All of this took place from my bedroom, sitting in front of my computer.

My high school sweetheart was a video gamer. He introduced me to online role-playing games where you create a character in a virtual universe and engage in real-time with other players around the globe. Watching him play fascinated me. I decided to try it out. My first character was a wood elf bard who played magical music with the power to heal and strengthen her companions.

It didn’t take long for the addiction to take over. The games are designed so that the more time you invest, the more powerful you become, which of course gives the best experience. After a day at school, I’d complete my homework and hop into the game. On weekends, I’d stay up all night, eating at my computer and playing until sunrise, only getting up for bathroom breaks. When you’re in battle, every second counts. Your team is relying on you. Stepping away is dangerous, both for the health of your character and your reputation among your tribe.

My parents protested. They didn’t think it was healthy for me to spend all this time on a computer game. My dad threatened to disconnect the internet. Sometimes he’d unplug the connection in the garage. I knew how to plug it back in. I countered their complaints with sass, “Would you rather me be out on the street doing drugs?” I kept up my straight As in all my classes. I didn’t see the harm. At least not yet.

Because this game took so much of my time, I stopped hanging out with friends at school. With eyeglasses and braces, I felt like the not-so-cute girl. This game gave me a place to hide, a way to make friends who couldn’t judge me by my looks. They only saw the fighter. Eventually the relationship with my gamer boyfriend ended. I met more interesting people online and even developed a long-distance relationship.

Then came the night of my high school graduation. My grandma drove 45 minutes to our house to attend the ceremony. She gifted me a beautiful heart-shaped jewelry box, engraved with my name and graduation date.

As I got dressed in my bedroom, intense loneliness came over me. I imagined sitting in the stadium surrounded by my classmates, people who no longer knew me and vice versa. I had isolated myself and didn’t want to face the distance I’d created. I’d rather spend the night with my real friends, those who supported and celebrated with me every night in our virtual world.

Locking my bedroom door, I refused to come out. I missed out on my high school graduation, my prom, and a sense of community and belonging so I could fight monsters. I had no regrets. At the time, this choice made me happy.

Then I started college. I moved three hours north to a place where I knew no one. On Friday nights, while my roommate went out with friends, I sat in our room. I had a new video game and a new character. I played a shaman in a fierce bull-like body.

One night my roommate pleaded with me to go out with her. At first it was awkward meeting new people.

My social skills had been damaged from lack of use over several years. But slowly I made friends and was having more fun than I did in my shaman life. Soon that video game was in the past, and I didn’t even miss it.

Four years later when I graduated college, my grandma again came up with my parents for the ceremony. I was a completely different person by then. I had a ton of friends with whom I celebrated all week long. I had a lot to be grateful for in the real world.

But the story doesn’t end there. Around that time, a new technology was coming out. One that would eventually threaten our peaceful existence, just like the bad guys in my video game world.

The smartphone.

In the 20 years since the first Apple iPhone debuted, our in-person analog lives have overtime been taken over by phones. We see people walking while staring at their phones, driving while talking on their phones, eating dinner with other people while scrolling on their phones.

What’s happened to our attention and presence?

Just like those role-playing video games sucked me in, so too are our phones. It’s no secret that many apps are designed to hook our attention for as long as possible, exploiting how our brains work, so the companies can get richer off of our data.

In the process, we’ve become more distracted, anxious, stressed, unhappy, and lonely.

But it doesn’t have to stay this way!

I’m no longer a wood elf bard or a bull-like shaman, but I see the need to bring a band of warriors together again to fight off our common enemy for the sake of preserving our humanness.

We are social creatures who thrive in shared experiences. We are profoundly creative, capable, and loving, yet those qualities become severely diminished when we’re glued to our screens, immersed in a world that takes time away from what matters most, and often leaves us feeling badly about ourselves.

It’s time to start a revolution!

Smartphones have their time and place. We must be mindful about how we use them if we want to preserve our wellbeing and quality of life. How do we do that? We’re up against a big villain and billions of dollars have been invested to keep us hooked.

I’m not intimidated. I’ve been a seasoned fighter since I was 17.

I’m paving the way forward.

It’s time to work and strategize as a team. It’s time to reclaim what’s ours: our time, energy, focus, health, creativity, confidence, vibrance… our lives! Our humanity!

Together we can make that happen. Together we are unbeatable!

It’s time to use our power of choice and choose a new way to live. A way that prioritizes what we value most: our health, family, relationships, creativity.

I once used my voice to protect my tribe of trolls, ogres, and elves. Now I’m using it for all of the human race.

Will you join the fight with me?

Learn how you can join the revolution!

To this day, a feeling of excitement overcomes me when I’m in a room full of books. How exhilarating to be surrounded by so many ideas and stories! An avid reader knows well that deep longing for enough time to read all the books you want.

Upon moving out of state, I couldn’t wait to enroll in my new local library. They issued me a card with the proof of address on my electric bill. I got my library card before my updated license!

These days I find myself engaging with the library in an unexpected way: drawing. Before the big move, I began to crave an art class, something to allow me to create and explore a skill by hand. While searching for activities in my new city, the library’s events kept popping up. This class in particular caught my eye:

Art AND cookies? My inner child squealed as I marked my calendar. (I don’t recall my childhood library ever offering me cookies!) My imagination began to play it down. It’s a free library program after all. I pictured a handful of people sitting in the scattered chairs in the seating area, quietly drawing and doodling in their journals as they wished, occasionally getting up for a cookie or to top off their mug.

The day of the class, I entered the library and was directed to a room in the back. I gasped as I took in the setup. “Is this a library class or a wedding reception?” I asked myself.

Inside the small room were four tables evenly spaced apart, each with four creamsicle hard-plastic chairs. In the center of the tables were carefully laid out center piece decorations: glazed pottery, a rustic copper water dispenser, a vase of artificial lilies, and a curated display of nature- and art-themed books. Weaving through each table’s display was a vine of white and periwinkle flowers.

In the corner by the entrance, a table offered handouts with the day’s suggested activity along with a bucket of regular and colored pencils. Against the wall, another table housed the refreshments: two tea kettles, one for cold and one for boiling water; an impressive assortment of teas; and two boxes of cookies.

The staff member, Bo, who organized the program, offered a simple introduction to the activity, welcomed the newcomers, then took a seat in quietude to let the rest of us tap into our creative flow.

The handout guided us through creating borders and accent lines, the perfect touch to brighten the pen-heavy pages of my journal. I sketched out the examples, slowly building my design with dots, circles, lines, loops, and flowers, then added color.

While deeply focused on my project, occasionally I’d bring my awareness back to the room, observing the soothing sounds. Cookies gently crunched in mouths while whispers offered encouragement or suggestion on technique. The whirring of the pencil sharpener transformed an artist’s dull point, preparing it for delicate detail. The tea kettle bubbled and cookie plastic wrap rustled as others tiptoed around the refreshment table.

After class, some snuck out unnoticed while others lingered to admire each other’s work and chitchat. We were relaxed and refreshed from our focused work yet not quite eager to return to the hustle and bustle and constant stimulation of busy modern life that awaited us outside the library.

I’m grateful this space will be here for me next month and the month after. Every time I show up to Meditative Drawing class, I’ll be greeted by Bo, with the same smile and warmth as my childhood librarian, inviting me into a world of possibility and wonder.

I certainly noticed this with the mango and lychee trees in my old Florida neighborhood. Some years I found fruits in abundance, others trees were practically bare.

“They can’t produce that much fruit every year because it would exhaust their resources.”

Isn’t it fascinating how they regulate production and rest? While not done consciously, I could recognize similar cycles in myself and others.

I know of a guy named Mike who struggled through his bare season.

On the verge of turning 40, Mike’s life was falling apart. His formerly successful t-shirt business shut down. Relationships ended. He feared losing his home. Scared and humiliated, he felt he had nothing to show for himself. All the fruits of his tree had shriveled up and returned to the earth, leaving him empty and vulnerable.

Once out of his pity party, he took action on an idea. He started sending out inspirational emails. He joined Toastmasters with the hope of one day becoming a keynote speaker. One thing led to another and two years later, he had produced his first audio program that took him on a world tour. After losing everything, his tree made a fruitful come back.

Now fast forward 25 years: Mike Dooley is a New York Times Bestselling Author, leads retreats around the world, and still sends out those inspirational emails, famously known as Notes from the Universe.

My verge of turning 40 looked quite different from Mike’s but presented its own hardship. I had a lot to show for myself, including 3 published books! But what had I done since then?

Have you ever looked back to a younger more accomplished version of yourself and thought… what happened?

I often reflect on the year 2019 when my first book, The Worthy Woman Handbook, came out. What an empowering time! I had left an unsuitable relationship, finally choosing myself and my freedom. I involved myself heavily in Toastmasters, thanks to the recommendation from Mike (I don’t know him personally but I’ve read his books). Through Toastmasters, I became a skilled speaker and met my now husband. When I replay old speeches, I’m impressed at how eloquent and moving they were! Perhaps at times, I’ve felt a little jealous, as if looking at someone else’s life.

What happened to that empowered woman?

Where is that version of me that challenged herself and conquered scary goals? Who stepped in front of audiences and captivated them with her stories?

On the cusp of 40, I’d fallen into a rut of mediocrity. I had let speaking go. I couldn’t find the inspiration to promote my books. When I tried, it felt forced and inauthentic.

I thought that running away to Spain and backpacking for a couple of weeks would reignite my spark. Both times I came home even more confused than when I left. I didn’t find what I was looking for…. yet.

