Greetings, humans of heart.

It's been a minute. Story time:

A week ago, someone I formerly related to as a mentor + guide on my path told me he thought I was “shitting the bed in my life” (his actual words, not my own internalized exaggeration)*. And it threw me for a loop. I spent a couple days processing this judgment, wrestling with my fear I’m not “where I’m supposed to be” (as if that’s even possible).

But it’s helped me see something: a hill I’ll die on:

Being willing to let go and begin again, at age 46 or 62 or 88 or WHATEVER, is courageous and liberating. After the death cycle comes the new beginning. Things look messy. There’s a lot of trial and error. Backtracking. “Wasted time” as we figure things out, crunchy dynamics as we meet new devils, humility. Scattering the seeds, collaborating with life, seeing what the garden wants to grow.

A patriarchal society that doesn’t revere the restart, at any age, keeps us stuck and afraid to release what wants to go. Not just because of the pain of the identity death, but also the fear of being seen as “behind” on the other side.

Life is speeding up. So much information, content, access, growth. Please feel free to live many lives in one and not see it as a failure? P L E A S E feel free to inhabit beginner’s mind and have no clue what you’re doing.

So, his (white, male 🙄) reflection could have taken me out, but instead I did what I've learned to do when painful feedback comes from outside: listen, but more importantly... look inside. I asked myself: "what have I been up to? Am I in fact shitting the bed?" Here's the real BTS of my self-assessment:

• I’m living in Costa Rica, which is very much not the country of my birth (the US). This requires lots of learning and unraveling from the ways I knew. It's not maximally "efficient," but it's changing my nervous system from the inside out. I deem this a worthy endeavor.
• I’m sorting out the relational dynamics of true intimacy with my husband of 1.5 years. There are moments when we have been IN IT. Full-on power struggle, finding our way messily, teetering at the edges of our young parts wanting to bolt. I'm not surprised: masculine / feminine union at this moment in history is a fraught thing. I'm proud of us for deconstructing the patterns handed to us and forging a new way, all body parts intact. Five million gold stars.
• I’m redefining my business. After years of underground, best-kept-secret kinda practice, I am codifying my body of work. I made a brand new website. I've refined my offers. And, proudest of all, I launched The Lovers Collective into the world, and I've been pouring my heart and soul into the creation of this signature offer (which, by the way, is the fucking BEST). Pat on the back to me.
• I have been a devoted friend, sister and daughter-- showing up at birthdays, weddings, births, gatherings and "just because" for those closest to my heart. Check.
• Alongside my husband, I have nursed two puppies from abandoned edge-of-death jungle waif-ism to thriving, loved-to-the-brim specimens of joy and life force. Check.
• I am living at my erotic edge nearly every damn day. All at midlife, when I’m “supposed to” have it locked down and be preparing to collect my pension.

You know what? For all of the above, I give myself many thumbs up's.

Am I meeting new edges of old familiar shadows in the process? Has there been bad behavior? Incessant humanity amongst it all? YOU BETCHA. Love that for me, actually.

And I'm living in such a way that I have no need to hide, which means it gets alchemized quickly and doesn't fester in the subtext.

If you find yourself face to face with a similar moment: CHEERS. You are DOING IT, my friend. I'm here, rooting for you.

Big love,

*More to say in future communications about the problematic nature of abusive space-holding. In summary: it's egregious and shouldn't happen. For this + all other sources of sacred rage, please enjoy this playlist as an access point. May we move emotion in the healthiest of ways: creatively, choicefully, through the body.