Surfing is a bit of a self-induced exposure therapy for me. The power of the ocean terrifies me, so I put myself in it just to prove that I won't die.

This morning, paddling back to shore from Jungle Beach's ocean break was an emotional experience. I was proud of myself for sitting so far out, watching a big, glassy left and right break on either side of me. The fact that I didn't even attempt to paddle into a wave was not a problem. I'd been hanging out in the deep water where the face of a wave would come barreling in from the sea and then melt down just before it reached me. My attempts to sit on the board without it flipping out from underneath me were laughable.

Despite being constantly reminded that I need to sit up on the board and face the waves to see what's coming, I wasn't doing it. It seemed fine. Then a big set came, one that broke across the whole face of the wave instead of fizzling out, and I wasn't ready, not that I ever really say I am. I was a bit too far left to avoid it and too caught off guard to catch it, so it pummeled me. I gave in, one hand holding my nose (because I can't hold my breath) covering my head like I'd been taught. The second wave was coming fast, so I pulled the board closer to avoid smashing into the fins as I accepted the next blow. By the third wave, I had it pretty figured out and dove into the whitewall.

Surviving was enough. Every wave that doesn't kill me proves that I'm not going to be instantaneously murdered by the ocean. In fact, I wasn't even phased by being unable to sit up on the board without toppling over, not catching a single wave, or the knowledge of the terrifying vastness of the blue world I was hovering over. Getting back to shore was the real test.

I paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled... and got nowhere. Just to my left I could see the ticket in. She was a long, fast, but gentle ride toward the shore where I could paddle along the current instead of perpetually being pushed back into it. But I saw the massive rock face that I'd realistically never hit, and I turned away from the wave. I saw the frothy whitewater seething with power, and I turned further from its helpful push.

My arms were utterly exhausted, more flailing than paddling. My friend in the water could paddle toward me and then 10 meters ahead in the time it took for me to gain 1 meter. My hands were cupped, chest lifted, forearms pushing water, but I couldn't get any closer to the beach. The board wobbled and I spent my energy trying not to fall off the board as I willed it forward, all the while checking over my shoulder for another surprise wave. Salvation and the sweetness of a long, deep breath felt days away. Desperately looking to the shore, I felt the breakdown coming on and wondered how long I'd survive if I gave up and let the current pull me out to sea. I'd live there.

It took forever and I'd completely exhausted my courage, determination, patience, and arms by the time I finally collapsed onto the sand. I can't express how long it took - probably nearly 20 minutes - but it felt like a hopeless eternity. Stuck, out of control, trapped - all my worst enemies.

Anyway, there's a lesson in this, obviously. I thought it would be about learning how to gracefully fall, face fears, adjust...but it was harder. More challenging because I didn't expect it. This time it was actually a new, difficult, unanticipated challenge. In fact, I haven't quite sussed it out entirely - the lesson is still percolating.

Real growth doesn't necessarily happen on our own terms. Like being robbed, raped, or ill, we are at the mercy of the Universe's greater plan. In the moment, we are struggling to survive - and we must - but the process of that struggle and our Soul's determination to continue is where the expansion happens. The pain of the comfortable edges being stretched. Muscles tearing in order to be rebuilt bigger and stronger. Truth is, there will be pain, or at least discomfort. Struggle, confusion, denial, and even a moment where you give up and resign yourself to being permanently lost at sea.

You must persevere. You must trust this process. You must breathe - even if you first cry, scream, panic and shut down before you muster enough faith to release a deep exhalation. Your inhalation will come. Your torn muscles, broken heart, and crumbled walls will rebuild and heal. The path to your growth is not yours to choose, but you can direct how you react to it.

Keep paddling, G. You aren't destined to die at sea.

Have you ever started something - a BIG, scary thing that took a lot of courage to begin - and then midway through, you panic and self-sabotage to make your fears come true?

Let me give you an oddly specific, but rather comical example (we need to keep Mondays light-hearted!)

There's this abandoned harbor near Twin Fin Surf Camp where you can jump off the wall and into deep, clear water. I'm a fire sign, through and through, so getting into water has never felt natural to me. It takes courage for me to cross a river, let alone jump into the ocean from 6 meters up.

