Tag: Self-Consideration

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The Horse who Joined the Conversation

Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.

I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.

I fell in love.

Not in the dramatic way we sometimes use that phrase, but in the quiet recognition of feeling unexpectedly at home in the presence of another living being.

When I returned a few months later, I wondered whether he would remember me.
He did.

I have found a deep contentment in being with Zor. Grooming him in his stall. Massaging his neck and shoulders. Singing softly while he lowered his great head to graze. Standing beside him without needing anything from him. I have never asked Zor to attend to me, carry me, or teach me. His quiet companionship has awakened something joyful in me. That has been enough for me.

One afternoon, I carried my chair into the pasture and placed it beneath the shade of a tree.

It was one of those Florida afternoons where the heat seems to shimmer above the grass. The horses grazed quietly under an endless blue sky. I settled into my chair, content to watch the horses, listen to the birds, and perhaps take a nap. As I entered the pasture, Zor lifted his head and followed me with his eyes. Once I was seated beneath the tree, he returned to grazing.

For a long while I simply sat. My body softened. My mind became quiet. My eyes sometimes closed as I listened to the song of nature. 

After a while I noticed that Zor had slowly changed position. He moved in a gentle arc that gradually brought him closer.

Having heard stories about the way he sometimes greeted people, I stood and stepped in front of him to say hello. I preferred not to discover what happens when a two-thousand-pound horse decides to make his presence known by tipping over my chair.

Once met, he returned to grazing.

I remained beneath the tree to have my scheduled phone session with a client. It had been a rough week. Testing revealed that the tumors in her body had grown.

As painful as the diagnosis itself was the experience of trying to receive care. Tests were delayed. Decisions postponed. Phone calls unanswered. She wasn’t simply carrying cancer. She was carrying the exhaustion of trying to find her way through a medical system that seemed unable to meet her with clarity or care.

“I'd like to place my hand on this beautiful horse's heart while we talk,” I said.

 

The phone in my back pocket, an AirPod in one ear, one hand rested on my heart, and the other rested on his.

Quietly, in my own awareness, I introduced them and returned to listening. Zor continued grazing as we moved together across the pasture.

Eventually he wandered beneath a small tree, stopped grazing, and looked directly at me.

For the remainder of our conversation, I stroked his face while listening to this lovely woman navigate this challenging season of her life.

In time, something softened. Her voice became lighter as we moved from frustration toward the next small steps before her. Zor remained completely still beneath my hand. No one hurried the conversation.

This exchange included two humans, a horse, birdsong, the warm sun, and a gentle breeze. Everything belonged.

Toward the end of our conversation, Zor lifted his head, gave a great snort, and calmly returned to grazing. My client heard it through the phone. She laughed, as did I. “I think we’re complete,” she said. Reminding me how her dog always knew our conversation was ending a few minutes before we said goodbye.

“Please thank that horse for me.”

I returned to my chair beneath the tree and closed my eyes. For a long moment I simply rested in that experience.

There is no miraculous ending to this story.

I don’t know whether that afternoon changed her treatment, her health, or even her day. I don’t need to know. I only know that I was part of something beautiful.

A woman seeking healing.
A horse quietly grazing.
One hand resting on my own heart.
The other resting on his.

Three hearts participating in the same quiet field of presence.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Leaving Home to Arrive Home

Eight years ago, I traveled to Costa Rica for a week-long retreat centered around ayahuasca, breathwork, yoga, and deep inner exploration.

Like many people who are drawn to these experiences, I went seeking something. You might call it a Divine encounter. You might call it awakening. You might call it healing.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for. I only knew there seemed to be a place people spoke about. That place beyond ordinary life. A place where greater peace, greater freedom, and greater love existed. And I wanted to know it for myself.

On the first evening, I lay on a mattress beneath an open-air pavilion in the Costa Rican jungle.

Night settled around the group as the ceremony began. I was relaxed, open, and curious.
As the plant medicine took effect, I remember making one simple commitment to myself. Don’t turn away. Whatever appears, it is here for you. Meet it.

For hours, I was shown scenes from ordinary moments of my own life.

Every one revealed where I had turned away from what was actually present.

Countless moments where Life was present but I was not.

When someone reached toward me and I wasn’t fully there. 
How beauty quietly presented itself and I hurried past. 
Ways I turned away from myself. 
Living my life while imagining that real life was somewhere else.
Times I let go the Mystery and a sense of wonder.

Scene after scene unfolded. Some scenes were so small and ordinary that I might never have noticed them at all. Others were much more significant and far reaching. There was no judgment accompanying what was bring offered.

Only the opportunity to see clearly. And with the seeing came tears. I cried for hours because I suddenly understood what I had been missing.

I wasn’t grieving my failures or feeling concern about hurting anyone. I was grieving the countless missed opportunities for relationship that had quietly passed by while I was looking somewhere else.

The next morning, I walked alone along a path through the jungle.

Trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, providing a gentle landing for the birds who sang beneath the bright sun. My body felt tired with some lingering sense of motion sickness.

A hangover of sorts from a night of traveling through so many landscapes.

Walking along that path, my inner voice spoke clearly: Now the work begins.