What was I meant to do with the rest of my life?

Mike’s story rang in my head.

“I’m about to turn 40,” I told myself. “If some remarkable turn of events doesn’t happen soon, it might never happen!” By no means did I dream of becoming a New York Times Bestselling Author or leading international retreats. I just wanted to feel aligned. I wanted to feel inspired again! I wanted my fruit to grow back!

Just like Mike, I followed my intuition. With no idea of where this would take me, I packed up and moved to North Carolina. I allowed myself time to rest and settle in but quickly felt a surge of energy returning to me, as if I was meant to be here.

To make friends, I went to the one place I knew would welcome me: Toastmasters! After just a few weeks of warming up my skills, I found out that I didn’t lose any of it. I had just stopped seeking opportunities to practice. It feels so good to be there again, telling my stories and learning about theirs. I even landed a speaking gig and I’ve been over the moon looking forward to it!

Just like Mike, I’m following an idea: leading a dance-based movement practice. The inspiration started years ago, but the rare training opportunity I signed up for had been cancelled. The whispers came back, and now I’m finally putting my own practice together and will soon be sharing it with friends for refinement. If I learned anything from writing Dear Body, Thank You, it’s that intuitive dance feels SO GOOD and uplifting! It is medicine.

No, I don’t have a clear picture yet of where any of this is going. (Do we ever?) What I do know is that 40 is not the end-all be-all. In fact, I’m surrounded by people of various ages embarking on new and exciting adventures, who will probably laugh at anyone thinking 40 is the cutoff.

A friend in her 40s, burnt out on her 20-year photography business, is now leading backpacking retreats.

A retired language professor in her 70s continues to study new languages and books trips to the native-speaking countries to connect with the people and culture.

A long time dancer in her 60s is now learning belly dance and performing in showcases.

After spending their entire lives in New Jersey, my uncle and aunt packed up and moved to Florida to enjoy their retirement.

At 23, I quit a promising full-time IT job that I hated to move back home and enroll in massage therapy school.

People of all ages go through their ups and downs, their seasons of abundance and bare branches.

May we look back at those seasons with the same awe and wonder we give to nature. Without our full awareness or understanding, we allow ourselves to rest so that we can prepare for the times that require our greatest effort and energy.

Isn’t it wonderful to be a part of nature?

In late winter, Enrico returned home for a lengthy period of time as he helped organize his village’s annual carnival. This involved preparing over 100 intricate tree costumes made from real sticks and ivy leaves that envelop the wearers. The end result resembles a forest of walking trees that begins in the woods and descends into the village. Many find room in their foliage for bottles of wine that disappear throughout the day!

I came to know Enrico because him and my husband Jose both trained in the Wim Hof ice bath and breath work program. Looking to make Florida friends, he found Jose’s workshops and came to meet him. With my ancestry going back to parts of Italy, I was curious to get to know him, too.

In the States, many romanticize a life in the Italian countryside. Beautiful landscapes, slower pace of life, limitless wine, fresh tomatoes and olive oil, a bounty of hazelnuts and lemons. Now, a walking tree carnival! Every time I meet an Italian, I want to understand their life from their perspective.

The story that stuck with me

Enrico seemed bored in Tampa. He didn’t like having to drive everywhere. His wife worked long hours at the university. We asked what he did for fun back home, besides hiking and spending time in nature.

“I go to the village bar. If I want to see a friend, I check there first. If they aren’t there, I check the other bar. Eventually I’ll find them. And if not, I’ll find someone else to talk to.”

Socializing in his village is easy. The bars there are not like American bars where people stay out late drinking alcohol. Rather, they’re more like community centers where people gather at any time of day.

The image sank in and I felt a longing for something I never had.

When socializing feels like work

My experience of social life in the States is quite the opposite. Maybe that’s why Enrico felt so out of sorts. It takes effort to maintain most friendships. With busy work schedules, side hustles, and family obligations, get-togethers can require at least two weeks advanced notice.

Often I find myself thinking, “Maybe I won’t want to go for a walk in the park or out to dinner at 5pm on a Tuesday 2 weeks from now. Maybe my body or spirit will need something different then.” But if I don’t schedule ahead, I may never see some of the people I care about. And even with good intentions, some friends I only see a few times a year - or less.

Acknowledging that I lived in Florida for 14 years and knew so many people but couldn’t seem to see them left quite a lonely feeling.

Perhaps that’s why, over time, my friendships have narrowed down to more flexible spontaneous people who I could see regularly and at last minute.

The Italian countryside has earned yet another brownie point for ease of social life. The only experience I’ve had like that is at kava bars in St Pete where the same people frequent and the kava tenders chat liberally with patrons. If Jose and I felt like getting out of the house to socialize but didn’t have any plans, we’d go to a kava bar and usually see someone we know (or meet someone new) and enjoy good conversations. Just before we left Florida to relocate to North Carolina, one of Jose’s kava bar friends organized a farewell gathering for us, a gesture that truly touched me and proved how meaningful community spaces can be.

Settling into a new city

Upon moving to North Carolina, the only person we knew was Andrea, the woman who owns the Airbnb we stayed at when we first visited. With so many common interests, we instantly hit it off and agreed to stay in touch and get together. But I knew I couldn’t rely on one person to satisfy my social needs.

Six weeks in, I haven’t made any close friends - that takes time - yet I don’t feel lonely.

How could it be that I feel less lonely in a place where I know nobody?

From the very first week here, I’ve attended a weekly Toastmasters club, a place to practice public speaking, which I had been part of for many years in Florida. I’ve also been to every meetup of a Spanish language practice group. I regularly visit a teashop where the owner and staff are well versed in herbalism (one of my interests) and pick their brains about plants, things to do, and how to avoid ticks. When I buy my meat at the butcher, I chat with the friendly people behind the counter. I take classes at a yoga studio within walking distance and find the people very welcoming. The other night while cooking dinner at our apartment’s shared grilling area, we had a lovely conversation with another resident.

Six weeks in, I’ve only made two social appointments: dinner with Andrea and coffee with Ken, a young man who happened to show up at both the Spanish meetup and Toastmasters. He’s new to town like us and eager to meet people.

On our five week anniversary, it dawned on me that I feel a deep peace here that was hard to tap into in St. Pete. Sure, the abundance of nature contributes a lot. Perhaps the novelty of it all is a distraction.

It’s also the absence of effort to socialize.

I don’t have to text back and forth with the Toastmasters club to arrange a time that we can all meet. They’re always at the same place, same time, every Wednesday. I don’t have to notify the Spanish meetup if I don’t feel like going one day. If I’m not there, the meeting goes on, and no one will have to reschedule.

Just like Enrico’s village bar, someone’s always there. Just walk in, sit down, and have a chat. This is what my social life has become.

It’s certainly not a long-term solution. Of course I will make close friends with whom I want to make plans. I envision a future with picnics in the park and intimate dinners with laughter and intriguing conversations. In fact, Andrea just invited me to an outdoor concert in 2 weeks that sounds really fun. I jumped with a Yes!

Eventually, I might find myself getting sucked into the social effort again. Or perhaps I’ll find a new way that feels more relaxed.

For now, I’m sitting with where I’m at. It’s been eye-opening to recognize how challenging it can be in our culture to maintain relationships. I never expected a break from that everyday effort to be so freeing.

At The Lighthouse, my mission is to inspire ways to simplify life, slow down, and become less busy. In doing so, meaningful time spent with those we care deeply about will follow.

An invitation to reclaim your energy

As a thank you for reading through to the end, I invite you to take your awareness of how you spend your time and energy one step further.

If you’ve been feeling drained mentally and physically and barely have the energy to get through your day, you’re not alone. Our culture pushes us to our maximum and some of us feel it more than others. This doesn’t make us weak. It’s a sign we’re overburdened. I created the “Reclaim Your Energy Breakthrough Session” to help you discover what’s most sapping your energy and give you clarity on what to do about it so you can start feeling like yourself again. Curious to learn more? Click below :)

Schedule a complimentary session

Last week, I opened an email from my apartment complex notifying me that pest control would be coming to spray the following day. In my previous rentals, pest control never came inside. I began to worry about the chemicals they’d use and how the cats and I would react. I’m very sensitive and pictured this turning into an awful multi-day headache that would keep me from my normal tasks and joys. I did not want this service. Living in a corporate-owned building, though, I wasn’t sure if I had a choice.

Some quick research told me a documented health concern may help get me out of it. I began thinking up stories I could tell and imagined having to reach out to my Florida practitioner to get a note. It sounded do-able but just another adult responsibility that would take up time and energy that I didn’t want to deal with. I’m still settling into my new home in North Carolina and have plenty to handle with car and license changes, not to mention filing taxes.

During my break, I walked over to the office, rehearsing my story with a “please have pity on me” tone. Then something struck me. I’ll be talking to another human being. Someone with the capacity for compassion.

Maybe this won’t be so hard.

Walking in, I found Amy, the super friendly one who I thought might be the most understanding. I began my spiel about my health-related concerns. As soon as I finished, she looked at me matter-of-factly and said, “You can just opt out of it, you know.”

Her tone said it all.

You’re making this way harder than it needs to be. Just ask for what you want.

She wrote down my unit number, confirmed I would be excluded, and requested that I remind her every quarter.

That’s it. I didn’t even have to explain myself. You were right, Dad.

What if we went about our days imagining that everything can be easy?

