It’s Saturday night. I’ve been running around doing all the things all day and now I’m sitting in the backseat of a Lyft driver’s car with my ten year old son. We’re on our way to his first big concert, tickets in hand for Lower Level seats for the Maroon 5 show at the Golden One Center. My son has told the driver he’s heading to his first big concert and the driver is now recounting his own first experience. He’s grinning and laughing and telling the story with joy and detail, his voice inflecting, hands gesturing, body relaxed.

And then it hits me.

Someday, this is the story that my son will tell about his first concert. This moment, right now, the story of the two of us in the backseat on the way to this concert. This is part of a core memory moment.

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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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All week last week I was feeling anxious. Unstill. Struggling to stay in the moment, any moment.

I let my classes out early. I rushed everywhere and was still late. I wore a watch, and checked it, even during yoga, which I left. . . early. Twice.  I checked the time even when assisting.

I never do that.

Like ever.

All week, I could not turn off a total body sense of urgency to




For nothing. For everything. For no one, and for everyone.


By Sunday evening,  I felt like something was going to burst out my chest, literally perhaps. I was looking for some kind of release— somatic maybe— and what I was doing wasn’t working, yet.

So I went for a run because, sitting in it (whatever “it” was) any longer wasn’t working. I was craving efficient motion. Immediate results.

Yes, there is total irony in that truth. Clearly. But it worked.

Five blocks in and my heart rate slowed. Yes. Slowed. Ten blocks and the space between my forehead softened. Two miles and my shoulders dropped away from my ears. By the third mile I had forgotten what I was doing or where I was.

So I stopped. And I saw. And I felt.

And I reconnected with the moment.

Around me was the abundant beauty of spring in Sacramento. Up and down the streets were people biking, walking, talking, and engaging.

Present. People were present. And that was perfect and enough.

As am I.  As are you. Because,


You are whole and complete and exactly where you’re supposed to be.


There is nothing to rush. There is no where else to be. There is no “done,” anyway.


To be alive is to be impermanent.

All things change. Always. And thus, the attachment we place to time becomes somewhat arbitrary. Why rush? So we can wait? And, why wait? For whom? For what?

Frantic motion is not a solution. Neither is hiding, stuffing, or inauthenticity.

Refuse to live in multiple spaces. Get present. Not behind. Not ahead.

Get real. It’s enough. I promise.

There is this time, there is this space, there is this now. It won’t be back and it won’t wait for later.

There is simply this moment; so be in it.

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“You like living in chaos,” I was informed recently.

“I do not!” I replied immediately (and indignantly).” I like routines and structure. For some things. Sometimes. For a few parts of my life. Well hmmm.”

“I just like flexibility and the ability to be spontaneous. And change. I really like change. I don’t like predictability. Usually. Well sometimes I do. I just like space, and freedom and choice and doing what I want to do when I want to do it and with the people I want there.”

That’s not chaos. That’s being alive. Okay fine. Maybe it’s also chaos. Controlled(ish) chaos though.”

End scene.

Okay, so let’s look at that conversation, because how you do anything is how you do everything, right? Let’s consider where that shows up in my, uh, life.

Up first, oxymorons, anyone?

Walking contradictions. I am a living breathing opposition of terms. I like to be chill, but I can’t stop moving. I’ve calmed (the fuck) down but I’ve also upped my game. I like having plans, but only if I can write them in pencil. I like to know what’s next, but I love surprises more than chocolate. I cook but hate cleaning, am articulate but curse like a sailor, am strong but love feeling small, etc., etc., etc…

The takeaway- I am not defined by any one term or thing, nor do I want to be. I am willing and adaptable.

I’m a yes.
To all of it.

Second point- see above. That can be problematic, often.

In saying yes to possibility, I have created a bit of. . . dynamic motion.

I’m happy and positively in love with my life now. For real. I am thriving in the energy in which I’ve surrounded myself.  I recognize that it’s taken a lot of work to get here, like a whole lot.

However, I’m coming to terms with the fact that by running so far from a life ruled by the misperception of safety in categories I ended up standing in my own special kind of volcanic residue.

I might have gone a bit far out of bounds.


But then again, I like pushing my limits.


Which brings me to my third reflection- the rationalization of my own bullshit.

I’m like the Queen of explaining myself, evidently, even though I’ve made a lot of progress in that department (I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true). My verbose response makes allows one to draw the inference that rather than having learned the lesson of “less is more,” I’m uh, still working on the application of that concept in the real world (like in this paragraph. . .where I’m using a whole lot of words to say- I talk a lot).

So (as it is always so), just like in my daily life where I have a strong tendency to overdo it that’s pretty much exactly how I communicate.


I’m not apologizing for that. I’m not criticising myself for it either. Just observing.

So, in sum,

  1. I’m a yes.

  2. I like living outside of my comfort zone.

  3. I go big.

The end.

“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.”

C.G. Jung

*Sidenote- I’m finding my summary rather ironic in size and message. 

*Sidenote to the sidenote – there I go again with the talking. 

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