I took August off. I needed the quiet to get at why, and if I should keep writing Sparks. I got some answers. Here’s where I’m at.

I don’t want to tell you what to do anymore. I’m done writing with an expert hat on. Instead, I want to let you inside my journal: what I’m struggling with, how I’m letting go, and (best of all) how I’m waking up.

Forty years of teaching mind-body work, and you’d think I’d have myself figured out by now. I don’t. These days I feel more like a nobody than a somebody. More blank slate. More raw and tender. I feel uncomfortable most of the time. But there's a wild freedom in that.

I’m learning that freedom doesn’t come from having the answers. It comes from sinking my hands into my own inner dirt, weeding out what’s outdated, and sitting in that open field, crystal clear that I know nothing.

I don’t know why, but I have a gut feeling that my deepest writing is just now emerging. And I’m excited (and nervous) for what’s coming, in these Sparks and on YouTube.

I won’t be giving you a quick fix or a five-step plan. If you want to stay comfortable and certain of who you are, you’re in the wrong place. The process of waking up isn’t for everyone.

If you’re ready to do some digging, here are three Sparks to start with:

• That’s Not Who I Am Anymore

• Pretending Not to Know

• The Cage Is Not Locked

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I’m taking a proper pause from Sparked this August. It feels like time to get quiet.

There are over 350 Sparks in the archive if you need something to chew on. Start anywhere. Look for new posts in September.

July Energy

I am changing.

These Sparks are changing.

If you read them back to back the shift is obvious. There’s less trying, less force and more truth-telling.

These posts used to be about kicking butt and doing hard things. In July almost every thing I shared turned toward the same thing: the stuff I already know and keep pretending I don’t.

Here’s the month, start to finish.
Two videos, seven Sparks, two meditations, three playlists.

Watch or read.
Catch up when you can.

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✨July Sparked Recap

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We don’t need more advice.
We need proof.
We need to see what thriving looks like.

We’re all looking for that proof in someone else.
Be the example.
Remind us what’s possible.

Be kind.
Be grounded.
Be happy.

That’s my whole list.

What’s on yours?

I go deeper in the full video.

By the time you get to the hard person, something has already loosened.

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Not everything is a problem. Sometimes it’s just... inconvenient.

Ceci taught me that. My late friend, fellow yoga teacher, always kept things real.

She’d catch herself mid pity party, smile, and say it out loud. “Okay. This is inconvenient.”

Stuck in traffic, running late. “This is inconvenient.”

Co-worker snaps at you over nothing. “This is inconvenient.”

Dragging yourself to that evening book club when all you want is your couch. “This is inconvenient.”

Kid melts down in the checkout line, whole store watching. “This is inconvenient.”

It snaps you back to reality and reminds you: this is annoying, not a catastrophe.

Say it out loud next time. Notice what changes.

Thanks, Ceci.

Most mornings, coffee in hand, I sit on the porch and look at two aspen trees.

That’s my meditation.

No mantra. No fancy breath. Just me and the trees.

I notice the way light hits the bark. Whether the leaves are shaking or still.

That’s the whole practice.

Traditional meditation asks you to close your eyes and focus on your breath, your body, your thoughts. For a lot of people, that’s a big ask to start. You sit down, get distracted, feel like you’re failing, and quit. Then you decide meditation isn’t for you.

Try something else instead.

Pick an anchor for your attention outside yourself. A tree. The sky. The road while you drive. The vegetables you’re chopping.

Let your mind land there. For five minutes. If your thoughts pull you away, come back to the tree, the carrot, the road.

You may notice you can stay with it longer than a more formal meditation. And you’ll build the same thing traditional meditation offers, a sense of being steadier, clearer, calmer, more here.

Heck, you may even enjoy it.

Watch more about my free form practice here:

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My husband had lost a bunch of weight. We got home from a party and I asked what people said about how he looked.

“You know,” he said, “most people aren’t paying attention.”

That’s when I finally got it.

Most people are too busy thinking about themselves to be thinking about you. Not in a narcissistic way. In a distracted, wrapped up in their own stuff way.

Checking how you look. Replaying what you said. Wondering if they judged.

That’s a lot of wasted energy.

It’s such a relief to finally accept that most people really aren’t paying attention to you.

Is your own house clean?

I came across this question years ago. It’s haunted me ever since.

At first it felt like just another clever saying. But the more I sat with it, the more I noticed the sneaky thoughts judging how someone looked, how they spoke.

It’s not how I want to live.

I started looking at my own ugly patterns. How I’d rush through conversations claiming to be busy. How I’d fixate on controlling a situation to get the outcome I wanted.

Now I try to catch myself in the small moments.

Before I judge a distracted driver, I think about a time I was in a rush.

Before I snicker at someone’s mistake, I remember my own clumsy mishaps.

If my house isn’t clean, I have no business trying to fix someone else’s.

We keep our past alive by talking about it. The old story. The old role. Every time we say it out loud, it takes energy. Energy that’s needed to be you, right now.

One of my go-to stories was being a professional skater. I skated for Team Rollerblade, traveling the world, performing on skates. I stopped in my late twenties. I carried that identity with me for years. It was who I was.

Somehow I knew I had to put it down to make room for the next. She lives in me always. I just don’t need to keep talking about her.

I’ve discovered that dropping old stories of past starts with catching yourself talking about it. Out loud to someone else or quietly to yourself.