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Yesterday at my Toastmasters public speaking group, a young woman named Brandy sat next to me. This marked her second visit and she planned to join soon. Brandy explained to me that she has lots of opportunities to speak at work but that she hates public speaking and is bad at it. Her words surprised me because in each of her visits, I noticed that she presented herself with confidence. Speaking with a firm voice, she captured the audience’s attention.

What would happen if Brandy simply changed the way she talked about her relationship to speaking? I considered how I might bring this to her attention. Funny enough, the woman sitting next to me picked up on it too and called Brandy out. We cheered her on, helping her realize that she’s much more well-spoken than she knew.

What if Brandy believed that speaking could actually be easy?

How might all those past experiences that she was “forced into” have played out differently?

The last story I’ll share is more personal.

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Thankfully, Mom left the food dish just outside the closet so Beanie could eat in her safe space. When Mom came back later, she’d sigh if the dish was barely touched or coo with delight if it was licked clean.

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Mom worried about little Beanie. She missed the morning snuggles they shared in their previous home. Beanie used to jump up on the bed as soon as she noticed Mom stirring awake and stick her butt up to demand butt scratchies. In their new home, Beanie slept on the bed with her at night but retreated to the closet before Mom awoke.

In the past, stressful situations left Beanie ill. A UTI. A bout of diarrhea. Mom hoped her baby would make it through in good health with the powdered herbs she put in her food each day. The last thing she wanted to add into the mix was a scary trip to the vet.

Beanie and Mom hardly spent time together anymore. Mom longed to lay down for hours in the closet, consoling Beanie, letting her know she was safe and loved, but she could barely get her hand around that big bike. Plus she had tons of boxes to unpack and a big mess of scattered belongings to organize. She let Beanie be and went about her business, hoping that with time, her sweet snuggly companion would return.

Then there’s Scooby.

Scooby barely flinched when Mom and Dad loaded her in the carrier for that long two-day car ride. She didn’t utter a single meow when they let her loose into a strange smelling hotel room for one night.

When they arrived in their new home, Scooby sniffed around, exploring every room and nook and cranny like it was her personal amusement park. Reunited with her 6-foot tower after nearly a week separation, she scaled to the top with impressive speed, just like she always did.

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Suddenly she approached me, carrying a small potted plant. “I want you to have this as a little token of Florida. Thanks for always admiring my garden!” She gave me a warm hug. We’d barely gotten to know each other, and her gesture touched me. I remembered when another neighbor packed up last spring to go back home to Michigan. I tucked a plumeria flower on her car as a reminder of the Florida flora.

It seemed like this little act of love was being returned to me.

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Another neighbor and dear friend gave me portions of the food she prepared for her own meals. She understood that during this time of transition and with our limited supplies, it’s hard to cook. Her food was delicious. Hardly anything says love as much as a warm meal and a happy belly.

On our last free day before we had to pack everything up, we set out for Fort DeSoto Beach. The wind continued to whip and blow, yet the sun shone strongly and not a cloud could be seen. We swam in the gulf and I shrieked every time the water rose above my belly button. I treaded water to stay warm and jumped around, admiring flocks of birds overhead as they flew by. You couldn’t have asked for a more gorgeous day. The water sparkled and shimmered. The pelicans dove with precision to catch lunch. We walked the pier and stared at that water, taking it in as if we might never see it again. On our walk back, just as we approached land, we spotted dolphins in the distance.

February in Florida is magical. Why would I leave?

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We returned to town in search of food and, to our delight, discovered that my favorite band, The Urban Gypsies, was about to play at the very restaurant we chose. We got the last table.

The following week, my sister came over for her birthday. Another picture perfect day. By then I was just cleaning up the old apartment and had time to kill. We strolled through the streets of Gulfport, sat on a bench, and stared at the boats in the bay.

I couldn’t help but feel like a greater power conspired to make those last days as marvelous as can be.

The feeling was equally heart warming and grief inducing.

I reminisced about all the joys and blessings I’ve received in my 14 years in Florida. The friends that became sisters, the herbal and wellness communities that have supported me, the magical waters and the feeling of immersing myself in them, the comfort of always seeing familiar faces when I’m out and about.

At the same time, I sat with the heaviness of saying farewell to the beloved faces and places that have shaped me and filled my heart.

On her birthday, my sister said she wanted to come back to Gulfport once a month to get a break from Tampa.

I thought about her being there without me.

I ached for the friendships and experiences that didn’t quite get the chance to develop.

What could have been? Oh how I grieved for what could have been.

But I knew I couldn’t stay.

With this feeling comes clarity. I know what I want to bring into this next chapter.

I’ve done it before. I’ve taken many leaps of faith. I will take another one. On the other side, I will find what is meant for me.

Many have told us we are brave and courageous to do this.

I’m not quite certain what I’ve gotten myself into. I only know it’s what must be done.

Now, here we are, settling into our new home in North Carolina. Despite the tiring journey, the unfamiliar surroundings, and trying to make a cozy home in a mess of halfway unpacked boxes, a deep peace surrounds me. I relax into a tranquility that was difficult to connect to in crowded overdeveloped overheated Florida.

All’s going smoothly. In less than one week, we’ve found our grocery stores, visited Toastmasters clubs, explored many beautiful parks, killed our legs on a hilly bike trail, and learned the basics of the French game pétanque when we mistook the equipment box for a little library and the woman standing there invited us to play.

I’ve traded in plumerias for daffodils, flatlands for hills, palm trees for sweetgums, beaches for lakes, concrete for brick, mosquitoes for ticks (nowhere’s perfect!), gators for geese, congestion for peace.

And it just feels right. Everything’s going to be alright.

I hope that this story inspires you. Remember this in those moments that require courage.

May we all listen to our hearts and heed its insistent calling. May we trust that we’ll be supported when we take that leap of faith that is necessary for our survival. May the whipping wild wind carry us safely to where we must go.

A few years ago, this woman led a nonprofit organization through a big tech transition. Due to an acquisition, the online platform that served as their website and back office operations would no longer be supported. The organization had no choice but to find a new platform.

Her job was to set up their new software and prepare them to launch it. That involved migrating their entire website and member database, establishing all key business workflows in the new software, testing it, and training staff on how to use it.

With a project of this magnitude, she discovered it’s nearly impossible to identify everything she needed to do up front and create an accurate timeline. As she moved along, critical items popped up that someone forgot to mention. It took longer than expected to make progress as they ran into unprecedented obstacles.

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As the team approached the target deadline to launch the new platform, it became clear that they could not complete the project on time. When the woman talked with her boss, he shared a bunch of corporate mumbo jumbo that in laymen’s terms translated to “keep the deadline and cut the to-do list back to the bare minimum.” Anything that’s not critical could be handled after.

She took his advice, and they celebrated launching right on time.

Now this woman is managing a giant project in her personal life: an out of state move. She recognizes that she’s in a similar situation as her past job. Her deadline is fixed and there is a ton to get done!

But, she found herself asking one day, does everything need to get done?

This time, she thought, “I’m the one in control of the to-do list. No demanding client. No boss. Just me.”

While planning her move, she found out one of her financial institutions was changing their account requirements. She did not agree with this change. It down right pissed her off. She decided that she would no longer support them and would find another place to hold her account. She spent hours searching for other options and asking trusted friends what they do, all while in the midst of apartment hunting.

The gears in her brain churned nonstop as she took in all of her options.

It wasn’t until a few days later she realized she could still meet these new requirements and keep her account open. “Now’s not the time to take on more than I need,” she concluded. “I can handle this later, once I’m settled.”

It seemed so simple. Why didn’t she see this option before?

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In this state of information overload, she couldn’t make a decision.

When we overload ourselves, our bodies can go into a stress response. For some, that results in freezing, meaning we cannot move a step forward. In this case, the woman felt stuck or frozen in her decision making process.

After a few days, her brain cleared, and she began to think clearly again.

“I’m only going to do the bare minimum!” she declared. “I will not commit myself to anything beyond what is critical to get through this transition!”

In addition to working with nonprofits, she also ran a health coaching business and held some side jobs. She decided she needed to clear more space in her schedule to focus on packing and the other various tasks that come up with a big move. She paused taking on new health coaching clients and dropped the side jobs.

Now she has breathing room.

She has had plenty of time to complete all critical items. In fact, she’s celebrating being ahead of schedule. She’s even been going for walks in nature to recharge her batteries, spending time with beloved friends, and baking sweet potato brownies. Not as to-do list items but as joyful restorative relaxation, basking in what matters most. After all, she’ll never get this time back.

Is this what a typical “T-Minus 30 Days to Moving” looks like? Walking carefreely on the beach?

You’re more likely to imagine someone with disheveled hair and dark circles under their eyes throwing items into a box.

But why?

Are we living to exhaust ourselves and check off a to-do list?

There might be times that call for some of that. Yet, no matter how busy we think we are, we deserve time for what matters most. Time to slow down, to get fresh air, to relish being with loved ones. To recharge our brains so we focus better and make good decisions.

We may feel a surge of guilt prioritizing something fun and seemingly non-productive. “Busy Culture” has done a good job of raising us to think this way.

We may convince ourselves we don’t have the time. We might think once we get past a certain hump, then we can do those things.

If that’s where you’re at, ask yourself: how true is this for you? Is everything on your to-do list critical? Is downtime really non-productive?

Or, like the woman in this story, have you grown up in a culture that praises busyness and self-sacrifice?

Your circumstances may be different. There may be elements out of your control. Maybe you do have a fussy client or a demanding boss and you’re not in a position to challenge that.

Regardless, at the end of the day, you are the boss of your time and your schedule.

If it were completely up to you, what would you make time for?