 

Yes, I understood and I agreed.

Almost immediately I heard that same voice laugh. You came here for a magic pill, didn’t you?

Touche. Indeed, I did. I had to laugh. Some part of me believed I would arrive in Costa Rica, meet the Divine, have love break me open, and leave transformed into an entirely new person.

Instead, I was being invited back into relationship with my own life.

The ceremonies continued for three more nights. Each one delivered exactly what it needed.

As I returned home, that invitation reverberated through my being. 

Now the work begins.

Not the work of becoming someone new. It was the staying within the ordinary moments I was living.

It was the invitation to return to the people in front of me, my own body, the quiet beauty, and the potential to meet the moment as it arrived.

To turn toward the life that had never stopped inviting me into relationship.

Looking back now, I don’t think I went to Costa Rica seeking some mystical state, inner contentment, or existential peace. I think all along I went seeking my own life. And Life, in its mysterious generosity, gave me exactly what I needed. 



Not another destination. 

A way of returning home.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Returning to Yourself

The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.

They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.

A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.

Crowded with responsibilities, information, expectations, decisions, and the steady rhythm of accomplishing what needs to be done. Yet many quietly sense there may be another way to move through life. One that feels more spacious, more relational, and more deeply their own.

We often assume what we need is another answer. Another practice. Another book. Another workshop. Yet what I’ve witnessed over the years is something much simpler.

Most women don’t need more information. They need a different relationship with the life they are already living.

That’s where Via Sophia begins.

Not as a philosophy to adopt or a spiritual identity to become. Via Sophia is simply the Way of Living Wisdom. A way of meeting yourself, other people, nature, beauty, challenge, joy, and the ordinary moments of everyday life with greater presence, intimacy, and participation.

This is why I’m gathering women in the lush jungle of Costa Rica. Not because wisdom only exists in beautiful places. It doesn’t.

But because becoming spacious within beauty creates clarity.

When life slows enough, something remarkable begins to happen. Your body softens. The constant internal conversation quiets. Your attention widens.

You begin hearing yourself again.

Not the version shaped by urgency or expectation, but the quieter wisdom that has been patiently waiting beneath the noise.

Your voice. Unwoven from the cacophony of societal noise.

Your rhythm. Loosened from the momentum of a cluttered schedule.

There is value of retreating within your own being. More easily done when you are temporarily away from habitual living. Embraced and nourished within the natural world, you relax and reorganize.

So you may return to the relationship with yourself. So you may inhabit the life you are living.

Via Sophia is not something you learn and then apply later. It is a way of becoming more intimate with the life you are already living.

Over time, you begin recognizing wisdom as it appears in ordinary moments. How compassion naturally softens a difficult conversation. Where discernment brings clarity to a decision. When beauty becomes nourishment rather than decoration. How courage quietly asks you to take one honest step forward.

Within Via Sophia, you are invited into relationship with thirteen Mystical Mothers.

Each offering companionships as they model qualities and ways of being that help you recognize what is already living within you. Whether used as nourishing resources, teachers, or mirrors, the intelligence of each Mystical Mother invites recognition of your participation in life. And how you may more consciously engage in the living conversation that is alive in every moment.

Within Via Sophia, every phase of life is welcomed.

Joy and sorrow. Clarity and confusion. Rest and emergence. Belonging and solitude. Loving and letting go. Nothing is excluded. Nothing needs to be hidden. Everything becomes part of the conversation because Life itself holds everything.

Everything is welcome in this natural way of being. Because Life holds everything.

In Costa Rica, this way of living becomes easier to notice.

The rainforest teaches alongside us. The ocean soothes you. Meals offer slow, meaningful conversations. Silence becomes nourishing. Laughter becomes part of the practice. Before long, you begin to notice that every moment is part of the living conversation.

You don’t come to Costa Rica to escape your life. You come to remember how you want to live it.

Sometimes the path isn’t asking you to find yet another way of being. Sometimes it is asking you to inhabit the one that is already quietly unfolding beneath your feet.

This October I’ll be welcoming a small circle of women to Selva Armonia in Costa Rica. 

Together we’ll spend a week exploring Via Sophia – the Way of Living Wisdom – not as something to master, but as a way of inhabiting our lives more fully. If something within you longs for beauty, spaciousness, meaningful conversation, and a more intimate relationship with Life, perhaps this is your invitation.

If you feel called to immerse in beauty with me, I’d love to see what we discover together. Let’s have a conversation.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Studies of students entering college for the first time revealed that simple acts of kindness made a difference. During weeks where students reported doing more ordinary acts of kindness, they also experienced more happiness, resilience, optimism, and flourishing. Perhaps even more important, they felt less loneliness and anxiety. Ordinary kindness. Nothing dramatic or overly taxing. You don’t have to head off to school to get into the ‘act’ this week.

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Life Beneath the Schedule

I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.

All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.

I still worked, had sessions, responded to emails, taught my Via Sophia class, held conversations, and shared many a meal.

Spaciousness gave me room to notice the quiet invitations that are always there.

One morning I wandered down to the river, watching dolphins surface and disappear again. I sat in the shade with horses, praying for the world and what was possible. I cheered for the US in the World Cup game while the sunset painted the sky over the mangroves behind me.