Determined to jump, I climbed over the ledge and attempted to steady my nervous legs as friends looked up from below and encouraged me. "You'll be fine! Just jump out!".

Right.

Mustering all the courage I had, I let go and let this big thing happen.

Here's the sabotage piece.

I'd already done the hard work, the brave part. I'd already allowed myself permission to act boldly. I'd already committed and set the course in motion. Truly, there was only one outcome - land in the water - and all I had to do was not fight my way there.

I wish I could report that I learned to levitate, but I didn't. Somewhere between my release and the water, I panicked and started running in the air. Flailing my legs and left arm (my right hand was holding my nose), some irrational part of my brain tried to control the simple act of falling into gravity.

"Are you alright?" When I resurfaced to see the shock on my friends' faces, I knew I'd done it wrong. Then I felt the stinging pain on the back of my right leg and my left shin. Instead of landing feet first like a dagger piercing the ocean, I'd configured myself into an awful, floppy shape and hit the water hard. My moment of panic and fighting had sabotaged the letting go I had committed to.
 
I’m fine. There’s a 9-inch bruise on the back of my leg, but I’m fine. Even trying to defy gravity and sabotaging a simple jump didn’t destroy me. Plus, there’s a hilarious video of my clumsy mishap.
 
There are many lessons here, but today I invite you to be curious about what big leaps of faith you’ve taken in your life. Where have you acted boldly and with courage to move towards something that could be natural if you let it?
 
Can you predict where you may sabotage the good things that are happening? Can you identify the places where fear may call for you to reach out towards the edges and fight against the course you’ve set in motion?
 
Can you stay true to your course, try not to panic, and allow yourself to land gracefully at your destination?

My senior year of high school, I printed out the poem Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman. At that point of my life I was both making plans for my suicide and creating dreams of traveling the world. I’ve always had commitment issues, fortunately. That poem held hope within its lines, words that painted a meaningful existence I couldn’t resist falling in love with.

After college, I started working a 9-5 office job and still had the printed poem. Day by day, I felt my soul being sucked away through the computer screen or screams on the other end of the telephone line. I imagined the triumphant day I would leave, walking away from security, the status quo, and the way things were. On that day, I told myself, I would post on my Facebook the first lines of that poem that served as a beacon of hope for all those years:

               Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
               Healthy, free, the world before me,
               The long brown path before me, leading wherever I chose.

The same copy of the poem came with me when I finally quit my job and traveled for 5 months.

Each time I leave to travel, I read Song of the Open Road again, new lines jumping off the page to guide me. Because every journey off the beaten path brings a new lesson, a new challenge, a new perspective. What excites me most about my travels are the things I’m not expecting, aside from knowing that I will be surprised by the twists and gifts of Grace as I walk this open road.

I’d like to share with you the entirety of Walt Whitman’s ode to the traveler, so that you may be sung to by the message that your heart most needs to hear.

Song of the Open Road

Over a year ago I wrote a note in my phone called "I Don't Want to Forget". It had one liners from various small details of the epic five month adventure Orion and I had taken.

"I don't want to forget the moments on the side of Salkantay wondering if I might freeze and die... the smoothie at Prasada in Cusco that I had to hold with two hands... the happy cow that drank for hours from the spout in Rishikesh... crying and huddling against a closed storefront on Diwali as kids threw fireworks in the street... hearing my mom's voice as I called from the US Embassy to tell her I'd been robbed... the saxophone solo at the Esplanade concert." You get the point.

What if we did this kind of stuff more often? Could you pause at the end of each week and write down the small details, the ones that might slip away between the threads of time? These small instances hold such a richness to them. They are the moments where we truly pause - not because of some big, spectacular event - but simply to appreciate the overlooked details we take for granted.

In this way, the small things become more special.

My invitation today is to slow down enough to notice these small details. As summer winds down and we get swept up by airy Autumn, ground yourself in the sweetness of the present moment.

Maybe you'll even create an I Don't Want To Forget note on your phone.

