My God I’ve been itching to write. But that whole time thing, it’s been placing some additional obstacles in my way to a screen and a keyboard free of tasks lately.

Maybe because, as is mostly usual for me, I have a lot going on at the same time. Maybe even more than usual, if that’s possible. I bought a business, I’m managing multiple clients for my freelance work, I have a mostly finished book on my short list, another a barely started book just chilling in outline format, I’m teaching three college courses this semester, we have two kids playing two different sports on four different days plus one in a club and both in a “free” school that asks for an unreasonable amount of time and money from its parents, and also, I’m still growing that baby in my body and stuff.

Sometimes I even get to hang out with my husband when we’re both still awake. Weird I haven’t had time to write. Or practice. Or see my friends. Or

Here’s an interesting trade-off though, that I feel is worth sharing. While I haven’t been able to write for myself for awhile, my yoga practice is all kinds of off between this belly getting in the way and my time being massively constricted, and I stopped running in my first trimester, I still feel grounded and connected to myself. Continue reading



So my birthday is today and I’m now a number that is bigger than the number I was yesterday. Also, I am part of the TEDxSacramento Core team. Also, we have an event today, on my birthday. Also, also, that means I will be at TEDxSacramento, as a part of the core team, on my birthday for the birthday that is for a number that is bigger than the one I was yesterday.


Guess what else? Since last year when I was in New York City having the with my then-boyfriend-now-husband, we’ve done some epic shit. We got married, for that one thing, did a bunch of yoga shit, took some trips, started some projects, moved, and created some cool experiences for the kids. I earned clients and work that align with who I am as a human being and what I’m up to, started growing a baby that’s due this coming winter, oh, and in a little under a month we’ll be announcing our new yoga home, one that is partly . . . OURS.

No big deal. Continue reading



It’s been quiet on this front. I know.

This time, it’s not because I was in a dark spot. It’s not because I was so tired and sick. Or so overwhelmed. Or so confused. I was all of those things, for a little bit, again, but that isn’t why I’ve been silent so many days.  

2015 was such a big year for me. Actually, 2013-2015 were HUGE. Epically, life altering, never-gonna-be-the-same kind of years. So much YES, so much change, so much love, so much joy, so much trial, so much failure, so many restarts. After that kind of action, it makes sense that a cycle of stillness and settling would follow.

It was like the part of meditation where your brain is finally quiet enough that you can stop and look around and see what’s floating around in there with you. When the noise is off, when the dust has settled, when the pause comes, then you can step back and examine the picture you’ve been so busily crafting. Continue reading



I keep reading and seeing and all but running into quotes about the shit sandwich. Kristen and Rachel wrote about it today. Elizabeth Gilbert talks shit eating in Big Magic, and she got the idea from Mark Manson. The premise is simple — there is no pleasure without struggle. No free rides. No success with effort. You don’t get to the finish line by simply staring at it, you have to be willing to do the work.

And I super get that. And agree with it. And believe it.

And, I’ve been holding onto this premise that there is some magical exception to the rule, and maybe I could be it. I suppose I believed that if I tried enough varieties of shit, put my time into testing them out and paid my dues, then I’d get to live the rest of my life basically shit free.  

As in, I could just write, and teach yoga, and live simply with my adorable family on a beach somewhere and it would all be champagne and cake from there.   Continue reading



Last night in my yoga class I lost my feet.

I got through integration, through Sun Salutation A’s and stepped into my first Warrior One before I even noticed where I was or what I was doing.

Did we even do Sun A? What about chair pose? Did he [the instructor] forget something?

That’s a good 20 to 25 minutes of instruction and movement that I had essentially no memory of. Like, none, which is about as scary as arriving at a destination in your car, as the driver, and wondering who got you there. It’s also as scary as being a part of a society that you realize you’ve been privileged to exist in without ever being required to notice who was, and was not, in it with you.

My body was physically in the room, yes. My feet were technically on the mat, sure. But my mind and soul elected an alternative activity.

That’s how I’ve felt the last week and a half. Distracted. Detached. Cerebral.

