Maybe it’s found the moment you decide to take a risk, departing from your usual, daily routine…

Deciding not to go to the bar with your friends that evening, but choosing to stay at home instead to reopen the novel you had started a couple months ago.

Deciding to call in sick that day at work, convincing your spouse to do the same, so that the two of you can take a day-trip to the beach.

Deciding to sign up for the soccer team and go to their first practice after school, even though you had never played before and it meant you couldn’t go home to your favorite video game.


Or maybe the moment you connect with someone…

When a stranger on the bus reaches out to you to tell you that the two of you are wearing the same shoes, which leads into a conversation unraveling further surprising similarities between the two of you.

When you get an unsuspected call from a music publishing agent who tells you she attended your singing performance at the coffee shop down the street last week, and that her agency wants to sign you for a record deal. 

When your boyfriend of 4 years tells you that he’s still just as madly in love with you as he was on the day he first met you. Then, while kneeling down and pulling out a small box from inside his pocket, he asks you to spend the rest of your life with him.


It is in these sometimes simple, sometimes spectacular experiences, when it feels you’ve got a hold on your true self.

When you seize an opportunity to step out of your comfort-zone, into the pursuit of something else that, not knowing why or how, you mysteriously understand will provide you with a better life.

Or when you’ve acknowledged that a gift, or experience, has been so specifically given to you, it is too purposefully planned to be downplayed as luck or coincidence…

This is what I’m meant for.

The world freezes as you reflect on your special moment and the strangest mixture self-celebration and humility fill your being. A joy is settled in you, so full, you don’t feel like you deserve it.


The great problem, however, interfering with our treasured self-discovery is how quickly we lose it the moment we stop believing in its value and truth.

We can only keep it by continuously harvesting self-belief, acknowledging over and over that, with the humblest acceptance and thanks:

I am worthy

I am able

I am loved

And living as if you believe in this truth to be more important than anything else.






On writing

My fingers hesitantly begin their timid walk on the keyboard. Gradually, as they make their way onto the platform, they awkwardly transition into a clumsy, uncomfortable, middle-school dance.

A few moments of these embarrassing movements pass, before, to my own surprise, the dance mysteriously smooths into blissful motions, transforming into an elegant, cohesive ballet.

The beautiful dance lasts hours before the act reaches an end.

My mind comes back to my bedroom where I sit in a comfy white chair, next to big a sunlit window, holding a dusty laptop. I sit back and breathe in the deep feeling of triumph and accomplishment, before letting out a rejoicing, fully satisfied, exhale.


Today I decided to re-commit to this writing platform I abandoned months ago. The excuses I made to defend this act of termination were endless. Most of them, however, revolved around the same overarching theme: fear. The mind-crippling pest that takes over my hopeful, life-giving thoughts, replacing them with accusations that become my truth–that I’m wasting my time, that my writing won’t be good enough, and that my thoughts and ideas don’t matter.

I’ve allowed myself to settle with these new truths for over a year before recently realizing that this decision to stop writing has brought me no good feeling–no assurance, no peace, no joy, no better more purposeful direction.

I began to recognize that the absence had made me lose a part of myself and of my potential. I was holding myself back from the imaginative, creative, explorative world that emerges when I let myself give in to the desire of my soul to express and create, which, for me, has taken the form of writing.

Writing unintentionally formed into my creative outlet during my middle school to college-aged years. During all that time it had never, until recently, become a purposeful life motive. For years I had written in notebooks daily to the point where it became one of my natural impulses. Like eating food, writing became a habit I didn’t need to think about; it was something I unconsciously did to fill me up and hold myself together. It wasn’t until now, after going over a year of not writing, that I’ve realize it’s fuller impact.

Now–a year later–I’ve taken the first step of my writing return by revisiting the blog I created last year. I don’t know where my writing’s going or what it’s for (most of the time I don’t even know what I’m going to write until my fingers touch the keyboard), all I know is that it feels right and good right now.


In honor of my re-commitment, here’s my “About” page written one year ago, re-expressed today:

“I am writing to reflect, explore, and investigate. I have no specific destination, but I do have an over-abundance of motives that led me to begin here.  It is my hope (other than becoming the next Rowling or Tolkein) that the random assortments of my writings unwind into something inspiring to myself and to others.

I like life, but am not struck by it enough. The unfortunate reality for me, most of the time, is to be jaded or bored, often wanting something more exciting. I don’t like that I think that way, so I want to build upon the bits of joy, hope, love, and curiosities I’ve experienced, which have brought me to the realest versions of feeling alive.

That said, my words will be written to compliment and admire the enormity of this planet’s intelligence, beauty, and connectedness. These writings will always be incomplete pieces of a ginormous puzzle, chapters of a sophisticated novel, and scenes of an epic movie; they will never reach the ultimate, grand finale.

But here’s to the journey”.

Dear Indifference,

Dear Indifference,

I do hope, dearly, that you decide to return home soon.

If you do, old friend, I will be right where you left me:

Climbing this curious, unsteady tree with whimsically laced shoes;

Risking the solidity of bones,

of pride,

of reputation

as I swing freely onto each ridiculed branch;

Laughing through every manner of misstep,

bumped head,

and scratched limb

that leads me to the top


in the peace of the sun,

I wait.