But isn’t that life?!?

Experiencing a new form of life while completely shedding what’s ready to fall away isn’t new for me. In many instances, you will see me deeply committed to what I set out to do. I accomplish it. And then I move on. It feels like a very common pattern for me and one that I witness in nature. Devotion and freedom coexist in my world.

Here is why I dusted off substack and decided to type today….

And yes, I know that people actually write profound things on here. I simply type thoughts and I enjoy the freedom in it.

A question that has always made me deeply roll my eyes is “what do you do”. What does that even mean? I am here with you, this is what I am doing. What else actually matters? Maybe there’s more to that. Being completely present where I am and doing whatever I am doing is where I reside. It’s where everyone and everything resides. I don’t ask the trees that I experience on trails “what do they do” because it doesn’t matter. They grow, shade, nourish, …. they are trees and I get to witness them. There’s nothing more to it. But is there more? Maybe the question is, do I want there to be more?

Lately, I’ve experienced a lot of curiosity around what I do. I think the thing I do is witness life in the ways that it reveals itself. I get to care for it in many ways and nourish it and be in relation to it. Isn’t that what we are all doing?

Maybe there is more…

I find myself in places where titles matter - places where people are very excited to embrace my title “doctor”. I can appreciate that. I did graduate with a doctoral degree. I have an advanced level understanding of how the body works, but that’s where it ends for me. While I could talk about that all day, the industry of selling a solution to a problem in the way that I once did just doesn’t resonate anymore. Yet, many people are very proud of the journey and to call me that. Once, again, I can appreciate that. AND there is more. Am I “drcrystaljones" anymore? Maybe a better question is: what does that mean to me now. I love the way that my brain can hear a diagnosis and turn it into a story that invites the mind to stop fighting the present moment - even if it’s just for a second. While the academy has many flaws, I carry so much gratitude for the ability to hold, believe, hear and see the body in ways that I previously couldn’t. Does that make me a doctor when I am no longer part of the industry? Does it make me a doctor when I would rather witness and generate compassionate love stories with the brilliance of the body than be the expert?

In the same vein, I find myself in places where people have created entire identities around athletic ability. The same questions are here. What does that even mean? Yes I am training to run 100 miles on a trail. I have had incredible experiences allowing myself to see and be seen by friends that choose the same journey. I could name all of the events and show all of the awards, but does it matter? Maybe it does. I see them as a VERY LONG experiences of witnessing the parts of me that come alive during this event. Am I an athlete, when it’s not my entire identity? Yes, I do train and expand my capacity. But doesn’t everyone do that in whatever discipline they commit to? It’s discipline and devotion. I will say that I am naturally wired to be very disciplined, is that athletic ability? I remember telling a teammate that I didn’t see myself as an athlete and he was disappointed. It felt very familiar to the disappointment when I say that I’ve left the industry. I deeply enjoy the aliveness that I experience in long distances while witnessing others do the same at the same time. I enjoy the experience of being part of moments when I see people do what they only experienced in their imagination. An athlete, maybe? Do we need a title, what ‘s the attachment? What makes that title so important to you that you want me to see myself that way?

That’s what it is! These are important titles and maybe even love letters that people want to offer me. How beautiful of them to share them with me. While I don’t need to create a personal home in them, I can witness the love that is offered. Is it what I do? No. But maybe it answers what they experience in this moment.

These are the questions that I ask often. I eat food that honors my body and that changes. Is my identity a vegan? I wouldn’t say that - and definitely not now that I move through a highly volatile body that demands presence and intentionality with all of my decisions. Does my medical record carry an incurable diagnosis? Sure, and also there’s a story here being created through my practice. Am I this? Or that? I could say this about every aspect of life that I experience.

Maybe a better question in my language is: where am I landing in this moment?

Deepening the questioning showed up recently as I entertained the idea of disappearing from the internet. I enjoy having an impact where I am planted, in real life - but that’s about it. I want to leave a legacy of compassionate caring and presence. But do I have a desire to create a personality around it. Do I really care to tell people what I did after I did it? Can I just be in the place? Can I simply do the thing? Could there be things that I am assigned to share? Once I get to the internet, there’s an identity to create and hold on to.

Note: these are questions that I ask myself. I simply witness other humans moving through life in whatever way they desire.

I was recently asked to be a guest on a podcast and while I am accustomed to the need for a bio, I told the interviewer that I am no longer interested in telling anyone why they should listen to me. Maybe you shouldn’t. I don’t have answers anyway, I have better questions. If you want to get curious with me, romanticize seemingly mundane moments and turn everything into a meditation, great! I am going to be doing that anyway. It’s what I am doing. It’s what I do.

Is that the answer? I knew that I would get somewhere my opening this substack and typing. I am out here sipping ginger tea (because it is the cure for all things - I don’t make the rules) and meeting life. Is that what the people want to know? Is that what they are really asking? I don’t know. That, however, is what I have been asking over the time that it’s taken to type these words.

I thought maybe, just maybe, I would come up with a user name for the social platforms that I loosely entertain. What feels true is that I am the blooming seed of those that have come before me. That has always felt true.

My body requires me to move through life in a new way and the gift is that I’ve become a softer place to land for myself and maybe, just maybe, the overflow creates a soft place for you to land, here, too.

You’re always welcome to join me.

i imagine it was all of these mile markers and also the thousands of miles throughout life that have led me to this point.

i hit the wall. i’ve heard of hitting the wall in a race before. and it never quite happened like this. until it did.

very much like my training, the phases are shifting. for almost a year consecutively, i have been training.

and now my training looks like high amounts of rest, recovery and integration. this is not because my race schedule has chilled out. not in the slightest. training looks like this because my race calendar is wild! four marathons in four months. three of them within five weeks of each other. two of them in the same week, on two different continents. and well, four half marathons mixed in (two remaining).

i had a face to face meeting with my coach after the first marathon of twenty twenty four and she said “at this point, i can only manage your fatigue.” my schedule went from training eight hour days in triathlon season (sometimes consecutively) to multiple rest days in the same week. it was a shock to my system for sure. in order to increase my output, i had to increase my recovery. i believe that twelve miles is the longest training run i’ve done since the first marathon. and some weeks, like the double marathon week, i only ran twenty minutes the entire week.