A tiny resident lizard became part of my daily rhythm.

I read two novels until the Florida sun soothed me into a nap. Waking up flushed and uncomfortable led me to a cooling float in the pool. Eyes open, I glimpsed a manatee. Eyes closed, I listened to the song created by the breeze in the trees, birds holding melodic conversations, boat engines, and murmuring human voices.

None of it was extraordinary. And yet it felt deeply alive.

As the days unfolded, I began wondering how often I move through my own life waiting for some future arrangement before fully inhabiting the one already here.

I often hear women say they’ll relax when the project is finished, the children are grown, vacation finally arrives, retirement begins, or life settles down.

You know this dance. As though living can begin once everything else is complete.

But what if nothing has been waiting? What if life has simply been unfolding beside you all along, quietly offering itself in hundreds of ordinary ways.

A breeze across your face. Morning coffee. Birds outside the window. The sleepy dog hoping you’ll stop long enough for a gentle scratch. The conversation you almost rushed through. The tree you’ve driven past a hundred times, dancing in the wind whether anyone notices or not.

This is one of the quiet discoveries emerging in our Via Sophia circles.

Not another practice to master or another way to improve yourself. It is the simple remembering that life is already in relationship with you. How beauty is already arriving. Your body is already speaking.

The natural world is always in conversation.

You realize that you don’t have to manufacture a sacred life.
You learn to participate in the one already unfolding. Where wonder is already present.

This doesn’t require a vacation, a retreat, or the completion of every task on your life. While time away may certainly help create spaciousness, you might begin with something much smaller.

What if you gave yourself three hours?

What if your phone stayed inside?

What if there were nowhere you needed to be?


What if you wandered without deciding where you were going?

What if you let the day reveal itself instead of deciding in advance what it should become?

For some people, those questions sound heavenly. For others, they set off alarm bells.

If that’s you, begin even smaller. Perhaps only twenty minutes, a slow walk, or a cup of tea on the deck without your phone. Engage the natural beauty of a garden or sunset without photographing it.

Life rarely shouts. It usually whispers.

Maybe what you’re longing for isn’t somewhere else. Maybe it’s here. Hidden beneath the schedule, beneath the striving, beneath the endless doing.

Available and quietly inviting you into conversation.

If you decide to wander sometime this summer, I’d love to hear what you discover. Send me a note and tell me where the day led you. I’m curious what found you when you finally had room to notice. I’ll be sure to read it and respond after I savor one more slice of life newly discovered through different eyes than my own.

Ladies, perhaps spaciousness isn’t something you find someday. Perhaps it’s something you remember.

This October, a small circle of women will gather in Costa Rica to explore exactly that.

Together we’ll slow enough to hear life again, restore our relationship with ourselves and the natural world, and discover what begins to emerge when we stop managing life and start participating in it.

If that calls to you, I’d love to have you with us. Explore the Via Sophia Costa Rica Immersion here. 

If you’re ready to live sacred – naturally and with ease – let’s have a conversation. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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In Frontiers in Neuroscience (2026), researcher M.J. Kim explored why helping others is so good for us. Rather than looking only at psychology, this study looked at what happens in the brain. They found that prosocial actions, even very small ones, are associated with less depression, less anxiety, less loneliness, and greater meaning in life. One of the conclusions is beautifully simple: our nervous systems appear to regulate more effectively when we are in healthy relationship with others.

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The Descent

The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears.

Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.

I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.

Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her.

Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.

The father leaned in for a moment. Then he settled back into his seat, AirPods in, phone in hand. Whether he was giving space or simply unsure what to do, I couldn’t know.

So the mother carried the weight alone.

The toddler writhed, buckled, flailing against the seatbelt she could not tolerate. From where I sat, it seemed her little nervous system was overwhelmed by the simple truth of ear pain and sudden awakening.



The mother redirected and redirected again.

“Stop it. Sit still. Look out the window, try your words, watch the video.” She made a gallant effort without realizing her daughter was too young to orient and too overwhelmed to anchor on anything.

The flight attendant called out to make sure the toddler remained on the mother’s lap. 

The mom’s voice got louder. Her distress seeping through her words as they became harsher, more desperate to quiet her child.

I felt how desperately she wanted to help her daughter. Trying so hard to be a good mother, yet overwhelmed by a thrashing screaming little body and a plane filled with silence. 



The woman beside me began offering commentary, her tone gentle but misplaced, unaware that her attention tightened the field even more.

Another voice, another witness, another layer of pressure.



“Look outside… see the lights… almost there…” she called softly, trying to help the situation. The entire row vibrated with tension.

The Mother began to say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” To her child, to the flight attendant, to the plane.

Sometimes the kindest thing we can offer is one less person trying to change the moment.

So I closed my eyes and let myself drop into my own body. Into the steadiness beneath the moment.

Into that inner quiet that knows how to hold a field without trying to change anything. My breath widened. My body calmed. The space around us softened.

I became the still point in the middle of someone else’s storm.

And then a single tear slid from the corner of my right eye, unnoticed by anyone but me. Not for the noise or the inconvenience. An acknowledgment of the pain of that family, yet it was larger than that.