Next time you notice an old story emerging, stop yourself. It’s not who you are anymore.

The story won’t disappear overnight. You’ve probably been repeating it for years. But each time you catch yourself ready to say it and you stop, you make more room for the you right now.

P.S. There are three ways an old self keeps showing up. This Spark covers one. The rest are in my latest video. Watch Sparked on YouTube.

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I turned 62 last month.

Birthdays used to send me into fixing mode. The list of what to improve. What I’d finally get serious about.

This year I took off for the woods with my first cup of coffee. Bare feet on the cold ground, the mug warm in both hands.

I stood there reflecting.

Instead of what’s wrong with me, or what goals I should set, I asked myself what was still possible.

I was determined to get under the small stuff. The next income stream. The same old five pounds.

I wanted to go somewhere bigger. The place that makes me sweat. The idea I keep hidden.

And I found it. My chest tightened. My breath quickened. That’s what happens when I get close to the truth.

So I stayed with it.
I kept asking. I let my imagination go wild.
What is possible for me at 62.

The answers came through softly.
Different now than at 52 or 42.
Quieter and deeper.
Fiercer than I expected.
And they are mine.

You have answers like that too.
Maybe it’s been a while since you asked.

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We already know. We just don’t let ourselves say it.

Because if we admit we know, we’d have to do something about it.

We’d have to admit the conversation we keep not having.
Or the thing we need to start, or finally stop.

Here’s the deal. We don’t forget it.
We pretend it’s not there.
And we stay busy, really busy.

The truth doesn’t disappear because we ignore it. It waits.

Then it shows up in the tension in our neck, in a sleepless night.

I know this first hand. For years I thought I was just super driven. I said no to invitations, to friendships I could have deepened. I hid behind my work. And it cost me.

Facing it stings.
The truth always does.

Trust me, the lie hurts more.

So to stay honest with myself, I do this monthly practice.

I write the following question at the top of a page of my journal. Then I sit with it until I get to the truth. And I know I’m there when I feel that sting.

What am I pretending not to know?

P.S. I go deeper into this in my latest video, including the part of my own story I left out here. [Watch Sparked on YouTube].

Watch Here

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I write about what’s working me and what I’m growing into these days.

Most of the time it’s a mixed bag of motivation and introspection.

But almost every June Spark leaned toward letting go.
How I’m releasing old versions of me.
And how I’m feeling more like myself than ever before.

Here’s the full month of posts in one place.
New videos first, then the Sparks, June meditations, and playlists.

Watch or read.
Catch up when you can.

Subscribe to Sparked on YouTube

✨New Sparked Videos

✨June Sparked Recap

✨June Meditations

✨Sparked Playlists

You sit. You close your eyes. You feel your feet on the floor, your hands on your thighs, your seat in the chair.

Then you do one thing. You look directly at the space in your mind. Not the thoughts. Not the breath. The space itself.

You let thoughts come and go without making any of them matter. You treat every sound and sensation the same. You keep looking.

That space is where you’re already clear. Already aware.

Five minutes. Eyes open at the end, a little quieter than before.

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I looked at my closet last week. It was packed with clothes from past lives. Fancy dresses. Corporate blazers. Trendy little skirts.

My closet is a lot like my career.
Part glittery. Part serious.
And a whole lot of crazy mixed in.

Like those old outfits, I held onto too much for too long.
Every victory and award.
Every crash and burn.

But lately I’ve been clearing out those outfits and the old versions of me that went along with them. I feel lighter already.

Maybe you have a closet like this too.
A collection of versions of yourself you’re ready to toss.

It’s time to let go of what no longer fits in your life. Glitter and all.

Find a minute today. Maybe five.

Sit down.

Release your grip.

Release who you know yourself to be.

Release every hurt and accolade.

Your backstory. Your plans.

Find a minute today. Maybe five.

For just you and life.

✨P.S. Listen to one of my guided meditations. Find them here.

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What if my best years are already behind me?

The thought has crossed my mind. More than once.

I don’t buy it.

In my mid-50s I felt stuck, sluggish, and old.

At 62 I feel excited again.

I wake up bursting with enthusiasm to get the day started.

I stopped chasing someone else’s version of success. And I learned to say no.

The best years aren't behind you. Start listening to that deeper voice screaming to be heard.

Take that direction.

You haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.

✨

Turn it all off.

The world can survive without your participation.

Sit outside. Keep your eyes open.

Let everything be just as it is. The sounds. The movement. Your thoughts.

Let it all come and go.

Then notice what remains.

✨P.S. Short meditation practices for busy days. Find them here.

Learn more

We practice coherent breathing, matching the length of each inhale and exhale. I’ll guide you through a simple finger-to-thumb rhythm that gives your busy mind something to hold onto. Count by count, breath by breath, your body steadies. Your mind follows.

Seven minutes. That’s all it takes to feel a little more clear and calm, alert and at ease.

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You get to make it up.

I tell my yoga students this all the time.

Poses aren’t magic. They’re just movements.

So, if something doesn’t feel right, shift.

Move your hand. Bend your knee. Take child’s pose.

You decide.

That’s true on the mat. It’s true everywhere else too.

Change the pose, the recipe, the route home. Say no instead of yes. Yes instead of no.

You get to make it up.

✨P.S. I write Tuesdays and Fridays now.