If you only had 30 days left with the places and people you love, how would you spend them?

An invitation to reclaim your energy

Thank you for reading through to the end. I invite you to take your awareness of how you spend your time and energy one step further.

If you’ve been feeling drained mentally and physically and barely have the energy to get through your day, you’re not alone. Our culture pushes us to our maximum and some of us feel it more than others. This doesn’t make us weak. It’s a sign we’re overburdened. I created the “Reclaim Your Energy Breakthrough Session” to help you discover what’s most sapping your energy and give you clarity on what to do about it so you can start feeling like yourself again. Curious to learn more? Click below :)

Schedule a complimentary session

Unknowingly, I’d reserved dining table style seats. A narrow table separated us from the two seats that faced us. This would facilitate our lunch. The train would travel south all day and evening, ending in the Andalusian city of Seville. We’d be riding for just 3.5 hours, getting off in Cáceres. During this time, passengers boarded and sat briefly across from us and then hopped off to continue their day.

It hardly surprised me when Marcela took the seat across from me. She caught my attention right away from the window, and I wondered if some force of magnetism brought her here. She had a lightness about her. Relaxed and present. I sensed she was very kind, someone I could have an enjoyable conversation with, if only I could find a way to engage her. She pulled a 70% dark chocolate bar from her purse and took a bite while I was finishing a chocolate treat of my own. I could make a remark about this to her, but small talk with strangers in Spanish is a struggle for me. Even in my native tongue I can be shy.

It felt as though we were both tiptoeing around it, sheepishly smiling at each other when our eyes accidentally met.

Eventually I noticed that I had dropped a glove on the floor, and one finger of it sat snuggly under her boot. After eight minutes of carefully rehearsing a phrase in my head and making sure I had the correct singular form of the word for glove, I said to her, “Disculpe, mi guante está debajo de tu bote.”

She apologized with a smile and reached down to retrieve the glove. With the ice now broken, it only took a couple of minutes for her to ask where I’m from. From there, a lengthy conversation ensued. I learned Marcela had just come from a Vipassana silent meditation retreat. She was on her way to southern Spain for a bit more traveling before returning home to Mexico. We continued chatting until we reached Cáceres.

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As my husband Jose and I left the train station and walked toward our hotel, I felt giddy with joy! What a splendid start to our trip, connecting with this lovely woman. Not only did I feel confident in my ability to have a long conversation in Spanish, but I also received much needed wisdom.

According to Marcela, unhappiness comes from wanting to change what is. If we can simply accept what is, we will find the road to happiness.

I really needed to hear that, although it would have been better 24 hours earlier! We had had such a long and stressful trip from our home in Florida to Cáceres. There were so many moments I thought my best laid plans would have fallen apart.

Before our arrival, Spain had received nearly forty days of rain. The reason for our trip was to walk 100+ miles in 10 days on the Via de la Plata trail. Rain would be an issue.

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In the weeks leading up to our trip, I watched the online hiking groups in horror. They were filled with videos of people approaching flooded waters covering the trail. In some places, the water rose up to two feet and would have washed them away if they tried to cross it. I read stories of hikers traveling 10 miles through the countryside, only to discover a flood with no safe crossing point, and have to turn around and walk 10 miles back to the last town to take a detour or a bus to get around it.

What obstacles would we encounter? Was this a stupid idea? Should we cancel our trip?

We packed ponchos and prepared to be flexible.

At the airport, the plane that would take us from Florida to North Carolina arrived late. I watched as the estimated boarding start time inched further into the future. Visions of missing our connection flashed before me. If we miss that flight, who knows when the next one will be? We’ll miss our train to Cáceres! At least I knew there would be another train four hours later. I had planned it all so carefully, but it was out of my control. I fidgeted in my seat, which only circulated the worrying energy. Somehow we arrived in North Carolina with even enough time to use the bathroom before boarding the plane to our final destination.

Our plane touched down into a drizzly Madrid. An hour later, we found ourselves walking in circles through the train station. There were four separate sections and we couldn’t tell which led to our train. We went through two security lines only to be sent back to another section. I could feel that familiar panic stirring again until finally we found it.

In our experience, the train stations in Spain do not broadcast which platform your train will be at until two minutes before the train arrives. This means you’d typically have 5 minutes to board, which is rather stressful, especially in a foreign country. Our train showed up on the sign 15 minutes early so we walked to the platform and waited, assuming it would be the next train. After 5 minutes, Jose looked at the train currently sitting there and spotted “Cáceres” scrolling on a digital screen on the outside of the train. We realized this was our train. We nearly missed it just staring at it!

That train ride connected us with Marcela and I received her message loud and clear: just relax. No need to worry about a thing. I would accept whatever circumstances came my way that I could not control.

Spain welcomed us under splendid conditions! We enjoyed mostly sunny skies, a large amount of mud, and no flooding. Why did I stress so much? I wanted a smooth and easy trip.

It turns out that NOT smooth and easy can make for better memories.

Thanks to Marcela, I approached this trip with a relaxed, grateful, and open mind.

Nearly nine months later, I find myself in a place of uncertainty reminiscent of that trip to Spain. As Jose and I prepare to move out of Florida, I’m in full project manager mode again. However, planning this move feels much harder than planning a walking holiday abroad. This time, instead of a vacation, we’re uprooting and relocating our entire lives.

Initially, the plan was to stay in a relative’s house who lives locally but would be moving soon so the house would be vacant. This would allow us the flexibility to stay in Florida until my husband finds a job in our new city. We could take our time and move by May, before it gets too hot. As the lease in our current apartment approaches the end, circumstances have changed. We learn that we can no longer stay in our relative’s house.

We have to think quickly and adjust. We don’t have other options. This time, I’m able to release control and go with the flow. We decide it’s better to move before our lease is up. The job market looks promising for Jose, as he already has interviews lined up.

On short notice, we plan a weekend trip to our new city to look for housing there. Surprisingly, everything comes together. We have our flight, car rental, Airbnb, and cat sitter all secured in a matter of hours. Is this Marcela’s magic?

Then we check the forecast. We learn that a winter storm is about to sweep across our destination. The area already received snow and ice the weekend prior and we grew concerned about whether the roads would be clear by the time we arrived. We only have two days for our housing hunt, since most places are closed on Sunday. We keep an eye on the forecast but it keeps changing, as forecasts do. 70% snow. 40% snow. No snow. Repeat.

We might not get lucky with the weather like we did in Spain.

Jose wants to move our plans to the following weekend. I feel like risking it. After all, who knows what will happen. I lean on our Airbnb host to provide us with insider information on the conditions. She is the Marcela of this trip, her laid back and calm demeanor putting me at ease. We decide to keep our plans and upgrade our rental to an all wheel drive. We arrive on a Friday afternoon and the snow is expected to start Saturday morning. As soon as we get the car, we drive to the apartment complex that seems the most promising of the few options we picked out. I’m 90% delighted with it. I let the other 10% go. Time’s running out and nothing I can do will transform this into the perfect home.

We visit one more place and do not like it nearly as much. Our final priority is grocery shopping. We stock up on food for 3 days, then go “home” to an icy driveway. We struggle to walk to the front door. Our Airbnb host is out of town, so we’re on our own.

In the morning, we look out the window and see snow! Perhaps one inch had fallen and it’s barely sticking to the roads. We imagine it will stop midday and by tomorrow we can explore the town a bit.

We’re proven wrong. It snows the entire day! We put on all the warm layers we packed into our small backpacks. Jose attempts to make his very first snowball but the snow is too powdery and crumbles in his hands. He’s never seen snow before! I encourage him to make a snow angel but we don’t want to get our few pieces of clothing wet. We decide to hunker down the rest of the night. When we go to bed, snow is still falling. They say we got 10 inches!

The next day the sky is clear and sunny! We go for several walks around the neighborhood on the unplowed streets. We make our snow angels. Finally the snow is heavy enough and Jose throws a snowball at me! I ask him to aim for the electric pole next time.

We spent the weekend watching movies, playing cards, cooking meals, drinking lots of hot tea, and laughing that we came all this way to hang out inside. I’m a bit worried about getting to the airport on Monday. The neighborhood roads haven’t been touched by the plow, but several people have driven around. We dig out the snow around our car so we can get out in the morning. I rather enjoy the opportunity to shovel snow since I haven’t done it in 15 years. A neighbor, who knew we were home alone for the weekend, comes by with her heavy duty shovel to help.

Now that we’re home in Florida for just a bit longer, there’s a lot to do. I know moving day will be here before I know it.

More than a few times, Jose and I have looked at each other and asked, “Are we doing the right thing? Are we making the right decision?”

The truthful answer is we don’t know. What we do know is that we must try.

When you’re used to seeing someone on the trail every morning, you expect them to keep showing up, even though you never verbally agreed to it.

Then came “The Ladies who Walk.” I’d been starting my mornings on the trail for a while and prayed for a friend to share it with. I craved some camaraderie before a day of working from home in quiet solitude. This group of four - three women and a dog - would greet me as they walked in the opposite direction. Eventually our hellos turned into questions and short conversations. I realized I could change my direction and walk with them. That’s how I got to know Elaine, Janet, and Sarah.

Janet, a former Peace Corps volunteer, spent most of her adult life overseas in Africa and Thailand. In her 60s now, she recently returned to the United States. It boggles her mind how Americans put up with the state of our country. While walking, she keeps her eyes open for trash along the trail. She’ll pick it up and put it in the closest garbage bin. When friends from out of town come to visit, she takes them on bike tours. I joined them once and discovered that a gorgeous neighborhood with peacocks often found perching on roofs was well within biking distance of my home. We finished our route at the waterfront near where my husband and I had our ceremony.