PS - This is a Love Note. Can I e-mail you stuff like this weekly?

It's been a year since I met my Grapefruit.

I first felt her as I was laying in the field of Valley Forge Park under the eerie dim sky of the solar eclipse. Everything had fallen silent in the confusion, the unveiling, as though a portal had been opened to our dazed eyes. The pain grew for days. Orion and I retreated to the cabin and dove behind the veil. I was lost where I couldn't hide. A wasp stung the sole of my foot as I looked at a withering mushroom, and the radiating fury of its poison was a welcome reprieve from the dizzying discomfort in my stomach. My insides shook me to tears with every step I stumbled. By the time we came home, I was doubled over holding the hurt. He drove me to work and I taught a class from the floor distracted by thoughts of dying the way my Grandmother had.

When I walked through the hospital doors, uninsured, I never expected it to cost $12,000, but it didn't matter. It was a pain I couldn't bare backed by fear that pulsed venom through my blood and sent me pleading for help and answers.

Six hours in the ER, an MRI, and 2 ultrasounds later, I had been introduced to my Grapefruit.

My uterine fibroid, a benign tumor mass that grew between my uterus and ovary, had been pressing its frustrations against my diaphragm, stomach and low back. I know now that the intensity of the pain was partially exacerbated by  GERD. I had been so ignorant to my body's messages that it needed to attack from multiple angles before I'd pay attention.

Having an ultrasound brought me to tears. Women having babies get ultraounds, but I was there in pain getting measurements of the muscle my uterus built around itself. If had been pregnant, the fibroid would have allowed no space for a baby to grow.

A year later and my Grapefruit is still there, still twice the size of my uterus. I used acupuncture, Chinese herbs, diet changes, DIM supplement and a whole lotta self-love to manage it and I don't feel pain anymore, but I still feel it's presence. I'm okay. We are managing well.

A friend said to me the other day (and I'm paraphrasing immensely), "I think you love it too much. You've let it become part of you and you don't really want it to leave." He's right. My Grapefruit, she was born out of my hatred for everything that made me Woman, then she taught me how to love being a Woman. She made me aware of my gifts, my ability to create. I learned to love her and kindly say thank you. My Grapefruit would never allow space for a baby, but it was okay because I didn't want it. I didn't hate it.

It's a tough one for me to make sense of, and I still haven't quite wrapped my head around the depth of this lesson. My Grapefruit. I love it for they way it taught me to listen, to love, to care for myself, to appreciate my natural gifts. I love it because I feel shame for having created it out of my hatred. The way I felt my community rise up to support and comfort me. I love it because it is uniquely female, and mine.

But, as all things I love, I must be willing to let her go. Decay, shrivel, and die. A martyr, a memorial, a memory. I must be willing to let my uterus release its anti-baby muscle so I can empower myself with that decision, even if that means letting the space stay empty.

I loved my Grapefruit for this past year, but I'm ready for her to go.

In attempt to make sense of it all…

How quickly my attention, passion, drive shifts from one thing to the next (with social media distractions along the way to slow myself down). I’ve got SO MUCH TO SAY, to teach, to share. Sure, I want to monetize it (but not because I value richness of money, but to have money means less time invested in survival means more time sharing/teaching), but really I want people around me to feel rich and fulfilled.

I don’t want any more “woe is me” monologues. I want to be surrounded by empowered people using their gifts and skills to pursue an aligned and meaningful life. I want those people to be YOU, no exceptions. I want every person on this planet to be uplifted by every other person so, together, we can achieve [happiness]. I want the activists to stand on the tallest mountain of a soapbox with a crowd around them listening and activating. I want inventors to create their Thing. Writers and artists and musicians to share their art and soul without starving. I want people to get out of their bubbles, to experience the world and her cultures, and UNDERSTAND how interconnected we are, we must be. To travel, to interact, the greatest warriors against our blissful ignorance. To look eachother deeply in the eyes and see our commonalities and embrace the uniqueness of our differences.

