I pull energy from my surroundings. This was something that both exhilarated and exhausted me when I lived in NYC. There, I was constantly bombarded with competing energies and couldn’t help but absorb the good and bad. It happens here in Atlanta, but to a lesser degree. I’m grateful that I get to work from home because it allows me to focus my energy where I need it and not feel drained. On the flip side, I find myself feeling empty if I’m alone for too long. When this happens, I go to a coffee shop — being around people working, talking, dreaming, reading is the perfect remedy.
I meditate with crystals most mornings. Sometimes I hold them in my hand as I breathe, other times they sit in front of me. I don’t do this because I believe crystals have magical properties or divine powers to heal. They’re just minerals from the earth.
It’s the symbolism we ascribe to them that gives them power. By letting a crystal — or rock, or anything — represent something meaningful, our mind focuses on that intention. When we focus on things like positive energy, strength, alignment, intuition, love, and healing, they become true. Where thoughts go, energy flows. It’s not crystals that are powerful — it’s our thoughts.
Gotta work to let the light in sometimes. Especially into the place you’ve already decided are dark. Especially into the stories you’ve been telling yourself for so long that you’re no longer sure what really, actually happened — and you’re no longer sure if what really, actually happened really, actually matters.
Let me tell you something — what matters is what you say matters. You can shift what’s inside you however you want to. And if you think a perception, a thought, a memory, a conviction is too dark, then by all means, send some of that divine light there. It’s OKAY to do that. You get to decide.
I want a wild and beautiful life. I want sunsets and mountains and oceans and endless belly laughs. I want to understand myself, to live in alignment with my truth, and to trust my flow. I want late nights with countless stars and soul-connecting conversations. I want deep sleeps and lazy mornings, and to always feel strong and good in my skin. I want pride and sweat, exertion and joy. I want to create. I want to love deeply and be loved deeply. I want to do what I'm meant to do. I want to live with my heart open, my soul forward, and expansively. Every damn day
As the yoga class progressed, my anxiety flared up, as it tends to do when I let my guard down. My thoughts turned to worries about what I said to a colleague the other day and if they took it the way I meant it, if I was doing what I was meant to be doing with my life, if I’d left a candle burning in my living room. Stop looking for pain. Stop creating negativity. Life is good. Be grateful. Inhale so, exhale hum. I am that. Stripped away of judgment, just me. The me I was with earlier, laying on my mat. It sort of worked.
Sometimes I find myself looking into the past, wishing I’d been more honest, brave, loving, and connected. (It’s funny how the small bumps in a long, lovely road are the ones that our minds always drive back to.) Then I look at my life now, and am so damn grateful for where and who I am. And I know that every bump in the road, even the ones that brought me to my knees, were somehow part of my flow. So when I catch myself looking backwards down my road, examining the bumps, or ahead, fearing the bumps I know will be there, I remind myself to trust.
The waves were higher in Condado than I’d expected. They didn’t appear powerful from the shore, but once I was waist-deep in the light blue water it became a constant game of jumping over or diving under. I held my nose but water still crept in, filling my mouth with the taste of brine and salt. The taste didn’t bother me — I love oysters and seaweed and other ocean foods — but the residual puffiness did. Once, I reacted too slowly and was knocked off my feet, tumbled against the rough bottom, sunglasses ripped away. Yet I stayed in the water, because it demanded my full presence.
Beautiful places can bring up the worst pain. I learned this as we drove through Iceland, surrounded by some of the most stunning works of art earth is capable of producing. Lush green hills that stretched for miles turned into black jagged cliffs piercing the sky turned into endless rolling blue waves. The beauty seemed to make the choking darkness inside me all the more pronounced. As I looked out the car’s window, I took a deep breath in, holding the clean air until I no longer could. Then I let it go, imagining my pain coming out with the air and disappearing into the land and sea.
I started coughing after dinner. A dry, hacking cough that seemed completely pointless yet couldn’t be stopped. The little numbers on my inhaler read 000. Nothing left. “There’s a urgent care center nearby,” our host said. I was scared of this — I didn’t know anything about the Indonesian healthcare system. I was more scared of not breathing, so we walked down the dusty sidestreet. The building was filled with children holding gaze to cut arms and men slouched with glazed eyes. The host accompanied me to the counter. Five minutes later, I walked out holding an inhaler and ginger herbs. The trip cost me less than $6.
Here’s the thing I’ve learned about being broken. The world doesn’t abandon you. You think you would be discarded, pushed aside for the pursuit of perfection, but this world doesn’t foster perfection. It fosters chaos, confusion, progress, and growth.
There’s an old Japanese art where broken pottery is repaired by filling the cracks with gold. This art form does not hide brokenness, it celebrates it. The breaks become a part of the object’s history and uniqueness, and make it stronger. Some collectors will smash valuable pieces of pottery so they could put them back together with gold.
They understand that brokenness is an opportunity for strength and beauty.
"Do you think about things people said years ago?”my acupuncturist asked as she placed needles in my neck. I imagined the release like a warm flood. “Do you think about things you said, and beat yourself up about them?" She had unknowingly summarized my last therapy session. I nodded, unable to look up from the table’s donut hole. "That's an earth trait," she said. "You need to practice release. Some people like to write on paper and dissolve it in water. But not you. You need to burn things. You have a lot of fire in you. Don't be afraid to burn things that need to go."