing business profiles for magazines up and down the east coast. I harnessed my skills and my creativity, and I found a way. I wasn’t really saving, but my bills were paid. And even when I was panicky, there was always enough.

Much more notably than the money that went as quickly as it came, each person I met along the way—so many new people this year—felt like a buoy in open water. I look back during the hardest months of it all, and I see myself ringing the doorbell of a complete stranger, dripping flower vase in hand, watching them beam in gratitude. I see students in savasana, completely still and quiet and true. I see clients with their eyes closed, my hands hovering over their heart, a single tear falling down the side of their face. I see Trust. I see Authenticity. I see Healing. I see that I was always okay, and more importantly—that there was always more to give.

It could have been that graceful all the time. I could have kept my focus on my dedication to the decision I made when I left my serving job, the decision to go towards what I love and leave anything I don’t behind. I could have focused on the overflowing abundance around me—the friends that made me dinner, that listened to my incessant worrying, that gave me places to stay when my city apartment with giant bay windows was too damn cold. I could have acknowledged my wealth more often, which was far greater than financial funds. But it’s okay, because it’s all as it was to be. Because I learned/remembered so much. Because I’m human, and I think that’s so much of our universal conditioning: to feel we need to struggle, to hustle, to worry, to push.

But no more.

“This is the dare of a lifetime. Can you pledge allegiance to your joy without knowing how its all going to add up yet?” –Jenna Zoe

A lot of Vito and I’s early discussions on my mattress on the floor in my little city apartment (that I already miss) were about the walls we had up around joy, around falling in love. We couldn’t feel the goodness of it all without simultaneously feeling the fear of loss, the projection of despair. It made me sad for us, and we often spent time talking ourselves out of it, bringing each other back to the present and to the goodness. Trying to remind ourselves how much we would miss these moments, not to let them slip away in the now.

But this year, I learned something of gratitude—that it often aches just like sadness does, as it reaches the same depths, pulls at the same chords of the heart. There is something about being so overcome with gratitude that you simultaneously long for the moment back, that you already miss it. You could say that we couldn’t stay present—or you could say that we were overflowing. To borrow words that Vito sent me a few months in… “You feel it like a hot expansion in your chest, the creaking sound of stress coming from your ribcage as your body creates the space necessary to let [it] in…” If there’s anything that happened to me this year, its expansion. A growing into intimacy, connection, and service in ways much more mature than before. A breaking and rebuilding of my rib cage to make room for more heart.

It is incredible what change can occur in a year. So until my ‘official’ 2020 blog post, below are just a few relentless lessons from this year that are still integrating:

We don’t arrive anywhere. We are always only on our way. I always think I “get” this. And yet, I still reach mountain peaks in which I think I’ve made it or something, that now it will all be enough—only to be knocked down and shown the deeper healing. Each time pushed right back into God’s arms. I have learned to sit in my depths this year, to allow the emotions to move through so I can move on. I’ve learned there is no evading a damn thing; it will keep showing up until we open our eyes—and then it will show up again. Through is the only way—to just another open door to more.
Falling in love takes something of us. (I think it actually took all of me for a while.) We are never ready. Love comes for us much like the reaper, takes us before we can say no, after we say no, as we’re saying no… It takes us and our fears in its teeth—whips its head around and dares us to hang on. It takes us after the joy feels over and gone, when our grief is too heavy; it takes us until we go limp—in surrender, in infinite bliss. It takes us and if we’re willing, transforms us, sometimes into a version of ourselves we’ve never seen before. It takes us and it heals.
To stay. I’m a runner. I used to have a lot of shadow around this (there’s remnants there), and so I’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be responsible and consistent and reliable—in accordance with society’s definition of those words. In the end, I have mostly just been consistent in letting others down. Because in Truth, I am always, in the end, going to do things my own way.

I’ve learned to stay by being a stand for myself, that this doesn’t mean that I don’t show up, that I’m not a “hard worker”, that my worth is less than because I’m not moving the way others or society wants me to move. What it means is that the more that I pretend to be what I’m not, the more I leave a trail of disappointment and broken relationships behind me. And the more that I say what I mean and mean what I say, the more that I am transparent and authentic in my own pursuit of Truth and success—the more I am respected and forgiven.

In learning to stay, I have learned that sometimes I don’t always know what’s best for me, sometimes I need a push or a commitment—but usually, I know when that is and I know when it isn’t. And even if following my gut instead of advice or a more accepted path leads to a deeper healing or a lesson (what society would call a failure), I will be okay because I listened to what’s inside, because I fucking went for it.