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I’ve always been a little bit outside “the norm.”  Not average. Challenging. Bold. Big in body, mind, and presence. Strong-willed, determined, and overly verbal about it. A storyteller by nature. I’m a dreamer who likes to make lists. A “YES” who likes to map it.

I rarely choose to do things the easy way. I like puzzles, and problem solving. I crave adventure. I need variety like I need air. I don’t like the word or the state of “normal.” I don’t like to hold still. Conventions make me nauseated. I like to learn the rules so I can bend and twist and break them when it’s time.   

I rarely play it safe. I’m uncomfortable playing small. There are never enough ideas or things for me to learn.  If you say we can go ten miles I want to go one hundred. My quench for growth is insatiable.

I love the way change calls me out of my comfort zone and into a terrifyingly fresh new space.

This, makes me . . . well. Me. It makes me, me. And I’m not sorry for that, anymore. It’s who I am. I’m good with it. Great, actually. Continue reading



A week ago my city celebrated Pride week with a parade and festival. My husband and kids and I joined the California Endowment in the parade costumed with massive monarch butterfly wings and bright pink shirts bearing the ¡vota!slogan. The kids were welcomed by the parade’s Grand Marshall, Mr. Stuart Milk, and given the honor to sit in his car. They waved and smiled and celebrated throughout the entire ten block procession. They were excited, and proud, and grateful.

We attended the festival, talked to people at booths, won prizes, hugged friends, and as my husband so perfectly articulated to the kids,  we celebrated kindness, for everyone.

No matter the status of documentation, the orientation, the race, the skin color, the ethnicity, the cultural background, the gender identification, the religious belief or lack thereof, the tax bracket, the political party identification, not even how they like their damn eggs cooked — Kindness.For.Every.One. Continue reading



When I was 16, this girl at a leadership camp we both attended said at the end of our week about me “There’s just something about Michelle. You can tell just by being around her that she’s going to do something really great.

Every day since that day, I’ve been wondering— BUT WHAT?  

So I went into teaching. Because I loved kids, and I loved working in a place where my work made a difference in real time and in the future. I went to college, and got all the degrees, and all the credentials and all the labels that said “Teacher.”

Being a teacher seemed like it was going to be a really great thing. Probably THE Thing. Except it wasn’t. Not then, for me, anyway.

I put in a solid and commendable effort too. Eleven years in Elementary Education including a three year stint in School Administration, and then five semesters as a College Professor. And I was a good teacher. I made a difference. I know I did great work.

But instead of lighting me on fire, it was burning me out.

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They say when you find the right one you just know. They say things will just match up, that your heart and your head and your gut will all be saying the same thing. They say you won’t doubt it, or yourself.

They say that when you find the one, you’ll suddenly realize why all those that came before it didn’t work out. They say because when you find the right fit, it just, works, no forcing, no compromising, no negotiation. Existence without resistance.

That’s true for love anyway, in my experience. That’s exactly how it worked for me. But what if “it” is a job? What if “it” is a purpose? What if “it” is the thing that you make your life’s work?

Right. About that. . .

Here I am 35, three or ten career changes past the one I picked when I was six years old, and I still don’t know what the fuck I want to be when I grow up. I mean I do, kinda, but I’m totally not doing it, yet. Continue reading



I want to talk to you about this time I felt stuck. Really stuck. Really down. Really not myself.

Depressed. I would actually classify this thing that happened, that I’m coming out of, as depressed. And that is scary as fuck.

I have lots of reasons why it might have happened. Significant health issues, insomnia, injuries and work limiting access my practice, financial hell, not teaching anymore, not sharing yoga the way I love to share it. The things that I identify myself with, the things that help make me, be me, were not secure.

And even though I am wrapped in love. And even though I have so many things to be grateful for, and even though I am never, ever, ever standing anywhere, at anytime, alone, I felt removed. Not having all my things in place all ultimately resulted in me not showing up powerfully for myself, or for anyone else.

Outside of the things that I do — who am I?

I spent three years in inquiry, three years exploring, three years doing the work and building heat by throwing every available stick in the fire, and then suddenly, I just sat down and stared at the flames. What did I build? Why did I build it? Who is it for? How do I keep it going?

What the fuck do I do now?

Continue reading