so here i am, writing this. and moving through jet lag, resting, recovering and nourishing like never before. i am also racing mileage beyond what i’ve ever done.

to be honest, i miss the training season that i was accustomed to. it kicked my whole behind. and i really enjoy running anything past eighteen miles. i currently only race beyond that.

i set two personal records in the marathon. and then i hit the wall in this last one. maybe i have hit the wall before, and this one was just different. i approached the wall at mile eight and we worked together to finish a decent half marathon. and then we kept going. that’s what happened. we, the wall and i, kept going. on the second marathon, my body was physically drained on one of the hilliest courses and a teammate asked me to pace him to his personal record and all of the aliveness came back into my body. this time, though, it was just me. no one to support to a record. just me. on a whole different continent. six days after the last one. and here was the wall.

what am i going to do? keep going. quitting was not on the list. every step for the last thirteen miles hurt. i remembered hearing my triathlon coach tell me last year, whatever you do, DO NOT STOP. my chest was increasing the tightening for at least four miles. readjust, and DO NOT STOP. slow your roll, and DO NOT STOP. decrease your electrolyte intake on this course, DO NOT STOP (there’s benefit in those years of teaching human physiology). increase the water. play with the fuel differently. enjoy the experience. enjoy the experience, crystal, enjoy the experience.

so me and the wall kept rolling. the run was painful, the experience was beautiful. harmony is the intention. to me, that’s the beauty in the experience of running for me. i do it to experience the different virtues of harmony. i love it. and it’s far from pleasurable at times. there is a death that happens. and a birthing process.

taste. and see. and feel.

and do it again and again.

this process was a different one (as they always are). it was one that i could have stopped at any moment. and i kept going. the monday before, i couldn’t even put weight on my right ankle. there was no way that i was stopping now.

at mile twenty four, i heard a Black woman yell “go Black girl”. there were very few Black people in this place yet the proverbial ‘i see you sis’ was in the building. and that pulled me out. it was time to deliver. my coach always programs into my watch with two point two miles to go “this is what you trained for, give it all you’ve got”. what i had at that point was what i gave. and you know my girl hopped the continent with me to meet me at the finish line (and all throughout the course).

but we were not finished. this particular marathon had at least a two mile walk to exit after the finish line. i hadn’t experienced that level of pain until after i hit the finish line. my calves were seizing up. this walk is alone. nobody can see you except the other marathoners that are feeling the same way. it’s just us. it’s just us and the things that exist beyond the medals and photos. we all felt it in different ways. and i deeply appreciated being with people who got it. no words, no recaps. just presence with all that existed in that moment. the joy. the beauty. the excruciating pain. the six star finishers. some things are better just felt with the people who made the same commitment. thirty thousand runners. thirty thousand different stories. thirty thousand experiences that culminated in a two mile sanctuary. and some may call that sanctuary the pits of hell.

the wall was my balm. it is what held me. what pushed me. what spoke to me loudly and silently. the wall was never against me. it always was alongside me. how i interacted was completely up to me. i asked her to push me through the half and she did. she asked me to stick with her until mile twenty four and i did. together we experienced such a powerful experience. there were moments that required me to take it one kilometer at a time. and moments that i could only envision one step at a time. the wall invited me to the practice of presence. deep, deep presence. there was no pace to attain. no personal record to set. simply. deep presence. the kind of presence that holds me even when i don’t know that i want to be held. the kind of presence that welcomes resistance as an invitation to show her strength. the kind of presence that softens what yearns to lay down and hardens what needs to show up differently.

i hit the wall.

and carried forward alongside her.

your ‘walls’ are here for you, beloved one.

i’d love to see in the substack comments where this one landed for you.

until next time, here’s your invitation to engage in the things that invite you to feel the way i felt in the photo below (this is how i feel any time i have the privilege of pacing someone in a race).

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the black boat with the blue lights came up beside me and told me that the course was closing and that i needed to get in. my first thought was ‘i have a team waiting on me to come out of this swim finish’.

my instruction was to get in the boat.

reluctantly, i did. they took me to the dock for medical help and all i kept asking was ‘can my team go on?’ they were on the radio. the response was yes.

the mission was accomplished.

the course was 2112 yd. i swam 2214 yd. and i was still about 200m from the finish line.

my teammate and i stood at the start. three people into the water every four seconds. she estimated 50 minutes. i estimated 37 - 42 minutes. what we knew for certain was that we were starting at the same time. and we did.

the buzzer went off and we were in - a running start. as soon as i engaged my body horizontally with the water, my lungs started to constrict as the water temperature was in the sixties. this wasn’t a new experience. i knew that i needed to find the rhythm. my body is mostly water. this is a body of water. all processes require time. so there we were.

the water was heavily supported by kayaks and lifeguards - they can support, they just cannot move you forward. as i reached the first kayak, there were many swimmers attached to it so i kept moving. there was a lot of panic. swimmers were struggling and lifeguards were jumping in. i rested on the second kayak. the lifeguard told me to open my wetsuit and let the water in. i listened and kept forward. breathing was quite difficult. in hindsight, i now know that my body went into preservation mode, not competition mode the moment that i hit the water. every stroke was physically demanding because the engine was off.

the winds were winding and the waves were waving in every direction besides the path of the course. i’d experienced similar conditions one other time in a lake almost 3000yd of a 6000yd challenge swim. the only difference was the water temperature and that the challenge wasn’t timed.

what i knew to do was to release the fight. and there was absolutely no way that i was going to give up on the swim. you heard that saying, ‘the only way that i am leaving is if they carry me up out of here’ - yep that’s me!

i had one goal after that initial entry in to the lake -for my team to be able to continue the race.

a lesson that my dad taught me as i just was learning to swim was to watch the water. i watched her. i honestly knew that this moment was no longer about the competition. this was about my willingness to surrender to the moment. i continued to stop at the kayaks. i back stroked. free styled. breast stroked. treaded water. i could feel the compression of my lungs even more. i just needed to breathe. today was the first day that i ever said yes to the support kayaks. i surrendered.

while there wasn’t a sense of panic, there was an awareness of two things that were happening: (1) my lungs were not expanding even close to being able to fully expand so this swim was on a much slower pace than i had ever practiced (quite literally two minutes per hundred yards longer than my first ever attempt in a pool) and (2) my team was waiting for my arrival to continue. and well (3) there were people tracking me on the app that would see that the swim was not going to plan. i knew that i couldn’t fight the water. i actually did not want to.