It was for my awareness of how often we miss each other. For all the ways human beings miss one another despite loving each other deeply. For all the moments in my own life when I, too, had empathic misses with the people I love.

Every human has been misunderstood in their moment of pain. Every human has misunderstood someone else.

The toddler kept screaming. The mother kept trying. The descent kept descending.

My awareness continued to widen beyond the row, beyond the plane, beyond the small family struggling to land inside their bodies. I saw the universal ache of humans trying to read each other with partial maps. And the pain of not being met, even when it is unintended.

We touched down with a jolt. The mother apologized to the air, to the rows, to the invisible judgment she felt all around her. The child sagged into exhaustion. The field exhaled. It was done.

And all I could think was: I am not here to fix the world. I am here to see it clearly, love it fiercely, and let whatever ripples out, ripple.

As we stood and gathered our bags, I found myself silently wishing that family well. I hoped the little girl’s ears would soon stop hurting. I hoped her mother would be gentle with herself. I hoped they would all sleep well that night.

It reminded me how often we meet one another with our best intentions and our limited understanding. Perhaps that’s simply part of being human.

Maybe it’s enough to notice. To soften. To honor the best efforts of a mother, a father, a frightened child, a kind stranger, and all of us who are learning, one ordinary moment at a time, how to meet life and one another more gently.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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If you’re longing for this way of living, I’d love to welcome you into the Via Sophia Costa Rica Immersive Retreat or a future Via Sophia Circle. Both offer invitations to slow down, deepen your relationship with life, and discover what begins to emerge when striving gives way to presence. You can explore both on my site or simply reply to this email. I’d be happy to have a conversation.

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What If Life Isn’t Asking You to Become Someone Else?

Over the past several months, I have been immersed in conversation with women.

In therapy sessions, Via Sophia circles, and at dinner tables. During walks, ceremonies, and quiet moments after gatherings have ended. I’ve been listening as stories unfold. Different women. Different lives, histories, and circumstances.

Yet beneath the details, I keep hearing a remarkably similar story. Many women are tired.

Not simply tired because life is busy. They’re tired because they have spent decades trying to meet expectations that were never fully their own.

These beautiful women have cared for children, partners, parents, communities, clients, organizations, and causes. They’ve built careers where they persevered, succeeded, and contributed. All the while carrying responsibilities with extraordinary devotion and competence.

Many women have also brought this same determination to their spiritual lives.

Exploring how to heal, grow, and awaken. Working diligently to become more loving, conscious, and present. Always reaching toward some future version of themselves that often seemed just beyond the horizon.

There’s nothing wrong with any of this. In fact, it reflects something beautiful. 



These women care deeply, want to contribute well, and intend to live meaningful lives. All share a desire to become the fullest expression of who they could be. I know these desires. I, too, have lived them.

But eventually other questions begin to emerge.

What if Life is not actually asking me to become someone else? Perhaps there is nothing wrong with me, and there never was, so I’ve got nothing to fix? What if wisdom is not found in striving, but in relaxation and restoration and relationship?

Again and again, I witness women arrive at this threshold. Not through force or achievement. Nor through mastering another technique or collecting another insight.

Most women arrive here thoroughly exhausted. And then approach the threshold through honesty.

They begin to examine the cultural messages absorbed, expectations inherited, and identities they carefully constructed. And recognize how brilliantly they adapted to the world around them. And how intelligently they learned to survive, succeed, care for others, and contribute.

Yet somewhere beneath all of that brilliance, effort, and now exhaustion, another life has been quietly waiting.

 

A life that is less concerned with managing outcomes and more interested in participating in the present moment.

A life that is willing to rest.

A life that knows nourishment is not a reward for hard work. Rather, it is a necessity for vital engagement with whatever arrives. These women recognize that life that can make room for contraction without turning it into failure. And allow tenderness, beauty, delight, and joy to emerge.

This is one of the gifts I see emerging through the Via Sophia Circles.

Via Sophia invites women to enter relationship with Life itself through the wisdom of the feminine and the 13 Mystical Mothers.

So you may directly enter into relationship with life deeply enough that wisdom, love, and beauty can move through you. Not as ideals or goals, but as lived experience.

Given that women have lived decades with crowded schedules, overflowing with responsibility, Via Sophia encourages a slower pace and invites you to gently notice what is arising. Whatever is alive in your life deserves your curiosity. Not to solve, arrange, or even understand. Just noticing and making some gentle room for what is actually here.

Meeting life. Just as it is. Without needing to change it or yourself. Imagine that.

The 13 Mystical Mothers serve as partners in this exploration. They arrive to support, embrace, and invite you to take a breath. They remind you that wisdom is not something to achieve, but something you recognize and remember. And how belonging, beauty, and pleasure emerge naturally when you soften enough to notice what is already here.

As the nervous system settles and your perceptual capacity naturally expands, life begins to feel different.

You breathe more fully and notice a sense of ease. You soothe rather than criticize. You rest and play without justification. Laughter returns and you enjoy your days without waiting until your life conditions improve.

Releasing the effort and need to manage life, you are free to participate with what is already showing up.