I want you to excite over the contractions of fear and insecurity because you know the brilliant expansion that follows. I want people who are shooting for the stars to not give up when the air gets thin. Support systems, communities that uplift. A network of motivators, instigators, and creators rising up in a floodgate crushing wave of people getting OUT THERE, doing what they love.

Sure, in many moments I may look scatterbrained. There may be too many commas to make sense of the sentence. But inside, beyond the anxiety of getting it all done, I am a giddy little girl, OVERJOYED. Literally, it’s pouring out of my shaking hands and exploding chest. I LOVE YOU ALL SO DAMN MUCH. I’m overflowing with all the Love I never knew how to direct, how to show. I want to pour it over you and wrap you in it. I want you to feel it and spread it like a vine that covers all the hopeless and dead things and colors them vibrantly alive. I LOVE YOU and I want you to feel ease, abundance, joy, passion, hope, meaning. These are not just words. They are yours. You can have them and I am willing to work tirelessly to show you how. Watch my example, listen when I teach through stories, TRY IT when I challenge you. Step out, step up, and believe in yourself in the ways I believe in you. Strangers, you too. You don’t know my Love and I don’t have your story, but I believe in you because I am 100% certain that success is there waiting for you. I am beyond the blindfolds and shackles of ignorance and I know this is the Truth. This LOVE I have inside, spilling out, it’s in you.

May the tides of my own moondrawn sea pull your own a bit closer to shore so we may touch it, taste it, and be washed over in the KNOWING of your magnificence.

No part of me wants to stand alone in my Joy. No part of me says “this is only mine”. I can’t walk on water, nor would I, unless you were there with me. A sea of empowered individuals. This peace is no satisfaction if I’m in it alone. Join me on these shores. Dip your toes into water at the edge of the terrifyingly abysmal unknown. Look out at the potential, possibility and know that it belongs to you. Let me hold your fear while you navigate those waves. Let your Brothers and Sisters pick you up and wipe the sand from you, just as you will do for them.
 
I digress… I’m doing this because I believe with every fiber of my being that you deserve it. I’ll figure it out because I want it to make sense for you, so you believe it.  My topics may seem wide or disconnected (travel, yoga, career), but they all boil down to this: This one, precious life is yours. You deserve, and you can, without a doubt, live a life you are absolutely in LOVE with. You are capable of, and you will, turn potential into practice, dreams into reality. You are all this and so much more.

If you believe you have no one in your corner, please look up to see me here. Look up and feel the presence of a Universe that loves you unconditionally and wants you to succeed. Unconditionally. Please stand up, because someone is watching YOU and you will inspire someone else. Please lead the life you WANT, not the life you’ve limited yourself to. Start the wildfire that will consume doubt, smallness, and wasted potential. Transform yourself into the Phoenix you’ve been hiding. Rise from your own ashes, and as you soar beyond, let the power of your wings clear space and create light for all those behind you, waiting to transform themselves.
 
I’m doing this because, as a Human, as a creature of this Earth and a being of this dimension, I KNOW we are more. But we must all wake up. You need to create your art. You need to speak your truth. You need to guide your people.

All this in the name of that ultimate LOVE.

Indulgent and delicious.
Frozen bananas are the base to many vegan treats. They replace ice cubes, blend to a creamy consistency, and don't taste anything like bananas.

Yield: about 4 servings (but I don't really measure anything)

4 frozen ripe bananas (without peels)
2 Tbs cacao powder
shake of cinnamon
1 Tbs shredded coconut
1 cup milk alternative
2 shots Kahlua or Baileys (*optional*)

Blend in a Vitamix or other super strong blender. It should end up rather thick, not liquid like a smoothie. Adjust the amount of milk or bananas accordingly. Freeze 2-3 hours. Indulge.

Yesterday afternoon I received more e-mails, Facebook messages, and Instagram messages than I’ve ever collectively received in one day. They all stemmed from an Instagram story I posted with a picture of The 4-Hour Workweek by Tim Ferris and the caption “Re-studying the book that got me out of the 9-5 grind”.

I shared it from my sunny backyard on a Tuesday afternoon, rather than from a cubicle. The only boss telling me what to do was myself. I was studying something not only out of utility, but for the joy of it. Basically, I modeled living life on my own terms and showied by example that I was thriving.