i remember laying on my back and creating an agreement with the water. i am here for whatever you are wanting to show, please just make sure that my team can keep going. i will get back to land eventually. every muscle in my body was exhausted. this swim was like none other than i had ever experienced.

just keep swimming.

and i did.

at the end there were kayaks on both sides of me. the person on my breathing side said, ‘i will be right beside you until the end. you’re doing great.’ i continued surrendering. i offered one stroke at a time with whatever i had left.

and then the black boat with the blue lights showed up. at that moment, i knew that it was time to come out of the water. i was less than 200 meters from the swim start but way beyond the cutoff time. they came to carry me home. i knew that they had to have my ankle monitor to pass along. they asked for my teammate’s name and i told them. i kept telling them to make sure she knows i’m okay and that she gets to get on the bike continues forward.

i gave the water one final glance. did i want to complete the course? absolutely. and it was clear that the water had a different assignment for me today? yes. i needed to surrender. i needed to watch the water. i needed to breathe. this swim is known to be of the toughest swims for a reason.

as i left the medical dock, a person stopped me and said that she volunteers at that particular spot because she DNFed years ago and remembered the experience of that swim. she told me to hold my head high because of the small percentage of people who do triathlons, most won’t even attempt this swim. while i don’t really thrive off of comparison, i felt her intention.

my body was tired. walking the quarter mile to the transition felt like an ultra marathon. i then saw my teammate. she was running toward me. and i wanted her to be on the bike. i wanted my experience to only affect me. and then the story that ‘i failed’ hit me. at that moment, i felt like i let my team down. and then the ugly cry came. while there was nothing else that i could have done in that swim to have gotten even close to cutoff, they chose not to continue. in the moment, that’s all i could think about.

they chose being with me and knowing that i was okay over the finish line.

my friend and teammate said ‘did you think that i was about to be out there on the bike for over three hours not knowing if you were okay?’. the tracker did not communicate that i was on land. no matter what they were telling her, she needed to see me. at that moment, i realized that nobody could tell that i was out of the water. she messaged my parents. and then i messaged them.

sister: was it a nice boat?

mom: facetiming me to see my face

dad: ok. we will get it next time. this was not a failure but an opportunity to experience the moment.

indeed it was.

i experienced deep love in that moment. not because i set a personal record. not because i finished. i experienced deep love because my life is valuable to people beyond what i can do.

while it was a challenge to actually see that the race meant nothing to the relay team, i allowed them to witness me. all of me. pulling my body forward in those conditions wiped me out on every level. while i was not fighting the water, forward progression took my entire being with each stroke. the water and winds were guiding me horizontally and often backwards.

i was tired.

and loved.

i generally don’t invite people to watch me in sport. i’d much rather folks be out on the course with me having their own experience(s) of their bodies. this time, i opened myself to it. my marathon training team was glued to the app. family was glued to the app. friends were glued to the app. and the amount of support i experienced once they realized that i was alive was heartwarming. the last few results i’ve had were personal records. this time i DNFed (did not finish). the results didn’t really matter. they were watching the journey. i was the process. the water was the teacher.

why, as a runner, was i leading this race as a swimmer? because that was the assignment. in hindsight, this relay was not about winning. it was about being present in every single moment and meeting who i would become. i run a half marathon on my lightest workout day of the week. if i would have run, i would have met who i already know.

AND my other teammate was out there on the course meeting her personal record!

she was on the bike, and we were ready to find her. we all hopped in the car at met her at mile thirty six. and then somewhere in the forties. team GRIT is fully here. this was the highlight of the day. we set her mom up so that she could be at the finish line and we saw her come in on the bike and demolish that run! she wanted sub seven. she finished sub seven. she did it!!!!!!! in actuality, we agreed to do the relay to support her in accomplishing her goal.

the actual mission was accomplished. while we thought we’d be on the route with her in one way. we had the opportunity to witness her in another way.

my girl hit her goal.

the assignment was clear.

the relay team was offered the opportunity to continue. that’s all i asked of the water. if i was to be a student of the water, just give my team the opportunity to carry forward.

will i do that swim again? likely not. i mean, if the lake actually sends me an email requesting another go, maybe. it’s not because i can’t. i could absolutely acclimate to those conditions through intentional practice. i just have no desire to. the assignment between me and lake eva is complete for now. if my goal was to win, i would absolutely be back. as for now, i have quite a few marathons, half marathons, and another ironman to train for.

i’ll let you know if the lake sends an email.

as my friend drove me to the airport hours after the race, she asked how i experienced the day. to see my friend meet and exceed her goal was absolute joy. to witness the care of everyone from the kayakers, family, friends, and teammates, i was deeply touched. my body was exhausted on many levels. the water was a little spicy in her lesson today.

excerpts from two of my most recent prayer requests offered in our collective prayer container:

pray with me that i open my eyes to see and trust the truth that there are places that i can relax my strength … that my words are clear. and heard clearly. …

that i lay down and receive in specificity.

lake eva: heard.

still: race day was a great day to do a thing that i had never done before.

where are you willing to surrender today?

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yes, i read the comments.

here i am laying on the dry needling table integrating and recovering from what just happened.

really though, what just happened? what’s been happening?

i’ve been becoming.

five thirty seven on the same day, i was asked by a client ‘what does it mean to trust the process?’ and ya’ll know that i don’t have the answer. so let’s explore.

here’s a story.

tuesday, i reached a breaking point. i know this because i can feel it in my body. many things were happening at the same time. and for a moment, these things felt separate. my swim coach asked me to anchor a relay for a swim invitational. within fifteen minutes of this invitational, i would be running twenty miles. this is also a day that i am working until late in the evening. the week before is the ironman relay. once landing, i would need to check in, run eighteen miles, then get ready for the relay at the crack of dawn the next day. every day in between, there’s training. and working. and being a human. among the many other things. there’s was a breaking point. this is the breaking point. who am i becoming?

