With The Time We Have (a plug for simple pleasures)

Content warning: I briefly mention losing a loved one, so take care of yourself if you need to skip this one. xo!

My dad died when he was 38.

In response to hearing that fact when I would share it, most folks say to me, “oh, he was so young". And he was. Over the years, I’ve had half a thought about what it will feel like to turn 38 myself and if it will be a big deal and how I might feel about it.

Having turned 37 in December, I’m a little surprised that it’s already fully on my mind. I’m realizing how young my dad really was, in a way I didn’t understand as a kid. I’m reminded of that simple truth that life is short and we aren’t given a guarantee of how many years we get on this beautiful planet.

Leading up to my birthday this year, I wondered, “if I only got 38 years in this particular body, in this particular story, in this particular time, how am I living?” What am I doing with my one precious life?

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birthday selfie!

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And when I say “what am I doing with my life?”, I don’t necessarily mean the big career goals or lifetime milestones, although those are great to contemplate too. Lately though, I’ve been mostly thinking about how I spend my days. How I live in the mundane, in-between moments of everyday life. Like, am I actually paying attention to the taste of each sip of coffee? Am I allowing myself to stare out the window and daydream? Do I take the time to notice how the air feels on my skin or to savor the way my body sweats when I work out? Do I let the sound of Hazel’s whining when she wants to play make me feel frustrated because I’m focused on what I need to get done or do I let it be a reminder to take a break and savor her puppy energy while it’s still here? (the answer to that one is both! ha!)

Or am I simply rushing from one thing to the next? Always focused on what’s to come? Getting stuck in the scroll and the expectations of productivity? Feeling stressed in the tasks on the never-ending to-do list? Giving into hustle and grind culture and letting that dictate my worthiness?

Where am I placing the power of my attention and how am I spending my time?

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Even just bringing awareness to the simple pleasures that make me happy to be human have helped me be more intentional in my routines and rituals. Knowing that we don’t actually live forever provides a litmus test for making decisions on how we want to craft our life and remembering to pay attention. When I think about my favorite parts of being human, it usually includes those tiny little things like a hot shower, a full nights sleep, a walk in the woods, seeing the most beautiful sunset sky, jamming to a song that makes each of the cells in my body vibrate, having a heart to heart conversation, laughing so hard I might pee my pants, COFFEE, hugs, a book that expands my mind or enthralls my imagination… the list goes on and on……… In honor of my dad, I’ll be exploring all of the things that I’d put on my simple pleasures list!

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And I admit: some days are a total flop when it comes to paying attention to the moments! The other day, I arrived at our evening walk with the dogs and I felt so far out of my body, so swirly up in my mind, my jaw clenched so tightly, and my eyes so tired from staring at a screen that I realized I forgot to take breaks like I had promised myself. I forgot to eat mindfully and breathe deeply, even if just for a few minutes. It certainly is a practice to keep coming back to.

It feels impossible some days to be present and I know we all have life experiences (jobs we have, people who rely on us for care, how resourced we are) that might determine how much flexibility and capacity we have for some of these things. I think when we pay attention to our senses and those simple things that bring joy…. they can be touchstones for presence and awareness that feel accessible as we move about our day despite our circumstances.

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So for the full moon this weekend, my wish for you (and for me!) is that you (we!) explore and savor the simple pleasures that make us feel most alive. For those of us in the northern hemisphere, winter is still here and it’s the perfect time for finding those cozy things that make us warm, rested, nourished, dreamy, deep, and still.

in the time that you have, May you find the magic in the mundane, the sweetness in the slowness, and the pulse of your (simple) pleasures.

The Cost Of Loving

A couple weeks ago now, I had a breathwork session for myself and, since it was the first time breathing since my grandma passed, I knew there were a lot of tears to be shed. (I wrote a tribute to her on the socials here). True to form, my old friend Grief showed up with a slightly new flavor with this fresh new loss and I left the clinic with mascara-less eyelashes, but feeling a deep sense of groundedness and connection… a connection not only to both my loved ones and my grief, but to Life itself.

