When I was young, the neighborhood kids and I would spend an entire day playing a game we called Seeking Treasure.
Ranging in age from seven to eleven, we’d split into two teams and retreat to separate houses, where we sprawled across the floor mapping out a plan to outwit the other team. We’d write and decorate clever clues on slips of paper. Each team had a designated area of the neighborhood and a firm no spying rule.
We hid clues in trees, on porches, in birdhouses, and mailboxes.
Every game brought a new challenge as we searched for hiding places that would thwart the opposing team. One clue led to another. You didn’t know where you were going when you started, and you couldn’t gauge how far along the other team was in their quest.
That was the fun of it.
At the agreed-upon time, the teams met at a central location. Once the first clues were formally exchanged, the race began. I honestly can’t recall a single clue or whether there was even a treasure to be found.
Yet I have a visceral memory of packs of children running madly through the neighborhood. Putting our heads together to decipher a clue. Climbing trees, sticking our hands into small places, getting really dirty, and screaming wildly for everyone to hurry and keep up.
It was exhilarating fun.
I remember the pleasure of creating, the camaraderie, and a keen feeling of aliveness. Strangely, I have absolutely no memory of winning or losing.
Eventually, both teams ended up at the designated house where somebody’s mom had snacks waiting.
Apparently that’s when we learned that every good quest should end with celebration and plenty of food, no matter who won.
Even if you never played a game like this, I imagine you left behind at least some of that childhood creativity, freedom of movement, playful exploration, and trust that one clue would somehow lead to another.
Instead, you probably became very good at figuring things out.
You make lists, research decisions, compare possibilities, and ask other people what they think. You may even try to understand what something means before you’ve had a chance to experience it and see what emerges.
There’s nothing wrong with thinking. Your intelligent mind serves you beautifully. But some things are discovered differently. Not by trying harder to find an answer, but by becoming receptive enough to notice what meets you.
I think we need to play again.
That’s the spirit behind Awaken Your Inner Oracle, a day of Oracle Card Readings and Treasure Mapping at Soul Sanctuary.
Imagine arriving among friends, new and old, with a few questions that are alive in your life and absolutely no requirement to know the answers. We’ll play with Oracle cards, share lunch together, and spend the afternoon seeking treasure throughout Soul Sanctuary.
You’ll have an opportunity to relax, play, follow your curiosity, and discover how much more you perceive when you’re not trying so hard to be intuitive.
I’ve enjoyed so many days like this with others at Soul Sanctuary, sitting around playing with Oracle cards, seeking clues, and having no idea what we’ll find.
My favorite part is watching the doubt disappear as people discover how easily they can perceive the wisdom hidden in plain sight.
When I was running around the neighborhood all those years ago, I trusted that something would catch my attention and lead me toward the next clue. I didn’t need to know where I was going or how things would turn out before I began.
I just played.
On Saturday, September 26, I’d love to invite you to come play with me. Bring your curiosity and whatever questions are alive in your life. Let’s have some fun and see what finds you.
Come for one workshop or make a day of it. And I’ll definitely have snacks waiting for you. Some traditions are worth keeping.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
There comes a moment when something within you begins to shift. Not because life is failing. Not because you have done something wrong. But because what once felt meaningful no longer feels like enough. Many women arrive at this threshold quietly.
A few months ago, when the world was cold and the snow came often, I left for work a little earlier than usual. The roads had already been plowed, but I knew better than to assume they were clear. That kind of winter morning holds a particular deception.
Some days don’t announce themselves as anything more than what they are.
My husband and I celebrated our wedding anniversary last weekend with a trip to New York City to see Every Brilliant Thing with Daniel Radcliffe.
You arrive in Venice the way you always arrive in places that have lived longer than memory can hold. Not just by plane or train, but by stepping into a rhythm already in motion. The Duomo rises before you, not asking for attention, but receiving it anyway.
There comes a moment, sometimes quietly, when you realize you don’t want to keep postponing your life. Not in a dramatic way, nor as a declaration, but as a simple, honest recognition that what you are living now matters. You begin to sense an invitation, not to fix yourself or become someone else, but to turn toward your life as it is and meet it more fully.
I enjoy airports. Most likely because they signal that a travel adventure is about to begin. My family followed the “arrive two hours early” rule for every flight, and I’m still a fan. It allows me to relax and enjoy the airport phase of the travel experience. I’m not worried about security lines, overpriced water, or what boarding group I’m in. Although, truth be told, those days of being upgraded to first class have left a subtle longing for wider seats and fewer people.