tuesday evening, my running training schedule said rest. i told my coach that i wanted to pr my half marathon on thursday, so she shifted the schedule to support. this was the lightest that my schedule felt since the beginning of october. and i was to rest. trust the training crystal, trust the training. resting is about trusting and integrating the training. likely you can see why nicole is my coach. we speak the same language. yet, on this day the experience of extremely high functioning anxiety wanted to be expressed through the team high intensity interval run. but the schedule said rest.

a little after five pm, my brain is offline and i am getting ready to head to the team training. whether or not i am running, one thing i always know to do is to show up with the team. one line, one mind. even though i know that i am not to be running, i still show up with my tempo shoes on just in case nicole changes her mind. it’s raining hard outside. the team is about to take of for the last of our seven mile fartlek series and i am to rest. what i want to do is run. nicole hugged me as they took off and said, have fun on thursday. then i left for a deep stretch class at my yoga studio. where i needed to be was on the mat. it was the furthest thing from what i wanted to do. it was the assignment, so there i was.

there i was with my thoughts.

what if you can’t…….. that sentence never actually finishes. it feels like an absolute curse to even think that i can’t do something. crystal, you can do anything. the question kept knocking at the door and it kept being stopped with what i know. i can do anything. this is where the breaking point is always experienced.

let’s back this up.

two weeks ago, i set a massive pr in the 5K (a race that i don’t particularly care for because it’s all gas). for the first time, ever, i was in the ‘A’ corral. and when i finished, i thought, i actually belong here. placing fifth in my category.

the next day, i set a pr in the 10K on absolutely fried legs. fourth in my category.

the next week, i ran forty seven miles. (while swim training)

i was tired. and at the same time, ridiculously grateful to witness my body becoming. all of this existing at the same time. it can be difficult at times for me to admit that i am tired. and then my body lets me know.

and now here we are.

what if i can’t pr? (pr means personal record). i’ve been setting so many wild prs, what if this is ending? what if i can’t meet my goal? Crystal, you can do anything.

ya’ll we haven’t gotten even close to thursday yet. and since some of ya’ll reply to me and say ya’ll actually read these, i’m going to keep on. check out if you want.

even earlier, saturday, someone reached out from my run club and said that he wanted to pace me to a pr. i said yes. and then i gasped. my goal pr was nine minutes in a half marathon. who would i have to become to run faster than i ever have?

i’d have to be the person that said yes.

tuesday, i wanted to back out. i wanted to message him and say that i’ve added too much pressure on myself and preferred to ‘party pace’ the half (which would have been fine if i wanted to). nicole said, have fun. that was the assignment. wednesday morning, he reached out to me at twelve fifty six pm. i was doing my shakeout run and strides, so i received the message when i got home. i started relieving the pressure since i was partly committing to party pacing the half. my run felt easy.

him: you feeling good to pr tomorrow?

me: i do think that i can, and i just want to take the performance pressure off of myself.

him: i am down for ____ (my goal) and if you fall back, i’ll stick with you.

our conversation continues ……. but this part. “and if you fall back i’ll stick with you” was everything that i needed to hear. generally, i would fight the idea that i could fall back. i was offered the space to fall back. AND I’LL STICK WITH YOU.

whew! i didn’t really know this person. and i had an experience where i felt like part of the process could be falling back? i know this cognitively. in my work, i sit with people that think that they are falling backwards (which is only a perspective). and hearing this on this day was the medicine that i needed. still a bit nervous, i ended the conversation with thank you.

thursday morning, i wake up at my usual race day time of five am to eat breakfast. i still haven’t met the person that i was to become. i felt all of the feels of meeting her. she had permission to “fall back”. she had the assignment to have fun. she knew that she would not be left.

my pacer met me in the parking lot before the half mile warmup and asked if i was ready. i felt the need to let him know that i had never run anywhere close to the pace that would need to meet the goal. he said “i am not pacing who you used to be. i am here to pace who you are today."' it was just me and him originally. and then two others asked to join us. he mentioned each time that he was there to pace me and that anyone could join the ride. he had one request of me. “remind me to drink water”. that was my only job. that’s it? trust this whole process. what did he want from me? to remind him to drink water. he didn’t say keep up. he told me to remind him to drink water. ok i can do that.

so we start.

and this race is so crowded that we are basically walking for the first half mile. how are we going to run faster than i have ever run if we are starting slower than i have ever run? mind your business crystal. let’s do the thing. remind him to drink water. the space widens after the first mile and then i look at my watch and we are running faster than i have ever even run a mile. who does this man think that i am? how will i ever keep this up? stay focused Crystal. stay focused.

he was doing what he needed to do. he was making sure that we would meet the goal. no matter what, he was pacing me towards the goal. i just had to keep running and reminding him to drink water.

a little over four miles in, i surrendered. i stopped looking at my watch. i stopped counting backwards from thirteen point one. i stopped calculating IF i was going to meet the goal. and i focused on my job, which was to run this race. he was pacing me. all i needed to do was trust the pacer and make sure he was taking care of himself. either i was going to believe that he knew was he was doing or not. i was either going to believe that i can do anything or not. the second half of the race was much hillier than the first. and i needed to stay focused.

i was becoming. i was trusting.

i had not met the version of me that could meet that goal. i had to make space for the death of who i knew myself to be in order to surrender fully and meet who i said that i could be. his job was to give me brave space to transition. he had to stay focused and drink water. he was not phased by my doubt. he knew it was part of the process. he was not phased my my changing paces up and down the hills. he integrated it all and stayed focused on the goal.

it wasn’t until afterwards that i realized why he kept running around me. he was blocking the wind. he was focused. i trusted him. i could focus. in the moment, i didn’t need to know why he was doing what he was doing.

less than half a mile left of the race, he said “once you get to those olympic rings, take off”. in my mind, i was giving everything that i had already. what was left to give? i reached to the olympic rings and took off. i didn’t know that there was more gas there. he did. and i listened.

not only did i meet the goal, i beat it by over three minutes. a twelve+ minute personal record.

so yes. tuesday was a breaking point.

the resistance is wisdom. the resistance is holding on to the version of you that is safe.

i was willing to release the grip in due time. for me, it took from tuesday until mile four+. the time was right.

so what did trusting the process mean for me? it meant trusting my life. not just the day of, but my life. it was my trusting and surrendering to life after death.

it was:

-choosing to rest off of my hip so that i could heal for months in the summer

-choosing my coaches

-allowing doubt

-believing that i could

-setting a ridiculous goal

-going to practice when i was to rest to hear nicole say, have fun

-laying on the mat for an hour

-resisting the pacer

-receiving the pacer

-experiencing overwhelm as i was breaking

-walking the beginning of a pr race

-stepping on a track for the first time in twenty years just a month or so ago

-resisting speed

-showing up

-…..the list goes on.

i am the process - the resistance, the yes, the fight, the release, the WTF am i doing?

as are you.

so what does ‘trust the process’ mean? whatever you make it out to mean.

beloved,

you will break

yet. you are never broken.

you’ll say yes when you are ready.

and until you do,

then when you do,

i’ll stick with you.