In learning to stay, I’ve learned the difference between a ‘yes’ and a ‘no,’ and how to begin the process of speaking clearly. About not lying anymore, to myself and others. I’ve learned the difference between ‘bailing’ and changing my mind. I allowed myself to face some of my deepest shadow: flaky, irresponsible, inconsistent. To accept it, to allow it even. Over and over. Then—to spin it on its head. To see the positives: I’m ever-changing and open-minded, I’m courageous, I’m willing to seek my own Truth. I’m rebellious and trail-blazing. To love it. Deeply. To hang on. To be reckless in my pursuit of it. And then, to begin the process of letting it rest and make room for its opposite, the medicine…
Learning to stay, to lean in, to listen, to look (at least one way…) before I leap… is probably my lesson of a lifetime. It’s still unraveling, and is one of my greatest intentions for 2020. More on this later.
To allow more parts of me. I’m a Cancer Ascendant, but I haven’t always endorsed it as a primary aspect of my personality. This year brought me deep healing and allowance here. From nurturing reiki sessions to being surrounded by children pretty much all the time (my niece, my friends’ kids, yoga classes, my partner’s three), I’ve been forced into a new role that has revealed my deeply feminine, motherly side. My partnership has revealed it over and over as well, like the grit being rubbed away to disclose a pearl inside. As someone who’s soul craves travel (Sag sun and Sag North Node here) and experience and more, I have (unnervingly) realized how much of me appreciates home, comfort, and family. In the past, I’ve neglected this part of me, but it seems the Cancer in me is bursting out and so it is: an identity-crisis-a-month later, here to stay.
Boundaries. This deserves it’s own post and probably will see one, but there’s a reason why this shit was the buzzword of 2019 (and will probably continue right into 2020). What I’ll say for now is there’s a collective desperation for this—in varying degrees depending on your position in life—but it’s often misunderstood. Boundaries are not walls, ya’ll. Boundaries are doorways within the walls that show others how to get through. They are pathways to loving—easily and seamlessly without grievances and resentment. They are kind and well-thought, created and kept with intention and persistence. They are hard and they are worth it. And they create a ripple effect to deep love that heals. What they are NOT are excuses to avoid what is hard or shut people out. What they are not are rude and fueled by anger. That is just self-righteousness and fear. Boundaries foster love.
Stillness. Receiving. Trust in taking a goddamn minute to let things gestate. To integrate. Lots more meditation. Lots more silence and early bedtimes and TV series. An awareness of my inclination towards work addiction (and all other addiction), and my need to slow tf down most of the time.

I named this site To Our Depths based on a quote by Helene Cixous that one of my dearest friends sent me when I left for my first solo adventure to Thailand, years ago now. Her text is one that I think of often to this day. She talked about my “running” in a way that helped me see, for maybe the first time, the merit in all of it. She said: “You run and you love and this is not just for you but for everyone you meet—before, now, and after. The blessing of waking up to your new life and here you are, going out and seeking to your depths because there is never an arrival. We only seek further past our current light, our current truth…”

I don’t know that I knew what she meant as deeply as I do now, at the time. But I knew after my trip. And deeper still after the next few—inside and out. And I know now for certain that all of my running has led me to here; not a moment has been in vain. I ran to learn how to stay. To learn how to truly open. With each adventure, I have been touched by grace in the form of connection. By God in the form of you. If I know you, if we’ve met, you have brought me to here. To brand new.

Stay tuned for a post on my New Years and my intentions for 2020. And for now, for more on my journey to here, go to my about page or explore the journal. To see what’s new, take a look at my offerings page or the for you page—where you can schedule, see upcoming events, and contact me. I’m honored to be here, honored to help, honored to heal alongside you.

“IT IS PREKNOWING AND NOT KNOWING, BLINDLY, WITH WORDS. IT OCCURS AT THE POINT WHERE BLINDNESS AND LIGHT MEET. KAFKA SAYS—ONE VERY SMALL LINE LOST IN HIS WRITING—’TO THE DEPTHS, TO THE DEPTHS.’” —HELENE CISOUX

2019: Def Not the Year of Blog Posts, But A Year of Just About Everything Else, Part 2

“This is the dare of a lifetime. Can you pledge allegiance to your joy without knowing how its all going to add up yet?” –Jenna Zoe

“IT IS PREKNOWING AND NOT KNOWING, BLINDLY, WITH WORDS. IT OCCURS AT THE POINT WHERE BLINDNESS AND LIGHT MEET. KAFKA SAYS—ONE VERY SMALL LINE LOST IN HIS WRITING—’TO THE DEPTHS, TO THE DEPTHS.’” —HELENE CISOUX