Another Ending, Another Goodbye

This past year has been quite the year of endings and goodbyes it seems.

it is with great sadness I share with you that River Garden Yoga Center, the home to my group breathwork circles since I moved back from NY in 2015, will be closing its doors on June 1st. The space will be reimagined into another type of community space and I’m not sure if I’m allowed to reveal yet what that is, but just know it will be in very good hands.

The magic and healing that we created together in that lower studio cave will be something I cherish forever. I can still hear our breath syncing up together before the start of the playlist, still feel the power of our voices, and still remember the incredible experiences, stories, and hearts that were shared with bits of chocolate and nuts in circle. I’m eternally grateful to have been given the gift of holding space in that room where it felt like we were being held in the embrace of the earth while tapping into deep emotion and profound moments. I’ve met truly incredible people in that room and felt completely in my purpose, in my body, and in sync with the cosmos. I will miss making beautiful center pieces as an offering to our circle, seeing you get all cozy with all the props, and moving about the room anointing you with oil and vibrations from my singing bowl. I will miss being left at the end of the night, tenderly cleaning up the space, feeling sweaty and satisfied by the work we did together there.

To give a proper goodbye, I’ll be holding one last circle at River Garden and you’re invited to come if you’re local. We won’t be doing breathwork (as I don’t feel quite comfortable breathing vigorously indoors together quite yet) but it will be a special ceremony I’m scheming up to honor our hearts and the dreams we are dreaming underneath the light of the full moon. I ask that you wear a mask to your mat so everyone can feel comfortable coming if they wish.

Each time I think about it, I feel waves of grief and gratitude. River Garden, thank you for everything.

{And please help me hold the intention for my next space to find me when the timing is right for us to breathe together in-person again. xo!}

The Anticipation of Blooming

In December of 2019, the River Garden Yoga Center teachers did a Secret Santa and mine got me a potted amaryllis. Being a novice plant mama, I loved receiving a new plant baby as a gift!

I didn’t really know how to take care of it though and all it did that first year was grow long green leaves that eventually got yellowish brown and fell off. At some point, close to Christmas of 2020, it was just a stubby bulb in the pot. I remember seeing a blooming amaryllis at the grocery store and texting a picture to my husband exclaiming: “this is what it’s supposed to look like!”

Then! On one of the gardening groups on Facebook, someone posted about the growing process of an amaryllis. The green leaves are what bring nourishment into the bulb and at some point in the year, you stop watering it and put it in a dark place to hibernate. When you bring it back out into the world to begin watering, it will grow the stalk that holds the buds with the flowers.

So I gave this a go. And to my great excitement, it bloomed!

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There are so many delicious metaphors for us humans in this little story about my plant.

The need to hibernate and shore up our nutrients for the growing process.

The importance of doing research/self-inquiry/experimentation on how to take care of something/ourselves.

The letting go of “supposed to” and allowing the space for a different kind of timeline.

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But I think what I loved most about this little story was realizing how FUN the anticipation of the blooming was.

Most of the plants I have in the house don’t have budding flowers, so the excitement of watching something grow (in February no less!) and change little by little each day tapped into a giddiness that felt like it came straight from my inner child. Not knowing what to expect and just being witness with a sense of wonder and allowing was a really freeing process.

And I thought: what if I gave MYSELF this permission to grow and change on my own timeline and in my own way. With wonder and allowing. With anticipation and excitement.

What if we did that for ourselves?

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As I reflect on growing pains and growth spurts, I know growing and changing can be challenging. We are asked to push our edge, to take a leap of faith, to stretch beyond what we thought was possible, to have hard conversations, to get out of the routine and the comfortable. What if we also threw in a dash of anticipation, a splash of fun, and stirred it all up with a bit of play?

As the moon continues to grow on it’s way to being full (on Monday!) and we celebrate Earth Day every day, may we find the excitement, hope, and promise in the growing and blooming process as we move even more deeply into the spring season. xo!

Fools Spring + Full Moon in Libra

I don’t remember where I read this recently, but the thawing of the earth is like crying.

The moisture of the soil loosening up from the winter’s hard freeze. The soft bouncy ground, the squelch of mud underfoot, the sound of rushing water to the street drains past the melting snow ledges leaning into curbs.

It’s a messy time of year. A time of year that requires a surrendering to the in-between. A softening of perfectionism into the practice of being in the moment.

What layers shall I wear today? Can I let my hopes up of warmer, brighter days or is this just fools spring? And isn’t it kinda fun to have the freedom that comes with being the fool? Giving ourselves the permission to make mistakes, change our minds, and try something new without being loyal and devoted to it for the rest of our lives?

What a beautiful (and muddy!) time to be alive for this awakening and unfurling.