Here you discover that support has been offered through friendship, nature, love, community, the living world, and the quiet wisdom that arises when you stop arguing with reality.

What surprises many women is that transformation still occurs. In fact, it often unfolds more naturally than expected.

As you create room for rest, curiosity, beauty, and honest relationship with yourself, life begins reorganizing on its own. So you may discover a sturdiness that was never dependent upon perfect circumstances. And experience greater ease, deeper trust, and a growing capacity to meet whatever arises.

And perhaps that is what Via Sophia has been teaching all along. That Life manages itself remarkably well.

When you stop trying to force life into a particular shape, you become available to its wisdom.

You begin to notice what is already unfolding. You meet the moment with greater trust. This invites you to live more fully, consciously, and beautifully. 

Not someday. You begin right now. Gently laying down decades of conditioned effort and discovering what remains when striving is no longer required.

Via Sophia, The Way of Feminine Wisdom, is not a path of self-improvement. It is not about perfection, transcendence, or becoming someone better. It is an invitation into a different way of living.

A natural unfolding which invites intimacy with Life.

As a conscious participant in reality, so you move with Life rather than against it. Exploring a deep intimacy with Life, you become even more available to the wisdom, love, and beauty that move through you and to you.

If this conversation speaks to something you recognize in yourself, you can learn more here about the Via Sophia Circles and my upcoming Via Sophia Costa Rica Immersion.

Or better yet, reach out. Let’s relax together and have a conversation.

 

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Research suggests that gentle music does more than soothe the mind. It helps calm the nervous system, eases stress, supports emotional balance, and even invites the body into a deeper sense of safety. Humming or softly singing along may deepen the effect by encouraging a longer exhale, helping the body settle even more naturally. Choose whatever music brings you pleasure and has you singing, dancing, or smiling.

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An Accidental Meeting, A Hand Held

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. The pavement looks clean, almost dry, while a thin layer of ice waits invisibly beneath.

I was mostly alone on the road.

The sun was out, bright and generous, reflecting across the white snow under a clear blue sky. Everything looked fresh. New. There was a crispness in the air that matched the sharp cold of the morning, and I found myself enjoying the quiet beauty of it all.

As I approached a slight curve leading to a stop sign, I heard something simple and unmistakable inside me.

Stop here.

I was still more than a car length away from the intersection. There was no one behind me. No reason, really, to pause that early. But I did. I brought the car to a stop and sat there, curious, waiting without knowing why.

A moment later, I saw a car coming from the left.

It appeared around the curve moving a little too fast for the conditions. That caught my attention. I watched.

What followed unfolded as if time slowed down.

The car began to slide. Back and forth, a loss of traction that the driver could not quite correct. It went up onto the curb, dropped back down, and came to a sudden stop directly in front of me.

Had I been at the stop sign, it would have been a very different moment. But I was not.

There was no car behind me. No pressure. Just a calm body and space to witness what had happened.

Two young men sat in an older car. I could see the driver’s body tense, his breath caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. They spoke quickly to one another. Then he jumped out of the car, ran to the front, checking for damage. He circled to the back, then looked toward me.

His whole body spoke before his words did.
He was shaken.

He raised his hands, his face tight with worry, and mouthed, I am so sorry. Then he turned, looking again at the curb he had hit, back at his car, and back at me. The distress was real, immediate.

I rolled down my window and motioned him over.

He came quickly, apologizing again, his voice unsteady. He was close to crying. His friend had gotten out as well, moving toward the front of the car, checking the wheels.

“Give me your hand,” I said. 
He did. He held on tightly.

“I lost control of the car,” he said. “I was so scared. Oh my God… what if I had hit you?”

I smiled, not to dismiss him, but to meet him where he was. “Take a breath,” I said. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re both okay.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, still holding my hand, the cold air moving through the open window. I began to breathe with him, quietly, without instruction beyond presence.

I could feel his body begin to settle.

Then his eyes opened wide again. “I didn’t realize I was going that fast. I hit ice.” “Yes,” I said gently. “That happens. These roads can be tricky. They look clear, and they’re not.”

There was no need to make him wrong. The moment had already taught him everything it needed to.


“This is something you learn from experience,” I continued. “I learned it myself the same way you did. And now you’ve learned it.”

He took a deeper breath.

“It’s okay not to know,” I said. “And then to learn something new. You’re okay.” Something in him softened. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”

“You would have figured it out,” I told him. “But here’s what you can do now.”

I pointed just beyond the intersection. “Pull into that first driveway. Park. Get out with your friend and take a good look at the car. Maybe drive it slowly in the parking lot, see how it feels. And sit there for a few minutes. Don’t leave until you feel calm again. Then you can continue, carefully, now that you know.”

He nodded. “Okay. I will.”
Again, “I’m so sorry.”

“We’re okay,” I said.

He let go of my hand, returned to his car, spoke to his friend, and slowly turned into the driveway on the right. I continued on my way to work.

At the next red light, I found myself sitting in the same sunlight, watching it reflect off the snow, feeling something quiet and steady inside.

Gratitude.

Not for avoiding an accident, though that was certainly there. But for the exchange itself.

