Throughout 2018 and into the winter of 2019, I composted my life.
What do I mean by that?
I let it all go.
I let go of the bulk of the business that supported me for 12 years.
I let go of my marriage.
I let go of my dreams of becoming a mother.
Here I was about to turn 45 and I was faced with the truth that
As you may know from my last blog post, I’ve been moving through deep grief in the past few months. And even though I’ve been finding some wonderful gifts brought about by the process of grief, it also gets quite crushing and I needed something to help me reset.
So I went to Ireland for twelve days.
The initial impetus for the trip was to …
Imagine yourself as a musical instrument.
Pretend for a moment that you’re a piano, or a guitar, or a drum.
Imagine the edges of your body being the walls of the instrument, and imagine feeling the hollowness inside. Your body as a resonance chamber for the sound the instrument will emit.
Imagine now the music being played, and imagine the waves of sound moving through the instrument. Invisible vibrations that are nonetheless absolutely real. The walls of the instrument feel the sound and move at the frequency of the vibrations from the keys being struck, the strings being pulled, or the hyde of the drum being tapped.
I’ve always been easy to laugh. My Venezuelan cousins teased me as kids because they’d make up silly jokes that even they didn’t think were funny, and I thought they were hilarious.
It’s almost as if the child in me was tapped into the inherent joy of their silliness rather than getting caught up in what ends up being our adult, intellectualized funny/not-funny pre-requisite for allowing ourselves to laugh.
My friend and colleague Johanna Lynn from Canada and I did a Facebook Live today where we chatted about how family patterns and ancestry shows up in our life in countless ways.