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The last blog I wrote, I was feeling the deep desire to hibernate, but already this month my body is feeling the subtle changes of the thaw.

You know that feeling when you first wake up and you do a big huge stretch of your limbs and you feel that pull of the tissues from your fingers to your toes? That’s the feeling I’ve been craving lately.

The stretching tight of the body and the yummy release afterwards. The breath of fresh fragrant air after a long cold winter.

I’ve also been feeling the heartache of the gun violence and death and hardships and the grieving and the messiness of being a human. Of being a human living in a pandemic for over a year.

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My little pack added four more muddy paws to our family and with it the joyful, playful hope (and exhaustion!) that comes with puppy love. It’s doing my heart extra good right now.

This weekend it’s a full moon in Libra - an opportunity to feel all the fullness. Libra’s symbol is the scales of justice and I can’t help but also think of the equinox we had just a weekend ago: the day where the amount of daylight is the same as the darkness. The balance between shadow and bright.

My wish for you this Libra Full Moon Spring Equinox weekend is to allow space for both sides of the coin. To honor the sadness while finding the joy. For feeling your rage while also feeling your softness. To acknowledge the heartache and embrace the hope. Rather than either or, can it be yes and … to find balance in the chaos.

{In my case, I’m holding space for feeling tired (4 am potty outside) and the reason I’m tired (puppy Hazel!)…. :) }

Happy first spring full moon friend!

Untethered + Wintering

Photo credit: Daniel Buron

This time last year, I had my whole year planned out. On the calendar, I was working two retreats and had breathwork groups scheduled on the 2nd and 4th Friday of every month at two of my favorite yoga studios plus was planning to add in a couple extra Breathwork for Grief sessions at Tall Reeds Healing Arts where I was also doing 1:1 sessions.

Well, we all know how the year unraveled from there come March.

As we rolled into the new year THIS year, I had a blank slate before me. Without the usual suspects on my schedule as a foundation for my work, what was I going to do? What did I want to create?

I entered January feeling untethered.

Without the regular touchstones of what I worked hard to build over the years, I felt like I was floating out in space.

Of course, I could continue to do exactly what I have done, just do it online. But there was something about the fresh calendar with no limitations, expectations, obligations that made me hesitate before starting the process of filling up the days.

And what I found while I was untethered was this urge to do some wintering.

Partly inspired by the book Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May and partly inspired by being a human in a pandemic in winter (a phrase I heard from fellow breathwork practitioner and friend Aimee Derbes) .

The changes that take place in winter are a kind of alchemy, an enchantment performed by ordinary creatures to survive.
~Katherine May

I realized I relished the quiet space to listen to my intuition.
I enjoyed the deep cold and snow covered world of dog park mornings in the dawn light.
I delighted in having slower and shorter days.

Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through.
~Katherine May

I’ve been gobbling up some fiction novels after a year of non-fiction books for book club.
I’ve been living in sweatshirts, sweatpants, and always two pairs of socks.
I’ve been partaking in all the winter play activities with my mom and my brother: tubing, skating, snowshoeing.
I’ve been cooking stews and chilis.
I’ve been creating a regular sweat session routine in the basement followed by hot showers, at-home manicures, and tea.
I’ve been watching movies and feel-good-shows with my husband.
I’ve been lighting all the candles, salt lamps, and twinkle lights at dusk.

I wonder if I’ve ever truly known how to embrace winter before now??

In our relentlessly busy contemporary world, we are forever trying to defer the onset of winter. We don’t ever dare to feel its full bite, and we don’t dare to show the way that it ravages us. An occasional sharp wintering would do us good. We must stop believing these times in our lives are somehow silly, a failure of nerve, a lack of willpower. We must stop trying to dispose of them. They are real, and they are asking something of us. We must learn to invite winter in. We may never choose to winter, but we can choose HOW.
~Katherine May

And I know we go through winter seasons that aren’t always cozy and comfortable.

Sometimes our wintering is a period of grieving a loved one or a time when we are dealing with illness, depression, disappointment, loneliness.

I know that a more challenging wintering will arrive for me as I have people and fur babies that I love and we don’t live forever.

And so I’m practicing my wintering for when a harsh and heartbreaking one arrives, I’ll hopefully lean into it and not resist it as much if I hadn’t given it a try once before.

So my wish for you (which I posted on the socials for the new moon but is just as relevant for this coming full moon): the chance to pause, to breathe, to rest, to dream, to retreat. For you to remember that you are worthy of slowing down.

PS: and in case you’re feeling the urge to do a little wintering yourself, join me for breathwork this Thursday (or in the recording on your own time) as we use our breath to sink into stillness. The signs of spring are s l o w l y starting to beckon, so let’s set aside some time to slow down together and sink into this winter nest before the next growing season.