-crystal

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i do read the comments.

the conclusion of a journal entry. remembering things…..

i am asked questions pretty much non stop every single day. it’s the work that i do. some of the humans really do think that i have the answers. others know that i do not have the answers and enjoy the process by which my gift is offered to them. either way, i do not have the answers. as a philosopher by nature, i believe that questions lead us into the beautiful revelations that we call life.

speaking of questions, i was recently asked why i write the way that i do.

and the answer? well, because i only know my experience through my lens. so i share my lens. everything else would be a projection. and people tend to believe projections as absolute truths (depending on the source). through my writing, i hope to be a gentle awakening into new neural synapses and pathways. that’s it. that’s all. those that have worked with me in the past (and currently) have heard me say that so many times. no different than when i was in the physical practice as a doctor - neurology is my jam! in my current and past work, i DO NOT ask questions because i need the answers. i ask questions because something within you wants attention.

even when i consult with doctors in the area that i am known as an expert in - complex disease origin, diagnosis and treatment, i really just serve to invite new experiences for the doctor and client (the word expert is still gross to me). human spiritual physiology is fascinating to me. if we look at what the body is actually doing, we can understand the story better and consider it less of a disease state. we can then ask the true question(s): what is asking for attention and how can we nourish that need? it’s all storytelling. in that world, i am a storyteller.

ok. back to the answer. i write (and consult) in the way that i do because i get the unique opportunity to encourage new neural pathways in humanity and that generates so much excitement for me.

i have no advice for folks. no tips or tricks or tools because we are not a projects or a buildings, we are humans. i just have a lens.

even thinking of myself as a writer is strange at times, because i don’t even know what that means. i suppose it means that i write. and i do that. so maybe i am a writer. and i write often into the ethers not knowing who it will touch, if it will be responded to, or if it matters to who reads it. and i still write. because maybe that’s what writers do.

and this leads another question from a recent interview. when did i become a writer?

i’d say that i am more of a listener than a writer. my voice has always been my strongest gift. one day i started putting the things i say on paper. so maybe that’s when i became a writer? if you know me, you may know where i write from, what i can say is that i do not write from my intellect because my intention is far from being a source of information. my intellect informs things, but the Source is always beyond me. these days, i speak and listen on paper. i say that because i do actually write on paper before it (a very small portion of it) finds its way to the internet.

as i was writing in my journal today, i witnessed my own evolution. i’ve done a lot of things in life. really wild things in life. i looked at the steps that led to this particular moment and said ‘wow’ for so many reasons. the steps consisted of nourishing the things that were in front of me. writing is one of the ways that i invite the world into new neural synapses and pathways. and consulting is another. and speaking is another. and sharing my physical practice is another.

where am i going? i am pretty clear that my current assignment is to nourish what’s here to the best of my ability. another part of my assignment is to witness the multiplicity.

what is asking you for nourishment? the question isn’t who will see it or who will like it or who will respond to it or what door it will open. the question is will you nourish it?

yes, it matters.

do the thing.

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i read the comments, i really do.

i sent a text to a friend.

as a person that has an intense dislike of small talk, my friends know that when i send a message, i actually intend to engage with what’s comes of it.

so here we are, twelve forty in the afternoon:

i know that this particular friend will answer honestly. she responded, have a nice walk outside and send me some videos or pictures.

easy enough, right? the way that i could deeply love her is to be engaged with what exists around me and show her that i did. (it’s probably clear to you why her and i are such good friends).

eighteen days later, i had a walk, took pictures and sent them to her.

of the things i’ve been asked to do as of late, this seemingly could have been the easiest thing to do. and she knew what she was asking when she responded with that request.

ya’ll,

i currently run outside about forty five miles/week and rarely ever take my phone with me. i find deep enjoyment being fully immersed with the tangible experience of what is here with me. needless to say, of the eighteen days of in between time, i was outside running every day. not once did i take a walk. and the few times i had my phone was because it was nearing sundown.

i thought of her request multiple times. my run club often takes photos that i could have shared with her. and that was not her request. she asked me to take the photos. she asked me to walk and take the photos and send them to her. what possibly could be the challenge of this?

as simple as this request seemed, it was a disruption. welcoming disruption (in my world) requires intentionality. i know that the love language of my friend is intentionality. for her, it’s about the process.

what was going to get me out of the house to do this? a run. what was going to get me to take my phone with me? knowing that this was part of the assignment. running ten miles, no problem. walking and taking photos was such a request of love. so i planned the route to be two miles longer than the scheduled run and found attire that had pockets for a phone.

did it take eighteen days to complete this request? absolutely.

would it have taken you eighteen days to complete this request? maybe not.

as i walked, i noticed the color of the leaves on the trees and the concrete for the first time all season. i noticed the new construction. i felt the wind (that i often resist) as i was much more still in it’s presence.

i walked for half a mile. took pictures. and continued walking to complete to route. i sent them to her.

she responded.

and at my door, on that day, there was a specific gift that i’ve asked for sitting at my door. one of my deepest understood love languages is specificity. i didn’t ask her for it. it was just there.

eighteen days.

the love is deep.

and the timing is always perfect.

was this about the gift. my hope is that you know that the answer is no.

love, in this instance (and often in my world), asks me to open the door to becoming.

my friend’s response to my question acknowledges that love is an invitation, not a sacrifice. there is no give/take, there’s just specifically intentional experience. it is a dance. love knows that there is no separation when expressed as a verb.

love is an assignment and i am deeply grateful to experience this unique experience of love with her.

perhaps you love someone in their language today.