He had come toward me, even in his fear, to make sure I was alright. I had reached toward him, meeting his distress without judgment. There was a simple, mutual care in that moment. Nothing elevated. Nothing complicated.

Just two humans, pausing long enough to recognize one another.

What steadied him was not only the breath, or the calming of his body. It was the absence of blame. The normalization that this happens. That we learn. That we adjust.

There was nothing to defend against, nothing to hide from. And in that, something repaired itself almost immediately.

We met, briefly, in a place where no one was wrong.

There are countless moments like this in a day, though most are far less dramatic. Small openings where we might pause. Where we might soften. Where we might reach out a hand, or receive one.

Instead, we often move past one another, quickly, efficiently, as if nothing meaningful lives in those in-between spaces.

But it does.

Those small exchanges carry weight. They linger. They shape how we meet the next moment, and the next person.

Even now, when I come to that same stop sign, I sometimes think of him. I imagine him driving more carefully, yes. But more than that, I imagine him moving through his life with the same instinct he showed that morning. To turn toward, rather than away. To care, even when shaken. To hold a hand and breathe together.

Not that he must pay it forward.

Simply because, for a brief moment on a cold winter morning, those actions revealed his nature. And it was lovely.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Research continues to show that simple moments of awareness, noticing the body, the breath, the environment, can reduce stress and increase a sense of wellbeing. Nothing complex required. Just a quiet return to what is already happening, and the body often responds with a natural sense of ease. Practice throughout ordinary days allows this natural way of being to emerge when you experience a higher load of stress or an unexpected or overwhelming encounter.

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Every Brilliant Thing I Noticed

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.

On the way up, settling into the lower level of the train, I noticed the view. Train tracks, trash, and graffiti on concrete walls. I realized I’d prefer the upper car with a view of the landscape and the brilliant blue sky. This prompted a move at the same time the train gained its own momentum. Swaying down the aisle, in sync with the speeding train, we dropped into a row where I claimed the window seat.

Only to notice that the glass was blurred and no view was available.

Without distraction, our hushed conversation was relaxed. Along the way, I noticed the woman eating her lunch, two people quietly speaking behind me, a woman reading How Proust Can Change Your Life, and the way the light moved across the seats.

There was nothing remarkable about that journey. And yet, it was not nothing.

Arriving in the city, the wind caught my ears in that intense, almost surprising way it does between buildings. Cold, immediate, alive. I didn’t rush past it. I noticed it. And again, blocks later, when the cold turned sharp within my ears.

New York City is not my favorite place. To me, it’s loud, fast, dirty, and a bit abrasive to my system.

I wasn’t concerned with navigating the terrain as I followed my husband’s lead. Leaving me relaxed and free to notice the architecture, traffic, souvenirs, and food trucks lining our path. I saw the street artists, cautious venders of knockoff purses, bike couriers with their food orders, and the unhoused hoping for assistance.

The city felt different this time. Not better or worse, just available, there for the noticing.

We spent a few relaxed moments in Times Square. Out of the way of the crowds and costumed characters angling for a photo opportunity and a donation.

I looked up at the billboards, Broadway show marquees, news feeds, and advertisements. Color, movement, creativity, pleasure, and ambition stacked on top of itself.

We spoke about shows we’ve seen, memories we’ve shared, and new stage stories that looked interesting.

Without the need to plan or make a decision, I enjoyed taking it in as part of the landscape I was moving through. There was a kind of ease in not needing the moment to become anything else. And a sigh of pleasure when dropping into the perfect table in a quiet, warm restaurant. 



A break from stimulation. A nourishment of the body. An opportunity for more enjoyable conversation. 



Followed by a relaxed stroll to the theatre and quiet time waiting in the short line for entry. Settling inside the theater, my sense of delight and awareness broadened and deepened. Without effort, I was inhabiting a new experience.

Every Brilliant Thing is simple in its structure and expansive in its reach.

A single performer on a small stage telling the story of his life with a mother with depression. A list revealed.

Ordinary things that, somehow, hold the weight of living and perhaps, hopefully, invite some realization of the good of it all. Participation from some of the audience and a fair amount of improv all around.

In the center of the back row, I had a birds eye view of the orchestration that was unfolding.
I watched Daniel enthusiastically greet people as they claimed their seats. Offering them an opportunity for participation in this unique show. Handing over an index card with their lines, sometimes elaborating upon what was asked of them.

In real time, I noticed collaboration with the actor, director, and audience members as this specific performance was being set up … for whatever was to unfold.

Not so different from my experience on the swaying train or the bustling city, I was meeting something alive, relational, and in motion.


I could feel the moment when the room was set.

The people were seated. Index cards had landed. The actor and director gazed out from the stage, gave a synchronized nod, shook hands, and the show continued.

It didn’t feel like the beginning, although officially it was. It felt more like a continuation of the day I had already been inside of.

I was enraptured from the first utterance through the last bow. The story itself was brilliant. True. Deep. Joyful. Sorrowful. Real.

And there was room for the entire audience to meet this real experience easily, without effort. At times with laughter at the wit, improv, and generally funny ways humans move through life. In moments that landed through the entire body, like a soft recognition passing through. A slight tightening. A warmth. A pause. A tear. A deep, resettling breath.