First of all, if you’ve never read the book, I highly suggest it, even if you like your 9-5 gig. (This is an affiliate link if you want tograb a copy)

Here’s why: it lays out, with practical questions and clearly defined steps, how to live life on purpose.

Not creating tasks for the sake of getting something done.
Not keeping yourself small by setting small goals.
Not wasting your freedom when you’ve found it.

A wise woman said to me the other day “…then I realized life is not a dress rehearsal and I booked [that thing]”.

We get one shot at this lifetime and we damn well better make the most of it. Live passionately, act with intent, and experience your life on purpose.

Take one step today. Bonus points if you aim at something so big it nearly seems impossible.
 
PS – I hear you guys and I’m coming to answer your calls. In the coming weeks I’m putting together a system to support you in getting what you want. I want to share practical steps to transitioning from a job you had forever, planning the trip you’ve dreamt about, or creating a balanced lifestyle. Call it coaching if you want, but it’s support from my heart to you.

When I was in high school, I loved making art (Most Artistic Superlative, in fact!) Pencil and charcoal were my favorites and I was quite good at still life or copying things. The process of breaking down an object’s structure, form, texture, and patterns and recreating them was so satisfying.

Something drawn with a pencil or pen yeilds a precise and defined line. It has edges, a beginning and an end, and its structure is clear. In a way, a line drawn in ink or pencil is permanent – a mark of the past.

Painting was another story. While I ultimately made a few works I am proud of (they hang in my parents house), it was always an arduous project.

I hated waiting for the paint to dry.

In my mind, I saw a clean straight line like the ones my pencil would make. I visualized the whole picture all at once and wanted the process of getting it on the paper to be immediate, but the colors kept bleeding together. My efforts for order were constantly tested.  The edges blurred and smudged to transform something so concrete and precise into undefined chaos. Every brushstroke held the past, present, and possibility to be influenced by the next. It got messy.

Before there was a chance for things to settle, life had already begun adding to the picture and what seemed simple and defined became a brilliant mixture of past, present, and what is still to come.

Lately, my formal art is limited to the watercolor set I bought at a convenience store and tattoo ink, but in my unfolding, I’ve found joy in the chaos of paint. It teaches patience. Encourages me to find form in the abstract, or to let the picture remain undefined. Its volatile nature challenges me to explore the things I am uncomfortable with.

It’s nice to know where edges lie and to rely on something staying as it was, but that’s not really realistic.

On the other hand, we can approach the art of our life with a paintbrush and palette, knowing that the color of one event may not dry before the next is added. Watch the lines blend and become messy, yet still see the beauty in the imperfection. Understand the patience required to let the paint dry before we try cleaning up the lines.

Life gets messy. We don’t always have the opportunity, tools, time, or patience to let things fully settle and make sense before something else is added in.

When it looks like nondescript chaos, remember that blurred lines are places of possibility and opportunities to shift perception.

Our lives are beautiful works of art.

Sometimes I write something that I’m not sure I want my parents to read, but I feel it needs to be shared anyway. Honest and bare, even if it’s hard to swallow. Uncomfortably candid.

Bitch isn’t really about me. It’s your problem. It’s the way you feel, not the way I am. It’s your reaction, not my action.
Bitch is the title you placed on me because I didn’t meet your expectations. You wanted a version of me that didn’t fit into the mold you’d crafted. In my shattering of the image you twisted, your hurt/fear/anger was reassigned to me.

Here we have an unfortunately common situation:

I can smile and be polite, but that doesn’t mean I have a crush on you. We can go to the beach together, or even out to lunch, but that doesn’t mean I want to go home with you. It may seem surprising, but I can even invite you to come out with my friends and it doesn’t imply I am “down to fuck”.

In fact, there are so many ways I can simply be a decent person and it gets interpreted as something you make up in your mind. Implications of grey created between black and white lines. Condemned by my decorum.

Your expectations
Perceptions of me, shattered
Assigned Title: Bitch
 
I’ll embrace it.