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i do read the comments.

ok. heard.

focus, grasshopper.

the adrenaline is speaking it’s own language. the hills are hilling. i’ve got this though.

as i settled into the seat, i started to feel the things - all the things. sitting was not pleasant in the least. by the time that the pain signal boosted, i had forty four miles to go. i turned the next corner and to my surprise, i hear “is that crystal?, gooooooooo crystal” and then a couple yards up, i hear on the bullhorn “…when you see me because i'm comin up fresh. ride wit' the realist ya feel me? so you should call me the best…” (if you know, you know. and if you don’t, that’s okay too!) the pain was paining, but the two thousand and four version of me was hype. many things were happening at once. i still have no idea how they pulled up on the bike course that was almost impossible to get to, but they did with a whole message.

the way i rode up that hill is beyond me. that descent was necessary. and then the seat and i settled into our relationship again. i’ve ridden before when getting used to new distances. this was not that. for the next forty two miles, it was just me and my relationship to the seat. i had to hear everything that my body was saying from the past week. i was nowhere close to the finish line.

the pain kept feeling more and more intense. louder and louder. it was very clear that it was feeling ‘worse’ before it even entertained feeling ‘better’. ya’ll, it did not get better, i just rode with it until the end. it wiped me clean. my power meter showed that i gave everything that i could. and well, even that experience of power was significantly higher than what i typically ride at. one thing (among many things) about my coach’s style that i really enjoyed is that he was never attached to speed. he often said that many people can ride fast. fast riders are dependent on the terrain. if you keep your power consistent, you can ride any terrain the same way. the speed will take care of itself. power is internal. power is a knowing. power is supernatural. commitment is the anchor. this is what all of the endurance training was for.

not for speed.

not for competition.

it was for this moment when everything in my physical body had ‘nothing left to give’. my people kept popping up in the wildest places with cowbell and my playlist on blast. the pain was worse. the hype was real. and endurance was the practice. there was a person that i was looking forward to meeting. i didn’t know her. she knew me though.

the noise from the pain kept getting louder. i was nearing the end. my body had a story to speak and she wasn’t finished until she was finished. there was no more resistance. this is the way we are riding it out until the ride is complete.

and we did.

it is quite common in my line of work for people to ask me if it’s going to get better. tears in their eyes. the most excruciating pain of their lives on multiple levels very present. i say the same thing every single time. i believe your pain. i hear your pain. i will never tell you that it is going to get better. but i can promise you that if you watch the sky, it will remind you that it is always darkest before dawn. the sky also doesn’t favor the day or the night, they just are. you will feel like you are drowning. and then you will remember that the water is the first place that you called home. there is a powerful story that this death is here to offer you. and i am committed to riding it out with you. witnessing you in it. and holding what needs to be held.

i do no work with others that i haven’t done with myself. this experience is quite familiar to me.

this day was my practice.

note: ‘i believe IN you’ and ‘i believe you’ are two totally different statements. both are absolutely needed. AND they are different experiences. many people will believe IN you. few will actually believe you. it can be tough to believe what you have little capacity for within your own human experience.

i believe IN you = i believe in your potential

i believe you = i believe that what you said is a true experience for you, regardless of the experience that i want you to be having

so can you actually answer the question, will it get better? likely not. yet you can listen to what is being said. most times, no response is needed. it’s the deep connection to the human experience that’s deeply craved.

the story will complete when the time is right. your resistance will likely dictate your experience of the story. and yes, you know i believe that resistance is wisdom.

so what is it that you are willing to believe? what is it that wants to be seen?

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i really do read the comments.

she asked, are you ready for your half marathon tomorrow?

two weeks ago, she watched me complete my A race of 2023. one week ago, she watched me complete a race distance that i’d never completed before (a 19 miler). ‘watched’ is an understatement, my girl was literally in the streets of these races with a bullhorn. friday, she asked if i was ready for the half marathon. i really let that question sit. it could have been easy to respond with a yes. i quite literally ran a half marathon right after swimming and biking (in excruciating pain) back to back. of course i was ready, right?

what felt true in that moment was the same thing that has felt true for the majority of my life in most aspects:

yes, that is what i was ready for - to do something that i hadn’t done before. i generally only complete a race course that i’ve never experienced before regardless of the sport. this feeds my sense of wonder. i was ready for that. i had no idea how my body would respond after two major races back to back. my curiosity always wants to see.

yes i am ready.

seven o three am.

i felt the same thing that i always feel at the start line. wow, crystal, you are really about to do this! today is a great day to do something that you’ve never done before. receive the breath. exhale into the moment. do the thing.

somehow, i ended up at the very front of the start corral and the announcer said: “we have an ironwoman on the front line”. i honestly had no idea who she was talking about. she came up to me and said: “yes, you”. i think it hit me in a different way in that moment. i did that. two weeks later, wow, crystal you really did that. i was ready to experience this course that i heard was challenging in front of me, and she took a moment to recognize who was standing there. i hadn’t recognized who was standing there. she did.

ok. i am here. whatever ‘ready’ is, i am that.

and well, for a course that i was told was very challenging, i hit a new personal pace record for the half marathon (by eleven minutes!). although i am often asked about pace goals, my goals are always heart rate related. i absolutely have to remain aware of my body no matter what is happening around me. the pace will take care of itself. and it did.

stay focused, grasshopper.

i think i am always ready. i wanted to sit with the question differently this time. it sat with me differently this time.

this motto is something that really carries me through daily. it truly excited me.

• it’s what got me talked into doing the swim leg of one of the top five most challenging ironman swims in december of this year. let’s be clear though, i am still settling into the person that this particular yes is evolving me into. me? doing the swim leg of an ironman? not the run, but the swim? the first legit stroke that i experienced in pool (in my entire life) was four months ago.

• it’s what energizes me about being selected for the tokyo marathon in 2024 and the next sixteen weeks of training (for the three other marathons, plus all of the other races before April 2024).

am i ready? well yes, to do some thing(s) that i’ve never done before. to see myself into who i am becoming.

a few weeks ago, i met her:

i became her along the way. and will meet a new version before you even see this note.

i am ready.

my current curiosity is, what is it that you are ready for?