Elaine is a retired teacher who has stories about the mentally disturbed children she once worked with that make my skin crawl. She loves to travel and recently joined an adult travel group. She went to Iceland and came back with adventure stories that I liked a lot better. She dreams of going away again or possibly moving overseas. Then the hurricanes of 2024 hit and left her in a financial debacle. It’s early 2026 and the last I heard is the first floor of her condo is still unlivable and hasn’t been touched. She’s grateful she has an upstairs bedroom to take refuge in.

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Sarah’s the one with the dog. I used to think he was the most mild mannered dog I’d ever met, until I caught him peeing on her foot while we stopped to chit chat for a few minutes. Sarah celebrated her retirement a few years ago by switching to a part-time schedule, just enough to help her transition to this new stage of life. After suffering a minor heart attack, she had to wear a monitor for a couple of weeks, and I worried about her. She kept walking, and I admired her fortitude. I’m glad these women have each other and this trail.

Jason appeared cheerfully one day, walking briskly with a zest for life. He wore two pairs of shorts. The outer pair had a lot of holes and I could see the blue underneath. From a distance, I assumed it was just a pattern, until one day he wore only the blue pair. Slowly he grew his beard out. I figured he joined in the No Shave November that many men participate in. Jason kept going, and he began to look like a cave man. He often wore a St Pete Yoga t-shirt and I wondered what we might talk about in a real conversation. We greeted each other by name but that was it. Then one day he fell into a black hole and disappeared. I knew where he lived because I saw him walking out of the driveway one morning. I’ve passed his house a few times over the years and his truck is still there. I consider whether the world has driven him mad and that maybe he’s still in there with his shaggy beard and now hair coming out of his ears and nose. I imagine him slapping his fingers on a typewriter, constructing what will be this century’s greatest literary masterpiece that never gets published.

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Next we drove to a tiny beach hidden in a residential neighborhood. No one brought their bathing suits, but my uncle and I took off our shoes, rolled up our pants, and let the water cool us off from the hot sun. My father-in-law, nimble as a monkey, climbed over some rocks and posed with a beer in his hand.

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A few days later, another road trip took us to a small natural pool formed by conjoining waterfalls. This gift of nature lay hidden just a staircase down from a restaurant along a windy rural mountain road. The late afternoon sun partially hid behind the surrounding trees. Shivering, we navigated the slippery rocky terrain and got into the water. We came prepared this time with bathing suits and couldn’t pass this up!

The cool water pulled me into the present moment. Up until then, I’d been feeling quite anxious and unsure why. Could it be that I was so out of my usual routine? I hadn’t been walking or moving my body much. Exercise for me has been instrumental in keeping anxiety at bay. During that whole car ride to the waterfalls, and for the last several days in Puerto Rico, I just couldn’t seem to relax. Yes, the cold water and this time in nature served as a potent remedy. At least for a short time.

On Christmas Eve, several family members came over to our house. My husband’s parents had been preparing food: turkey, fried pork, boiled potatoes and plantains, rice and beans, a cheese and ham platter. By this time I am exhausted. I find myself surrounded by family, which is what I crave this time of year, yet we don’t speak the same language. We get by, and I make an effort when I have the energy. But I ache for deep meaningful conversation. I really want to know them. I want to share so much with them. I get tongue tied. My brain shuts down. I can’t think of a question to ask. Everyone else talks and laughs and I don’t get the jokes. Maybe the joke isn’t even funny, but I want to be a part of it anyway.

I look at my plate and long for something green. My dad always complained that I undercooked the green beans. What I would give to eat some mushy green beans with him now and talk about what we want out of life and make stupid jokes that even native English speakers wouldn’t understand because we had our own language. I look at my plate again and want to cry.

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What is The Lighthouse and Mindful Mornings? For a while, I’ve been eager to create a community space rooted in authenticity, creativity, and connection. While our increasingly technological world threatens to tear us apart, I feel a pull to bring us together in meaningful ways. This is critical for our wellbeing and survival.

When I returned home in November from my grandmother’s celebration of life, I unpacked a framed photo my mom had given me. It was my grandma and I at my college graduation. She had kept this photo on display in her home. The frame had a lighthouse on it, and I remembered how she always loved lighthouses. I never asked her why. I thought about what they represented for me, and then it became clear that this is the community I am to create.

Wherever you’re at: be it lost and uncertain, joyful and content, or anywhere in between, the light is always on here to welcome you in.

The Worthiness Dance will now be called The Lighthouse. The topics I share via written word will remain of similar theme.

Mindful Mornings are a new virtual gathering every other Friday beginning on January 9th at 8am ET. Instead of rushing into our day, our weekend, our lives, let’s take some time to be, together. Topics will vary and may include gentle movement and breath, writing prompts and discussion, playfulness, simple artwork, intention setting, and so much more. The human spirit is vast! The energy of those who show up will guide how we connect in this mindful space.

The schedule for the next couple of months will be:

January 9
January 23
February 6
February 20

My hope is that you will see this light shining from my heart, offering an invitation to those who are seeking the same: connection, creativity, and a space to just be as we are.

Thanks again for your support of The Worthiness Dance, now called The Lighthouse.

I’m very much looking forward to connecting with you!

See you soon!

Jessica

P.S. The link to join the first Mindful Morning is at the top of this email. If you are reading this on the web, please subscribe so you receive the emails with the join links.

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The brown recipe box sat next to the library book drop-off. “We want your recipes!” the sign read. “Take a blank index card, fill it with one of your favorites, and return it to the librarian.”

Intrigued, I opened the box to thumb through its contents. There were a whopping five cards inside. “Plantain Salad,” written in loopy cursive. “Berry Smoothie,” in giant choppy third-grader letters. I wondered how willingly this child participated. Overall, there didn’t seem much enthusiasm for hand-written recipes.

Which favorite recipe would I add? Perhaps my baked oatmeal cups. It’s the only one I have mostly memorized.

For years I’ve organized all my successful recipes in a digital collection, accessible from my laptop or phone. In this digital age, it’s become less necessary to memorize. On the other hand, my mom’s dinner staples were small in number and she prepared them all often enough that she seemed to know them by heart. But she too had a recipe box. Perhaps the difference is that a small hand-written index card sitting on the kitchen counter is much less obtrusive than a light-emitting device.

On this trip, I had intentionally left my phone at home. I hadn’t made the oatmeal cups in a while and didn’t want to leave anything out. Like many others before me, I declined to add my recipe.

I left the library with three books, one about how to spend less time on our phones and more time enjoying ourselves in the real world. I already had that book in my hand before I saw the recipe box. It seemed there was a larger force supporting me in my effort to disconnect from technology.

Two months prior, my husband bought a paper meal-prep and recipe book. Filled with good intentions to plan ahead and cook extra food for his weekday lunches, he’d touched the book only a few times. We were both slow to get into the habit but we’re making progress. After just the first experience, I must emphasize what a DELIGHT it is to cook and not have to enter my phone passcode ten times to bring the recipe up again.

A printed page will never shut down on you or lock you out.

For this reason alone, I researched my phone’s settings to make this easier. It turns out the exact setting I want does not exist. How frustrating is that? I just might get some index cards and convert my collection to paper. Cooking will become much more enjoyable that way.

Upon leaving the library, I couldn’t wait to dive into this new anti-tech book. In fact, I read the first chapter in my car in the parking lot. I returned home and read more on the couch. I left butt prints from seat to seat, the telltale sign of an engrossed reader.

The data on how much time the average person spends on their phone and how it impacts us is astonishing. But I don’t need the facts. My body knows the truth.

My brain feels the pain and distress caused by fragmented thoughts. It leaves me in a constant state of low level chaos. I’m no longer willing to live like this.

For 48 hours, I committed to limiting phone usage to just a few times a day and only when I had a specific timely purpose. I felt the difference immediately. When I transitioned from work into the evening part of my day, I picked up my paper recipe book and cooked dinner. I enjoyed my meal with the company of my cats. Then I relaxed with a different intriguing book.

It felt like I had so much time to do whatever I wanted! All just by ignoring my phone.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than normal. It seems all this relaxing reduces how much sleep I need.

On the third day, I had to keep my phone near me. I was making arrangements with someone and also expecting a call. That feeling of chaos came back in. I know that somedays might be like this. But at least now I know the positive impact I’m able to make on the days that I can keep my phone off and away from me.

Some other tech-free activities I’m enjoying lately:

• Taking baths

• Exercising outside on my patio (no music, just birds and the sound of my breath)

• Writing in my journal (instead of texting a friend immediately when something noteworthy occurs, I’m turning to my journal)

• Sitting in the sun and doing nothing!

• Watching woodpeckers

• Practicing Qi Gong in the garden of a local herbal clinic (better than learning from a YouTube video!)

If you too feel the chaos and stress of a tech-driven life, I hope you’ll receive this as an invitation to explore something different. What comes to mind? What feels soothing and inviting? Are there any ideas I’ve shared that resonate with you?

As we approach the end of the year, I hold a deep knowing that limiting tech is a priority I want to carry with me. This will create a huge impact on my overall well-being so that I can be more present in all the wonders that surround me every day.

May you too find ways to commit to your wellness and experience of joy. I wish you a love-filled celebration into the new year!

Love,
Jessica

Six months into my entrepreneur journey, after quitting my corporate job at a software company, I realized two things.
One: I wasn’t laughing as much as I did when I worked in an office surrounded by people.
Two: I craved tasks to exercise my critical thinking skills and balance the deeply emotional work of my coaching.