The return to laughter, delight, and spontaneous appreciation of the way an audience member showed up. Put on the spot. With Daniel Radcliffe. Imperfectly perfect in that moment.

At times, I felt the stillness of the crowd as if we had been paused in flight. A shared breath held. The joy of movement returning with a well timed laugh. I sensed a current moving through the group, the shared acknowledgment of the depths and heights of human experience, and a recognition of ourselves in a single story.

The truth of it moving through the room in different ways for different people. Without any need to interpret or analyze, it landed. Touched the room. And took flight once again.

There is something about being in a space where life is being reflected back, not as an idea, but as a lived texture.

Small things. Ice cream. A song. A moment of connection. A heartbreak. An unexpected action. The kinds of things that don’t ask for your attention, and yet hold everything.

Throughout this full day, I wasn’t thinking about being present. I was just not somewhere else. And that feels important to say.

Because this rich experience didn’t come from effort. It didn’t come from reminding myself to stay in the moment. It was more like the absence of leaving.

After the show, the city received me again. The same streets. The same movement. And still, that quiet thread of being inside of it continued.

The train ride home was softer. A short nap offered a small kindness to the body after the motion and the movement of the day.

There is a way of living where the meaningful moments are the obvious ones. The show. The peak. The thing you went for.

And there is another way that has been quietly revealing itself.

Where the walking there matters. Where the cold air matters. Where the looking up at a billboard for a show you may never see matters. Where the way your body sits in a chair, or breathes in a room, or softens into a moment is not separate from the experience, but the experience itself.

The events of the day may look ordinary from the outside, yet from the inside, it felt full. Not full in a way that needs to be held onto. Just full in the sense that nothing was missing from it while it was happening.

I am noticing more and more that this is less about creating a certain kind of life, and more about inhabiting the one that is already here. Not perfectly. And certainly not with effort.

To notice not only the moments that move through the day, but where I am standing as they do.

Living inside the life that is unfolding, however ordinary or brilliant it may appear on the outside.

Recognizing that, like that swaying train, crowded city, and engaged audience, life is already unmistakably alive, responsive, and coherent.

Ripe for the noticing.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Studies suggest that attending live theater increases empathy and emotional connection, as audiences share a collective experience in real time. Sitting together, responding together, something subtle happens. Even a simple story, told well, can remind us of the depth, humor, and tenderness woven through ordinary life.    

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Reflections In A Venetian Window

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. Gold mosaics catch the light in a way that feels almost intentional, as if the building itself knows how to speak to the human longing for beauty. You stand there, looking up, letting your eyes follow stories set into stone and glass. There is devotion here, layered over centuries. Hands that built, restored, and protected. A quiet insistence that something sacred matters.

In the main square, the blue clock turns its ancient face toward you. 

Time, but not the kind you check on your phone. This one carries a story. Figures emerge, disappear, reappear. You watch, not because you need to know the hour, but because something in you recognizes continuity. The kind that outlives urgency.

The tide has pushed into the square and you step through the water at its edge. 

Shoes in hand, coolness around your ankles. People laugh, hesitate, complain, adapt. It is all happening at once. Venice does not pause for inconvenience. It absorbs it.

Later, in a narrow alley, you sit outside and eat what you are certain is the best pizza of your life. The kind that requires no commentary. Simple, perfect, immediate. The table is small. The air is close. Voices move around you in languages you do not need to understand.

You wander.

The streets curve and narrow, then open unexpectedly. Every turn offers something. A small shop filled with glass. A doorway framed in flowers. A bridge where someone pauses just long enough to take a photograph and then disappears into the flow again.

You notice the people.

Waiters moving quickly, carrying plates with practiced ease. Some warm, some indifferent, and some clearly tired. Shopkeepers who greet you with a smile or barely look up. 

There is no uniform mood here. Just life, in all its expressions. 

You can feel the weight of history beneath it, not as something romanticized, but as something lived. A place that has known beauty and strain, wealth and hardship, continuity and change.

And then, without planning it, you stop.
A window.

At first, it is simply a display. White masks, dozens of them, layered and suspended in different shapes and expressions. Some delicate. Some exaggerated. Some almost unsettling. The glass reflects the street behind you, so for a moment, everything overlaps. Faces without bodies. Movement behind stillness.

You step closer.

Masks have always belonged here. Not as decoration, but as function.


In another time, they offered anonymity. Freedom. Protection.

A way to move through society without being fully seen. To speak, to act, or to participate without consequence. They held power. They allowed expression that might otherwise be constrained. They served a purpose.

You stand there, looking at them, and for a brief moment, you see your own reflection layered into the display.

And something in you recognizes something. Not as a dramatic revelation that demands attention. Just a quiet noticing of the masks you have worn.

Not the literal kind, but the ones that form over time. The ways you learned to move through the world. To be accepted. To stay safe. To navigate expectations. To belong, or at least to avoid exclusion.

Some of them were subtle. A tone of voice. A way of agreeing. A way of not saying something. Some of them were more defined. Roles you stepped into. Identities that shaped how others met you, and how you met yourself.