With the gentle witnessing of my space holder and the coaxing of my breath, I was able to allow the heart-cracking-open deep well of sadness fill my body as we acknowledged that my relationship with grief work is a special one. It takes bravery and courage and the willingness to be overtaken by however it wants to show up. Because no matter how often we’ve experienced grief in the past, it’s still hard. It often still hurts. Even with feeling connected to our loved ones beyond the veil, the space where their physical presence once was in our lives will always be missed.

In the last handful of years, I’ve had the blessing with the opportunity to walk two special people to the threshold between life and death, my grandma being the most recent one. I’m proud of myself for rising to the occasion. For showing up. Near the end of my breathwork session a couple weeks ago, an image of my dad popped in. An image of his cancer-ridden body near the end and I felt my heart say, “see Dad! I can do it! I can show up for this stage of life! My 12 year old body maybe didn’t know what to do with it all and I did the best I could, but I have the tools now to help me navigate and be here with it.”

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Because that’s the other thing about grief. Once you’ve experienced it, you know that the cost of loving is to feel the loss. We love despite the loss. Depending on how long I live and how deeply and openly I love (especially being a dog mama!), there are lots more opportunities for grief to come for me.

And my practice will be to not run away, but to stay and surf the waves and hold the space for all of it, as best as I can with the resources and capacity that I have.

That’s the cost of loving. And loving makes life worth living.

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My full moon wish for us is to honor our grief so we can continue to love deeply. xo!

Hannah Gadsby and the Power of Story

I finished Hannah Gadsby’s book Nanette last Saturday morning and I’ve been savoring each of its pages as I tried to figure out how to put into words for the past month and a half how much her work has meant to me. (If you’re unfamiliar with Hannah, which I was until earlier this year, she’s a comedian from Australia with a couple Netflix specials and years of experience in producing live comedy shows). I was gifted tickets to her show when she was touring in Minneapolis in July. The afternoon before the show, I watched her first Netflix show Nanette for the first time… just to make sure I was a little familiar with some of her body of work before seeing her newest show, Body Of Work.

I loved it. I laughed, I cried, I felt in awe at the weaver of story that she is and the powerful mark she was making while being a woman in art/comedy/the world.

Then, seeing her show live was one of the most transforming experiences I’ve had in a long while. I actually have tears in my eyes at how impactful and special it was just writing this now. The two hour show had me laughing more than I have in years. And laughing out loud with complete strangers felt so damn good! Being able to poke fun and laugh (while also inwardly groaning) at the jokes by an Australian that were made about the health care in this country, the messed up bans on peoples bodies, and the other dumpster fire mess we find ourselves in these days released a small layer of stress, despair, rage, and heaviness I’d been carrying and it felt like a healing sense of solidarity to be in a room of people who also felt similarly. A solidarity that’s different than just the sharing of posts and outrage on the socials (which is helpful too) and I didn’t realize I needed.

And the storytelling! The crafting of the thoughtful and intentional journey of taking the audience on a ride through a feel-good, love story between two women bucking the patriarchal heterosexual norms by choosing to love out loud (but in a quiet introverted way) was perfection. I was enchanted throughout and delighted at the ending. It reminded me of the power and magic of storytelling. It reawakened a part of myself that I had been missing: the part that craves being in the room with other people sharing in the range of emotions of humanity, the part that lights up my cells by being in a theatre with a gorgeous stage, and the part of my soul that has stories and art and expression to share with you.

I lived on the high of that experience for weeks and cherished the continued connection to Hannah and her bravery, brilliance, and backstory as I read slowly through her book every morning while sipping my coffee.