A couple of years later I decided to get a part-time job to satisfy those needs. I joined several of my former co-workers and friends at a family-run consulting company, a partner of the software I already knew.

This was a fully remote team, despite several people living in my area. It was nice to have co-workers again but a year into it, I realized working from home was not all it’s cracked up to be, for me. I tried working from coffee shops and co-working spaces, but nothing filled the void of genuine face-to-face connection and relationship building.

By this time, I allowed my coaching business to fall away and shift to writing. I wrote and published three books! As you may imagine, writing is a very solo activity. The need to be around people could not be ignored!

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Finally, I sought out another part-time job at a health food store. I became friendly with my new co-workers and found myself laughing and acting silly. What medicine for the soul! My first Halloween there, I was so excited to prepare a costume. I handmade a pig mask and dressed as Peppa the Pig. I had the little snort down too!

Before long, I also reconnected with my passion of helping people make healthy choices. My favorite customers are the ones who come in confused, looking for items for specific dietary guidelines. By the time we’re done, their cart is full of exactly what they need and they’re so grateful for the help.

And now I’ve come full circle. I’m ready to get back to coaching. I’ve recently launched my new Interactive Grocery & Coaching Experience where I guide frustrated shoppers at the store, teaching them how to read labels and pick out healthy-for-them items.

When people ask me what I do, I usually start with “A lot of things!” It’s hard to group everything together into a coherent sentence!

What I’ve learned is that many of us humans are naturally curious and multi-talented. We may need different outlets to fully express all parts of ourselves. Conveniently, there’s a lot to explore and we have a long time on this Earth. Why not take advantage?

Sometimes it’s a bit chaotic staying on top of all of my jobs (thankfully one of them is a project manager!). I feel like an octopus with all of my eight arms full.

At the end of the day, though, I’m grateful that I keep listening and adjusting. I like to think we’re all explorers here and every new hobby or job we try is only making us stronger, smarter, and more connected to joy.

If you’ve been thinking about making a change or trying a new skill, I hope you’ll receive this little nudge to say yes. You don’t need to fit neatly into one box. Reach out an arm and adventure on, my fellow octopus!

Lying on a table in a quiet private office, the hypnotherapist gently guided me back in time. I saw images of a young woman in animal skins, standing barefoot on rocky terrain, observing what remained of her land after war and fire. The next scene shows the woman hiding in a cave, holding her baby close. They are alone but safe. Soon the dark night is over and they emerge from the cave. They find a family who takes them in. They have a home now. I sense some sadness for the life left behind, but the woman focuses on the now. In this place, she lives out the rest of her life. It’s a simple life where joy is found in community gatherings filled with dance and song. She remarries, and eventually her son grows and marries too. She lives until she is old and covered in wrinkles.

The hypnotherapist asks, “Of all lifetimes that we could travel to, why this one? What is the meaning of this life?”

The response that comes out of my mouth, “Keep moving forward.”

As I go home and reflect on this experience, I’m skeptical of the whole thing. How do I know this was a past life and not just my brain bringing up images I’ve gathered from TV, movies, books, etc? I conclude it doesn’t matter where the images come from. There is a message here. While it’s meant for me in this moment, I realize it’s a message many of us need.

“Keep moving forward.” I find myself doing the opposite. Today I’m choosing to look back. In doing so, I discover similarities between the Indigenous woman in my vision, my past self of 6 years ago, and the person I am today.

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On Black Friday 2019, I didn’t get to bed until after midnight. I sat at the computer all day and night pouring my love and creativity into the final touches of a special project. Finally, I clicked a button and it was off to the printer. One week later, giddy with excitement, I held the first copy of my first book in my hands!

Six years ago, I wrote and published The Worthy Woman Handbook. Do you recall when you were able to dedicate yourself wholly to a project you believed in and cherished? When I think back to that time of my life, I’m in awe of that bravery and ambition. Building a business and writing a book required me to step out of my comfort zone every day. Like the woman in my vision who left her war-torn home behind, it was absolutely terrifying. Yet just like her, I was rewarded. I discovered new connections, sources of support, and talents and skills I didn’t know I had. One book led to another, then another, and then this Worthiness Dance publication.

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Sometimes we need a push to get out of the day to day grind and reconnect with life’s magic. I had a several years long push, and I’m so grateful. It led me to Toastmasters where I met many amazing people, including my husband.

Now and again, I long for the excitement I experienced back then. To stay sane in the instability of self-employment, I did everything I could to raise my confidence and focus on the positive. I read self-help books, listened to podcasts, wrote daily gratitudes, attended mindfulness circles, shouted affirmations, and visualized my ideal life. Those practices kept me excited about my goals and the promise of each day. As life became more stable over the years, those practices fell away. At times, the magic disappeared too. Do you ever look back and long for a certain time of your life?

I don’t regret where this journey has taken me. Every so often, we need a break. We may find safety and comfort hibernating within daily responsibilities and not thinking beyond that. To me, this is reflected in the image of the woman hiding in the cave, tending to her son and nothing else.

Eventually the season will change and we can emerge, ready to take on something new. In this 6-year anniversary season, I’m voluntarily giving up stability in certain ways. While my challenges today look different, I wonder if I still have the guts I had before. I look back and wonder, how did I do it? Yet I recognize I am the same person who stepped up to all of those obstacles and dreams. I am still the creator I was then. All I have to do is recognize it and listen to what wants to be created now. Do you recognize the parts of yourself that are still with you?

If we can be brave and look outside of the cave, we will find the people and resources that will welcome us in times of change and new endeavors.

To get into the spirit of reconnecting with self and life’s magic, I’d like to share with you the first page of The Worthy Woman Handbook.

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My mom and I loved watching the summer Olympics. My favorite athletes were the female gymnasts. Oh how they could fly through the air! Deep in my heart, I wanted to be a gymnast. I wanted to leap, twist, jump, and flip too!

But the opportunity never presented itself.

Until now.

At 39 years old, I began acro yoga.

Imagine walking into class and the instructors demonstrate what you’re doing today: you’ll be upside down, like in a headstand pose, with your shoulders supported by someone’s feet. Welcome to acro yoga!

I attended my first class two months ago when my husband Jose and I received an invitation from one of the instructors, who we know through Jose’s herbalism school. By this time, my cheerleader-gymnast dream had been dormant for decades. However, I’d been curious to try partner yoga, an activity much more agreeable with my current body’s potential. This class welcomed beginners. I eagerly said yes, although I wasn’t sure if my perception of partner yoga was the same as acro yoga.

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Upon arrival, I learned that acro yoga consists of a base and a flyer. The base is the person who is lying on the floor, face up, supporting the flyer with their hands and feet. The flyer is the person who will perform the yoga pose in the air, supported by the base. We also have spotters.

We began with the basics. Our first mission: bird pose! This is kind of like doing a plank in the air. The flyer’s hands connect to the base’s. The base’s feet support the flyer’s hips. I took the position of flyer and experienced yoga off the ground!

With four points of contact, this felt safe. Then the instructor says we’re going to make it more challenging. We will practice having the base take away one hand or one foot, or both a hand and a foot, limiting the points of contact. As instructed, I tighten every muscle in my body so I don’t collapse into a heap on the floor. I’m super shaky but manage to stay afloat!

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Next up: throne pose. A bit more complicated to get into, the base places their feet in the flyer’s inner thighs. Initially they connect hands for support. The flyer wraps their feet around the base’s calves, and once situated, the flyer sits upright, freeing their hands. Then the base straightens their legs and the flyer is perched up in the air.

What actually happens as I try this: my armpits drench with sweat and I grasp frantically for the spotters on both sides because I cannot fathom not holding on to something! Somehow I make it upright, but I’m not willing to let go of the spotters’ hands. It’s okay, they tell me. It’s only my first class!

As someone who has historically felt uncomfortable with piggy back rides, I’m relieved as we reach the end of class. But there’s one final mission: a group photo. With my feet perched on two ladies’ thighs, I don’t feel all that secure, even though they’re holding my ankles. I reluctantly lift one arm up in the air, unaware of the instructions to hold hands with the other flyers because I’m too caught up in my head about my sense of safety. But alas, I made it through and have the photo to prove it!

As we dismount, everyone high-fives each other. There are a few other newbies in the class. All the more experienced yogis are saying what a great job we did. After trembling the whole time, I’m just grateful I can now relax. Yet part of me feels proud of the challenge I just completed.

I can’t decide if this is so terrifying that I never want to go back or so empowering that I cannot wait to go back.

It was easy to show up to class when I didn’t know what to expect! But now I know! Turns out, as soon as we get home, all I want to do is practice what we learned and get more comfy with it. I go to the next class.

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Class #2. We start out with bird again, and I notice an immediate increase in my comfort level. I even allow the base to take away both one foot and one hand at the same time! I hold steady! I can’t wait to see how I do with throne.

But then the instructors demonstrate the remaining poses for today’s class. We aren’t doing throne. We are doing something worse. Much worse. The flyers are going to be upside down.

I thought this was an all-levels class! How could they deceive me? I don’t do anything upside down! Unlike throne pose, my hands will have something to grab on to: the base’s knees. The base’s hands will support my shoulders. I’ll have one leg straight up in the air and one leg supported by the base’s foot. My body immediately begins mixing an emotional cocktail of fury, terror, fear, and sorrow. Yet the instructors are there to guide and support me, and for some reason, I trust them.