None of them were random. They formed in response to something real. A moment, a relationship, or an environment. Each one carried intelligence. Each one served you.

You can see that now.

Standing in front of that window, in a city that has made an art form out of masks, you are not inclined to judge them. Not yours. Not anyone’s.

There is a kind of beauty in them. Although, you notice that you are no longer reaching for them. Nor have you forced them away. Not because you have decided they are wrong. Simply because, in this moment, they are not needed.

You stand there, unmasked, and realize nothing is missing.

No performance is required. No adjustment is necessary. No role to step into. Just presence.

The street continues behind you. People pass. Conversations unfold. Life moves without interruption. The masks remain in the window, as they should. Honored for what they have been. Available for those who still need them.

So you move on without fanfare. Walking, just as you are now, through a city that has seen everything.

And in this moment, that is more than enough.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Research in psychology continues to highlight that authenticity supports well-being, with studies showing people who align their actions with their inner experience report greater life satisfaction, stronger relationships, and lower stress. Small moments of honest awareness can gently reshape how you move through your day. Letting your ‘masks’ fall naturally and gradually without judgement or needing to work too hard.

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The Moment You Begin Living Differently

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.

This is where the path of Via Sophia, the Way of Feminine Wisdom, begins. Perhaps it whispers, or perhaps the invitation is felt strongly within you.

Somewhere within, there emerges the knowing that you don’t need to wait to begin living well.

From that recognition, something softens. You begin to notice where you turn away, where you brace, where you hold parts of yourself outside your relationships. Imagine being shown how you could gently, without force, begin to allow more of your experience to be here. The grief, the tenderness, the uncertainty, the quiet knowing.

Not as something to solve, but as something to include. Because it is in this inclusion that the field of your life begins to reorganize.

Imagine realizing that nothing in you needs to be exiled for your life to come into coherence.

Exploring this through direct experience within a supportive circle, you find yourself arriving more fully. Not performing, not managing, not presenting a version of yourself that feels more acceptable, but simply present to the moments of your everyday life.

You begin to bring your whole self into your relationships, your choices, and your inner life.

And in doing so, something unexpected happens. Life becomes more direct. More intimate. More real.


Walking the Sophia Spiral, you begin to sense that wholeness is not something you achieve. Rather, it is something already present that you stop leaving.

This changes so much. Here, in the midst of it all, you discover a place of rest. Not outside your life, but within it. Even as things move, even as emotions rise and fall, there is something in you that can remain steady, present, and responsive.

This is not detachment. It is a deeper form of participation within life.

Now, you are no longer trying to control your experience, but learning to move with it. You discover that there is a way to be with life that is both fully engaged and deeply at ease.

Over time, the need to have everything figured out begins to loosen. You become more comfortable not knowing, more open to what is emerging, more willing to live inside the mystery rather than solve it. You begin to trust your capacity to meet what comes, rather than needing to predict or manage it.

And from here, life begins to feel less like something you are trying to navigate, and more like something you are in relationship with.

Life is no longer a problem to solve. It is a living experience to meet.

This way of intimate living changes everything. Not just for you, but for the relationships you are part of, the families you are woven into, and the lineage patterns you are both shaped by and shaping in return.

When you live present, responsive, and in right relationship with yourself and life, you interrupt cycles of disconnection. You contribute to something more coherent, more humane, more alive. This is not small work. It is foundational.

Imagine meeting your life just as it is showing up for you. Without trying to transcend it, you discover you can experience a way of living that feels natural and quietly freeing.

During the Via Sophia Immersion, you’ll explore the Feminine Spiral of Unfolding, with phases that align with the natural rhythm of life. These phases help you recognize where you are within your own unfolding, so you can participate more consciously and wisely in what is already emerging.

This Way of Wisdom includes the rich resources of the 13 Mystical Mothers, each offering a unique field of Feminine Intelligence that supports your understanding of and alignment with the Spiral. All exploration naturally places you at the center of your own life while strengthening your capacity to inhabit it more fully.

Walking the Spiral of Via Sophia invites you into a more intimate way of being with your life. You live in rhythm with life as it unfolds.


You feel yourself as belonging to a vast living intelligence.
You have the capacity to turn toward, not away, from your experience.
You don’t abandon yourself while caring for others.
You are able to stay present, open, and responsive.
You move with life instead of against it.

Entering Via Sophia, the Way of Feminine Wisdom, invites you into a way of living that is receptive, available, participatory, relational, and embodied.

This is practical mysticism.

Imagine joining an intimate Circle of 13 women who are called to explore a skillful, embodied, and natural way of being in rhythm with this extraordinary experience of everyday living.

Two places remain in the Via Sophia Circle beginning March 31st. If you feel a call to explore, please reach out for a conversation. All details may be found on the Via Sophia course page.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

When we explore ourselves in the presence of others, something powerful happens. Research shows that safe, supportive groups increase emotional resilience, deepen insight, and strengthen a sense of belonging. You begin to see yourself more clearly through different perspectives, while feeling the warmth of shared humanity. You’re not alone in your questions, your growth, or your unfolding. In a grounded, respectful circle, self-exploration becomes more than personal reflection — it becomes connection, coherence, and a quiet remembering that you belong.