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i really do read the comments.

let’s start there. a bike ride. seventy three percent complete and i “have no more to give”. zero. no more. i can look back and recognize that this bike route was the most challenging route that i experienced months ago. and now, not so much.

but i had no more to give.

at the bottom of the steepest part of the hill, i was at a red light. i needed to clip back in and finish. so i clipped back in and gave. one pedal stroke at a time.

here, we are. giving.

and i know there is an hour brick run immediately after.

how?

focus here Crystal. one pedal stroke at a time. one measure of elevation at a time.

for the past few weeks, it’s felt true that i didn’t have anything else to give. i would see bike rides and runs on my training schedule and be filled immediately with anxious feelings.

how? along with showing up in the world. how?

i saw a ten mile run on the schedule and completely shut down. i shut down to the point that i woke up at one o’clock am and signed up for a half marathon within the same day. (don’t try to make it make sense - it doesn’t). i just wanted my legs back. yes a half marathon is a longer run. and somehow it made sense to me. this is where my brain was. i have no more to give to the ten mile. yes, i have thirteen point one.

____________

i went to the lake for a mile swim immediately after a two hour and forty five minute hilly ride. there to my delight was ms. beverly setting up her kayak to support a swim clinic.

“crystal, i’ve been talking to your coach and you are looking like you are prepared to do well for your race”

i replied to her: “i’ll receive that and it sure doesn’t feel like it”

“you are”

i’ve been hearing similar comments from other people who have been tracking my progress.

one in particular that brought me to tears from someone who i didn’t know was watching, janelle.

“you’re putting the work in. i’m very impressed. i know you’re getting weary but keep pressing my dear, you are making it happen”.

i hadn’t spoken much about the level of exhaustion. i’ve just been showing up and giving my all.

nothing left to give.

as i was on my drive back from the lake swim, i realized that i have moved from training my body to do well in the race. it seems as though everyone has been confirming that.

i was entering the depth of the endurance phase.

the keep going when you want to say fck this phase.

the give when there is nothing left to give phase.

the meet the you that you didn’t know existed phase.

this was/is the training.

ok. i got it. there will be points when all of this shows up during the race. and i am now training to keep going. to pull it from within. to pull from that place that only endurance has access to. this is where we are. this is what makes getting up at five am to train work on top of all of the other things i do in the world.

ok. one session at a time.

i remember when:

-one mile was endurance when moving from pole vault and 300 hurdles in high school track.

-two miles was endurance once the event needed a fill in

-three point two miles was endurance when i decided to explore cross country

-getting out of the bed to be carried to the restroom in the cardiac ward of the hospital was endurance ten years ago

-the sixth mile of a twenty two mile route on the bike was endurance

-when one lap in the pool was endurance

not because these were distances that i hadn’t yet done, but because they required from me something that i hadn’t yet met.

and i am still meeting myself beyond what i thought i could.

as janelle said, “you’re making it happen”

so to whoever needs to hear this:

“you’re making happen”

who is it that you are willing to meet?

this time we are going to multiply the last swim distance by five, double the cycle and double the run. what a week leading into this experience! one thing at a time Crystal. one thing at a time.

and so here we are.

this is my first out of state triathlon. everything is unfamiliar. and well, i like to be unfamiliar with race landscapes. i like to experience first times with a sense of wonder.

the message from dad:

“have a great time and know that I’m your #1 fan! 100% support! take care and always be safe”

let’s go.

finding my way to the transition set up was quite the adventure. and i arrived. hundreds of bikes racked along the tennessee river. i receive this moment as an opportunity to realize what’s happening. i will do distances that i hadn’t done before altogether in one race. i look around and realize that i am the only Black person here. not one of a few - the only. this is a first. i am also in the mix of athletes that are quite established in the sport.

ok crystal. focus.

i hop on the bus to head to the swim start that is quite far even on wheels.

seven thirty six am

my wave starts. i hear the airhorn. and it’s me and the water. i acclimate to the water. listen to the cadence of the song. and then we dance. for me, it changes every time in the water.

i asked my dad a while ago about how he learned to be a rescue swimmer. he said, i watched the water. at the time, i had no idea what that meant. now i do. watch the water. then, one swim stroke at a time.

one stroke at a time.

watch the water.

one stroke at a time. and what do you know, i set another personal best swimming record cutting off about thirty seconds per 100yds!

i thank the water and touch land again with my feet. my face is in the direction that i am traveling and my feet are here. although tempting, i did not turn around to locate myself. i know the next step is running to transition. i know that i want to wear socks, yet i listen to the advice offered and do not because it would “save time in the transition” (the only thing that i would change about this race). the thing that i tried differently was listening to the voice of another when i know what works for me. personally, rushing the transition is not of value to me.

back to the race.

i get through transition and start the cycle. i always know that this is where i will pick it up. and i did. and the tennessee hills are no joke. halfway through my ride, i hit the physical wall, then the mental wall. my physical body has already given beyond what it was accustomed to at this speed. and my mind wonders if i have it to continue on.

if? what do you mean if? i can do anything that i can put my mind to. if?

this is a strange question. and now i know i have to put my mind to it. let’s go crystal. i heard my sister in my head “nooooooo, you’re not tired yet!”. i was racing a non USATF race at the beginning of this year and facetimed her as i normally would on the last mile. i said, “i’m tired”. and she automatically said “noooooooo, you’re not tired yet” and i have kept that with me ever since that race.

at this point, i have already cried it out. heard my sister. and decided to focus on one pedal stroke at a time. this was quite the surprise route. i saw cows laying in the grass unbothered, horses walking around, antelope (or deer?) galloping through the woods, make america great again signs plastered everywhere…... and honestly, i still wouldn’t have wanted to know this route ahead of time. my desire for surprise terrain is only for races that i know will be clearly marked - not for anything else in life.

looking at my watch, i have less than one mile left on the bike so i need to release the tension and signal to my legs that we are about to start running. and that’s what i do. i arrive at transition again, rack my bike, switch my shoes (still with no socks), and head off onto the marked path.

two miles in, i can feel the blisters forming.

focus on the path crystal. focus on the path. and my feet start screaming. full breath cycle. what will you focus on crystal? the next step. yes, my feet are yelling and they are just going to keep yelling as we settle in to each step. i am no longer ignoring the yell, it is part of the journey. my body spoke to me before. i chose another way. my body is speaking again. i hear you. the pain cave is expanding.