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Shortly after seeing her show, in one of the breathwork sessions I had for myself with my friend Amy, I realized I’ve been hiding a bit recently. With the volatile, divisive energy around those who have differing opinions, with all the changes to the social platforms/algorithms/reels, and with my own excavating of beliefs/biases/privileges/purpose/voice/heart, I’ve been quiet in my creating. Quiet in my art. Quiet in my writing.

(Not that this is a bad thing - not every part of the process and our cycle needs to be on display, especially if the best thing to do is to listen and learn from others - so just sharing my observation.)

I’ve written many a post or piece to you in my head or in my drafts, but they never got posted or published… for a couple of reasons I think. One: out of fear of making a mistake, of causing more harm. Two: the nature of how social media has changed in that it’s no longer just about pictures and words, but videos and short snippets while also favoring frequent posting and less emphasis on the creative process (another conversation for another time). Three: this year is about “homecoming” for me (again another conversation for another time) and I’ve been finding my way back home to myself.

But the other thing I realized in my cells during that breathwork session is, despite all of those reasons contributing to the fear of being seen, I have trained for this. I’ve put time and energy into practicing this art. In fact, in one of the actor trainings I did years ago, we would call ourselves “actor warriors”. Telling story is my craft and my love, whether through stage or page or photo. I want to continue to show up for it and for the process, whether quietly or out loud (maybe even in an introverted way!). Because stories matter. Stories are healing. Stories are nourishment and soul food for times like these.

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And so, this long missive is to thank Hannah Gadsby for her humor and heart. To my brother Eric for connecting me to her. And to the power of Storytelling for its ability to change lives, including mine.

My full moon wish for us:

May we all find the healing in our own stories and have someone who will listen to it with their whole hearts as we share.

Happy to be back writing to you. xo!

A New Beginning Needs An Ending

Saying goodbye to Stockheart

Covid has not been kind to most folks, particularly yoga centers and brick and mortar spaces.

We’ve all had places we love close or change shape as we’ve learned to adapt, pivot, and expand during a contraction. I feel like many of my newsletters as of late have been the bearer of bad news where another one of the beloved spaces I work out of is closing its current iteration.

So here I am again with some more news! The building I’ve been seeing 1:1 clients at in the Lyn-Lake area of Uptown, MN will be leased out to a group in July and I’ll be moving my practice yet again.

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This ending, unlike some of the others I’ve experienced in the last two-ish years, feels more like a beginning though, despite my grieving the soon-to-be loss of it. This space was the one I first started in when I moved back to MN from NY and it’s the one that has stayed a constant through the height of the pandemic. I’ll forever be grateful for this home to land my work in.

And! I’ve grown and changed a lot since 2017, particularly in the pressure cooker that has been 2020-2022. I feel like I’ve been to the underworld and back again. I’ve traveled to the outside edges of my spiral and I’m working my way back to my center. So it feels appropriate to be starting fresh in a new home where my ever-evolving, learning, unlearning, seeking, healing self can plant some roots in a new way that feels really grounded and aligned.

I’m really excited for this next stage and, while I’m not quite ready to announce my new home yet, you are going to love it.

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So the thing I’m really feeling into right now is:

In order to have a new beginning, there is an ending.

Sometimes the ending is what’s most heavy or what draws the most focus. Sometimes it’s the new thing that’s carrying the most potency. And SOMETIMES, it’s the in between moments. That transition time before the beginning but just after the ending. The unknown. The void.

Each phase of the cycle has medicine to share if we take time to notice. Where are you in yours?

To celebrate this ending and to not rush through to the next thing, I’m offering sessions in June at a discount to finish out my time there with a bang and to give YOU (or your loves) some hands-on healing / touch / breathing / balancing / grounding / care that you need for your own growth and cycles. In-person or virtual! Would love to see you on my schedule and on my table if it aligns with what you’re needing.

Use code STOCKHEART to get $30 off your session!

And in the meantime, I’m sending you big love for your beginnings, your endings, the in-between moments, and your evolution and expansion. We can do this! xo