We get into the starting position and I’m amazed at how easily I flow into being upside down. However I’m not completely straight, and the instructor recommends I shift my hips back. But I have reached the limit of my bravery, and I am not willing to shift at all! The instructor adjusts my hips for me, supporting me the entire time, and I’m only a little bit afraid I’m going to tumble over. I don’t! At the end of class, we repeat this pose for photographic proof. Turns out I can do things upside down! (With a little help)

Once again, everyone high fives me and tells me what a great job I did. The upside down thing is not my favorite, but I decide I will keep going to class.

Class #3. Jose can’t make it. He’s got a work event. As if I haven’t already been brave enough, I go alone. I want to keep the momentum going. This time, there are no other newbies. The other students in attendance have been to every class for the last 8 months. They can all do headstands. They are eager to try new things. I am eager for the comfort of bird pose. I feel completely out of my league. But who knows, maybe I won’t have to be upside down today.

Shortly after, I learn that I will not get my wish. Not only are we doing more headstands, we are doing them in 3-person poses! I spend half of the class in a state of terror, constantly looking at the clock to affirm the passage of time. We work in small groups, taking turns with each role, since having spotters is crucial. The experienced students go first, and I hope that by watching, I’ll absorb some of their confidence. I take the “easier” position (shown below), although flying with only someone’s hands to balance on doesn’t exactly feel secure. At least the person attached to those hands is confident.

When I’m invited to try the upside down position, I decline. This one is not only outside of my comfort zone but also my ability level. The instructors respect my decision and we move on. The next pose I do is also bird but this time there are two levels of bases beneath me. Talk about flying high! (No photo evidence available)

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The next few classes continue in a similar manner. Jose no longer attends, and I’m the only newbie. There is always at least one pose that I feel completely inadequate in trying, such as the one where your legs flip over your head. I find myself making remarks after every demonstration. “Are you serious?!” “Oh..my…god…” “Oof I don’t know about that one.” I realize I’m the only one talking like this and I feel like such a sourpuss. Is my negative energy throwing off the class? Why am I here if I’m complaining so much?

After class, I apologize to the instructor. Not only does she remind me that this is my 5th class (compared to everyone else’s rank of 20+) but honors my level of self-awarness, explaining that it could be dangerous for everyone if I attempt a pose I’m not prepared to do. On the other hand, she’s quick to give me an encouraging nudge when she’s confident I can do a pose I’m hesitant about, and she’s always right. I did get my legs over my head!

Since openly acknowledging my feelings, something is radically changing within me.

I’m accepting that yes this is really challenging AND it’s so much fun that I refuse to quit!

If I have to sit out a pose or sequence and just watch, well, it’s not my favorite part, but I admire the abilities of my classmates. After all, they were once where I am, and they create a vision of where I can go.

I’m now braver when we try new things. I’m more confident in being the first person to step up and try it (sometimes!) when in the past I would always let everyone else go first. My comfort zone is expanding ever so slowly. Sure, I still gasp at some of the poses they want us to do, but that self talk that I’m holding everyone back or that I don’t belong is quieting down. I do belong. For all I know, the rest of the class is just as inspired by me as I am of them.

Not only has acro yoga done wonders for my confidence, it’s shown me how a supportive team makes all the difference.

Despite my fears, despite the typical wobbles and shakes of balancing on another person, I’ve always felt safe in class. I’ve learned that the foundations of a supportive environment are:

• Cheering everyone on, regardless of their level. We are all advancing from where we were when we walked in the door.

• Giving and receiving feedback. It’s not about criticism. Working together requires communication.

• Respecting other people’s boundaries and needs.

• Encouraging everyone to challenge themselves and guiding and supporting them through it.

• Laughing as we fumble and trying again.

Everyone deserves this kind of support in any area of their life.

I’ve noticed that when people present this kind of energy and open communication, it’s easy to trust them, even if I haven’t known them long. And they must feel that energy from me too, because other women have trusted me to base them, in simple poses of course! I never thought I’d be lifting another human body like that!

Acro yoga is like taking a leap in life. You have to trust you’ll land on the other side. That’s how trying new scary things becomes accessible.

When moving through poses, at some point you have to let go. It might be frightening and you might shake, but you must trust in your own strength and those around you. At some point, a foot or hand will appear to support you and carry you safely to the next phase. In life, as we navigate changes and take risks, we don’t always know when that foot or hand will pop up. Acro yoga has taught me that as long as I surround myself with the right people, I can navigate any challenge that presents itself.

That’s how I ended up here, now at 40 years old, making my teenage self’s dream come true.

The Gift of Bravery

(An except from Dear Body, Thank You)

He reached for my hand to stabilize me as I stretched my right leg over the seat. I could reach the pedals and the ground without a problem.

Manuel situated himself in the seat in front of me. Wiggling around to make the bike rock back and forth, he turned to check my reaction. A big smile spread across his face. “See? It’s perfectly safe! This thing is locked in tight.” He pointed to where my half-bike tag-along with one wheel was bolted into the back of his electric bike. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re gonna have a blast!”

I smiled back, a bit unsure, but trusting. I’d never ridden an electric bike before, let alone a tag-along where I wouldn’t be in control. However, Manuel’s charisma and confidence had a way of putting me at ease. I turned back to face Jose, who gave me a reassuring nod and beaming smile from his bike. He was ready for an adventure. I lifted one foot from the ground onto the pedal and grabbed the handlebars firmly.

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“Jose, don’t go over 10 for now,” Manuel cautioned as he placed his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let yourself get used to it, and then you can go up more. Jessica, we’re gonna start off easy, okay? Don’t worry!” With that, we took off.

Our wheels crunched over the leaves on Manuel’s front lawn. We made our way slowly onto the street, going in a straight line. After the two houses ahead, we’d take our first turn.

I felt my body grow rigid and tense as Manuel veered right on to Lafayette Street. My knuckles turned white from my strong grip on the handlebars. My breath hung in my lungs. We made it through the turn and I didn’t fall off! I exhaled and relaxed a bit. But we were only going eight miles per hour. Was that really a celebration?

The bike hummed as we continued down the residential road. There were no cars or people in sight. Yet. Up ahead, the traffic circle awaited us. We’d have to turn left into Paradise Park. My fingers dug into the handlebars again. They were getting quite a workout.

Manuel shouted over his shoulder, “How you doing, Jessica?”

“Great!” I shouted back. “So far so good.” In truth, I was still a little unsure.

We approached the circle and whizzed through it, the area clear of other vehicles. My body leaned to the right with the turn, but I felt secure. I just had to get used to the motion.

“How you doing, Jose?” Manuel craned his neck around to check on him as we approached the park.

“I’m doing great, man. This is easy!” Nothing scared Jose. I knew he was ready to go maximum speed, but with respect, he waited for Manuel’s cue.

“Let’s take it slow through here, guys. The park gets crowded on this stretch,” Manuel cautioned.

To our right, a couple of guys were throwing what looked like Frisbees into strange metal canisters full of floppy chains. The contraption sat on a tall pole. “Disc golf! Great way to spend the afternoon.” Manuel offered, following my gaze through the eyes behind his head.

Up ahead, a couple walked a fluffy black dog who stopped for a break while a toddler kicked off on her scooter. Manuel veered to the edge of the paved road and waved at the family.

“Hey, that looks like fun!” the woman smiled at me. I smiled back.

We continued at a gentle pace down the path, weaving around the outdoor enthusiasts who were taking advantage of the perfect weather. We’d become the stars of Paradise Park, as countless walkers and joggers stopped to watch us make our merry way through. I suppose it’s not often you see an adult on a tag-along. It reminded me of when my dad would push me in the shopping cart through the grocery store when I was well into my 20s.

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The famous castle didn’t open until 10am. To kill time, we climbed down the many flights of stairs to the river valley and enjoyed a morning hike, taking in all the sights of Segovia, Spain. We glimpsed the castle from every possible angle that day.

By the time we finished the castle tour, the clock struck noon and I needed a nap. How could I be so tired already? This was the last day of our 2-week excursion before returning to the US. We would have to make the most of it.

We relaxed in the hotel before lunch, waiting for the restaurants to open at the typical Spanish time of 1pm. The pasta re-energized me, and I declared myself ready to explore the other side of the river. The tourist office told us about a beautiful walking trail there. We set out, but fatigue soon caught up with me again. We laid down in the grass to relax to the sound of the current and teenagers sunbathing in the afternoon sun. We continued our stroll until we realized that we had 3 options:

A. Rewalk the same lengthy uphill portion we had done that morning

B. Climb up the steep flight of stairs we had descended that morning

C. Backtrack the way we’d just come

D. Get a taxi, as offered by my husband

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I came to Spain to walk! I already had a good 150 miles under my belt from our previous nine days walking the Camino de Santiago. Even our “days off” exploring cities pulled in 10+ miles a day. A taxi? Don’t insult me.

But truth be told, I never felt so exhausted in my life. I wasn’t sure I would make it back on foot. We took it slow, choosing Option C, and spent the rest of the evening relaxing in the hotel and outside among the Roman Aqueduct for one last hurrah.

When we returned home to the US, I slept for nearly a week. That first morning waking up in my bed, my stomach was unsettled and I assumed something I ate on the plane didn’t agree with me. My stomach recovered after four days, but it took a good month for my energy level to normalize. I celebrated by returning to my weight lifting regimen, ready to fell strong and empowered again. In response, my energy dipped again. My stomach grew queasy again. I had trouble eating in the mornings and had to go home early from work several times and sleep until the afternoon. What was going on with me? Why was this so hard for my body?

It seemed like other people could walk entire Caminos in Spain (upwards of 500 miles) as if it were nothing. I heard stories of people twisting their ankles and continuing to walk at a “slow” pace of 13 miles a day. When people say that anyone can do a Camino, I fear they are seriously understating the challenge. Why does it seem like it’s so much harder for me, a healthy 39-year-old? How can people with bad knees in their 60s and 70s handle this better than me?

I know it’s pointless to compare myself to others, but I sensed I was missing something.

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About a year earlier, I had some blood work done and found my ferritin was way below normal range. Ferritin indicates how well your body stores iron in its cells. With some research, I found that people with that same level were struggling to get out of bed and walk up stairs. The fact that I had just walked 160 miles carrying a backpack most of the time would probably seem like a miracle to them. When I started planning for the Camino, I didn’t think the low ferritin would impact me. In fact, I had been taking an iron supplement and was feeling more energized. I figured I was in good shape and would have no problem.

More than a month after my return, I still didn’t feel like myself. I thought about the exhaustion I experienced that last day in Segovia and other days on the hike. Was my body lacking something that other hikers had a lot more of? Could it be more than ferritin?

Perhaps if I had been listening during my training, I would have heard my body speak.

I recall feeling underprepared. I expected training to be easier since it was my second go-around, but it felt harder. My previous Camino was less than one year ago so my body is still conditioned, I told myself. When training for my first, I did many longer hikes of 12+ miles because I wanted to test all my gear and see how my body responded. This time it didn’t seem necessary. My gear was solid. I already knew my body could handle the distance.

Despite my logical plan, my body wasn’t ready. I heard the faint whispers. I sensed an inner knowing, but I didn’t listen. What would the alternative be, anyway? I couldn’t reschedule or cancel! It’ll be fine, I kept saying. I couldn’t wait to get back to Spain and embark on this adventure! Besides, the route will be less hilly. It will be easier.

My stubbornness got the best of me.

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As I continued to recover, I began to ask the hard questions staring me in the face. If I hadn’t gone on this hike, how would I feel right now?

Was it worth it to deplete myself? Would training more make a difference or am I just not cut out for this?

A few years prior, I wrote the book Dear Body, Thank You which took me on a therapeutic journey to establish a solid relationship with my body. I knew the ways to take care of myself to the point that it became effortless. But the Camino swept me away. Entranced by its profound beauty, I lost the connection with my body. I just wanted to do what I wanted to do and wouldn’t take No for an answer!

Finally in June, about three months post-Camino, my energy levels felt healthy and restored. Since then, there’s been another tough question on my mind.

Will I ever walk another Camino?

My ferritin is in a great place, but I cannot prove that alone is responsible for my exhaustion. What if my body has been telling me that the Camino is too much for me? It’s hard to accept that simply walking day after day could be so exhausting. But I come from flat Florida at sea level. It’s very different terrain from Spain where Camino trails take you through rolling hills, mountains, and to altitudes up to 4000 feet. To get there, I must endure a night on an airplane barely sleeping and then adjust to a 6-hour time change. I’m excited and anxious for weeks leading up to the trip, preparing the house for guests who will stay here and take care of my cats while I’m gone, on top of finalizing travel details and packing my bag. So much energy is spent before even starting.

Maybe it’s easier for Europeans who only need to change their time by an hour or two. Hikers coming from mountainous areas or higher elevations surely adapt well. We’ve met several people from Colorado who can attest to that. But it doesn’t matter what it’s like for anyone else. It only matters what it’s like for me.

The Camino is a special place and there is nothing quite like it. I can’t deny the call in my soul to go back one day and arrive by foot in Santiago de Compostela, the finish line for all Camino routes. I have yet to see it.

After some time, I’ve reached a conclusion, not through logic alone but through sensing in my bones what is true. Listening to those whispers of my body.

I know what I can do differently to make the experience easier for myself. If I go back, it must be on a route that offers backpack transport services so that I can ship the bulk of my stuff ahead each day and carry a lighter bag for just daytime necessities. While carrying my backpack feels like carrying a trusted dear friend and is deeply intertwined with the Camino experience, it is too much for my frame.

I have to let go of this idea of what it means to be a real backpacker and find what works for me.

This is, of course, if I make it back.

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If I never walk a Camino again, I’m okay with that. I trust that life will continue to deliver rich and rewarding moments that will challenge and strengthen me. But I’m not giving up. If the Camino calls, I won’t be able to deny it. I will listen to my body and work with this partner of mine. We will arrive in Santiago and celebrate the understanding that sometimes “No” just means “Not this way, another way.” After all, life is just a series of steps. When you put them all together, you find your rhythm, your dance. And the only body that dance needs to feel good in is yours. So dance your dance for you and not for anyone else.

After dinner came the most important segment of any gathering for this family: dessert. Elaine’s daughter, known as the best chocolate chip cookie baker in New Jersey, fulfilled a once-in-a-lifetime request: 90 birthday cookies! But that certainly wasn’t enough. Also on the table sat a cheesecake and a birthday cake.

What a gift to make it to 90! Elaine’s five children dedicated much of their time to taking care of her: shopping for food and preparing meals, managing her appointments and medication, ensuring she got out for walks and did her physical therapy exercises, entertaining her with games and puzzles. While she maintained generally good health, Elaine lived with Parkinson’s Disease. Sometimes her legs would shake or give out, so the family decided it was best to have someone with her 24-7.

As Elaine stood before her cake blazing with candles, the family sang to her, quite out of tune but full of joy. After she blew them out, her cookie-baker daughter asked, “Ma, what did you wish for?” Elaine replied with good humor, “I wished for you all to go away!” You might wonder how she could say such a thing. I know the truth. She didn’t want anyone to encroach on her 90 birthday cookies. I can’t blame her, as I share the “don’t steal my cookies” gene. Elaine is none other than my grandma, and I’m proud to carry out the family legacy.

Earlier this month, my grandmother Elaine passed away at the age of 92. It took us by surprise, even though we knew this day would come eventually.

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With downtime between appointments, Mike and I decided to trade services. He’d never had a massage before and I’d never worked with a personal trainer. I’ll never forget what happened during that massage session. For reasons that he couldn’t explain, Mike began to cry. He didn’t appear embarrassed, even though crying in front of someone was probably not a usual occurrence for him. It seemed as though something had released that he didn’t know was there.

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15 years later, my dear friend Daniela offered me a facial. She’s been an esthetician for a long time and absolutely loves it. I always viewed facials as a luxury and not something I needed or was willing to spend money on, but I was curious to experience her craft. We decided to trade.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect during the facial but I was having a rough week and looked forward to some relaxation. What I discovered is that someone caring for my face feels very nurturing. Daniela worked in a delicate yet confident way, and I could sense her love for it. Even though I’m cautious about what I put on my sensitive skin, I felt completely safe in her hands. It was a special experience to receive this gift from my treasured friend. “Touch is not a luxury,” she told me.

It got me thinking - how many valuable experiences might we be closed off to due to the price tag?

What if more of these trades happened between friends and fellow community members?

What might we be able and willing to explore if no exchange of money was involved?

Perhaps like Mike, something inside would open up that we didn’t know needed attention. Or like me, it would feel like a warm embrace at a time I really needed it.

When it came time for me to deliver my part of the trade, I explained to Daniela that I hadn’t given a massage in 8 years! She wasn’t worried. “It’s still in you,” she said. Turns out she was right. I remembered everything like it was yesterday. She reconnected me with a valuable skill I forgot I had.

Throughout many US cities and other countries, there’s a program called timebanking where members can give and receive help. Instead of money, the currency exchanged is time credits. I began looking into this a couple of years ago, but something stopped me.

What do I even have to offer? How can I help?

The trade with Daniela reminded me of the time bank and the weekly emails I received and kept deleting. Here is a program that completely aligns with my values and yet I’m ignoring it!

I began to brainstorm what skills I have that I could offer others.

• Teach Mahjong

• Teach basic salsa dancing

• Watch pets

• Mentor through self-publishing a book

• Provide health and wellness coaching

• Teach couples the basics of massage

The list goes on! I realized that I have accumulated a lot of skills over the years. Are there people in my community who need them? Are there people who might not think they need them until they see my offer and are curious? We never know until we put it out there. And even if not, boy do I feel really proud of what I’ve done. It would be a shame not to share it!

There are so many ways to participate in community sharing, like free little libraries, clothing and jewelry swaps, or buy nothing/freebie apps to give away goods. Even just lending something of value to a neighbor.

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While preparing for my hike in Spain, it was crucial to understand the weight of my backpack and what I was physically prepared to carry. But I didn’t own a scale and I really didn’t want to buy one just for this. I found someone willing to lend me their luggage scale for a month. This saved me $15! Maybe not a fortune. But I did have another friend lend me her sleeping bag for the trip, and that was a huge cost savings.

Every time we trade or share items, we are strengthening our community economy.

As we see costs of goods skyrocket every day, we need this!

The best part is we don’t have to become a member or sign up for any app. We can simply become aware of our skills and talk with others about it. Who knows what new or much needed experience you’ll find?

Last night I decided it’s time to get into the time bank! I logged into my account, snooped around, and even submitted some postings. I hope I find a native Spanish speaking conversation partner and someone who wants to learn Mahjong!

Now I turn it over to you.

What resources and programs exist in your community? How are you already helping those around you? What skills do you have to share or items to lend? Take some time to think about it. I hope you find someone to trade with! And feel free to share in the comments.

To our strength in sharing!