one thing i do with the pain cave as it expands is find the jewels in there. the jewel this time is that i can listen to myself. it’s important to know my values and choose accordingly no matter the experience of others. the offering that i deeply desire to listen to is:

“have a great time and know that I’m your #1 fan! 100% support! take care and always be safe”

and so that’s the offering that i carried through the finish line. and will continue to carry with me.

i facetimed my mom at the end of the race because that’s the rule no matter my age or what i am doing in life. she wants to know when i leave and when i land. and i am grateful for the ways that my family shows up in their own way.

she immediately said, i knew it was almost time.

and what time did i get to my phone? 11:42am on the dot.

she quickly shifted my mindset as i was a little bothered with my run time. she said and you DID it! i was humbled by the caliber of athletes here. she brought my attention to the fact that she’s always known me to execute no matter what.

so yes, i did it.

my coach asked for the race report. the only thing that i would have done differently is listen to myself. i needed the mental wall that i hit and the physical one too. i needed to see myself through it. i needed to remember what i valued as my feet were yelling. that’s it. that’s all.

i deeply enjoy racing because i get to dance with the world through my body and the elements. i don’t think i’ve seen an antelope before. i hadn’t even seen cows relax the way i did. the world of racing is different for me than most that i come in contact with. and while i do quite decent and continue to adapt to quicker speeds and deeper strength, it’s about the experience for me. i just want to fully enjoy the things that expand the way i know the world.

most people do want to make it through the transition as fast as possible. this is quite a life lesson. what i knew and needed to see through is that transition is actually the place of preparation. it will not save time if urgency causes injury. the time will be much longer. and likely more painful. the transition is to be respected. and honored.

transition intentionally ya’ll.

have a great time. take care. and be safe. - dad

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i say we did it because WE did. i often show up to races alone. this helps me release any thought that i need to perform. when i arrived, the first voice i heard was ms. beverly (my beloved swim coach), she speaks my name with a firm authority. and then i heard someone yelling “let’s go Crystal”, this was the voice of a person in one my triathlon training groups. she was standing with three others from the group. after the announcements that i coughed through, i heard a deeper voice and that was my ironman coach. i had no idea that any of them would be there (except ms. beverly as she was officiating). i was surrounded by angels. they were quite literally in the water with me and on every turn of the race. i would have added pressure had i known they were coming, so i’m happy i didn’t know beforehand. and i was so honored that they would come. they knew where to be and i could focus on my assignment.

after crossing the finish line, i stood in front of the olympic rings while my coach snapped pictures like a proud parent, and we found out that i came in eleventh in my bracket for a race with hundreds of people. eleven has significance to me. it reminds me that i am here.

and what do you know, as i took a few steps to retrieve my bike, i saw a grasshopper. it was as if my dad said job well done.

my coach said celebrate today and send me your race report tomorrow.

what are you most proud of?
what will you do differently next time?

and well, I’m most proud of my adaptability. i also am proud of the way i trusted my body to show up (knowing how much gas to use on the ride so that my run could be swift and easeful).

the only thing i would have changed is keeping my head in the direction of my movement when coming out of the water. and i appreciate that in the moment, i wanted to see where i was. moving forward, i am in my practice of seeing that my location is here. always. all ways.

six+ weeks of my training, i was injured and mostly upside down as my body was healing. three days coming into the race i was deeply under the weather. all i could really do was rest. i had to trust the rest so that i could trust the rest. i had to trust that my body knew what to do. the pain cave isn’t unfamiliar territory.

i’ve never trained so much for rest in my life. and what got me through the most difficult part of the race? my ability to relax (rest) into the water.

did i mention that this was my fastest open water swim to date? it wasn’t the speed. it was the ability to rest.

trust the rest.

trust the rest.

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and in the mountains.

in the vastness of the lake.

in connection with the bar on the squat rack……

the practice is Harmony.

currently, my favorite sound is the symphony of shoes hitting the pavement. there’s something special about it.

there is always a moment that i can feel the palpable shift from ‘this is challenging’ to ‘this is it’. for me, it’s just part of the practice. while i can sit for hours in silence, my most embodied and meditative practice of presence asks movement to guide me home. so i move often. i call it the practice of dynamic stillness. everything is always moving. i enjoy being in the dance of that.

speaking of movement, the last few weeks, my ‘training’ for ironman has looked like being upside down so that my hip was most supported in its healing process. it’s looked like days of resistance to the process. being upside down is quite literally a completely different perspective to live life in. training has also looked like surrender to the fourth (or first or fifth) discipline of triathlon - rest.

it was in this place that i remembered that i am a natural swimmer. my physical therapy support requested that i hang up my sneakers completely for weeks and deeply decrease my cycling. so i was left with swimming (without kicking). in a matter of weeks, i went from barely getting 10 yards in the pool to swimming 2200 yards nonstop in the lake. the ‘injury’ was part of the training. my body has been learning to move in new ways. this called for a shift in my body to honor my desires. it can be seen as injury. i see it as alignment.

here we are.

and well, what i know is that practice is the medicine.

it is from this place that i share in abundance. i share a short form of my practice every day via text and i am playing around with sharing a weekly practice here.

right now, that looks like tuesday at 11:42a in whatever time zone my body resides.

and oh the places we will go.

will you practice with me?

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This was my answer to the beautiful human that asked me “how did you get so good at this?”. The idea that I am “good” at anything is subjective to the lens that it’s being viewed from. This is something that’s helped me better be able to receive what people are sharing. I am “good at this” to her because she believes that I am. It really has nothing to do with me, it’s just how she sees me. 

What she saw as a forearm balance was the harmony of the earth, air and fire in space. I was witnessing my practice. I was witnessing harmony on what seemingly was unleveled earth. I was witnessing my body find its way.

And my answer is that I practice everyday. What she sees is a person that shows up everyday to practice. I imagine that she is as “good” at whatever she shows up to everyday. 

What I know very well is devotion and practice. In reality, I am showing up to practice harmony, union, rhythm and presence everyday - that’s what I show up to every moment of every day.

This weaves through every aspect of my life: conversations, asana, pranayama, running, cycling, swimming, my work in the world (www.elevenfortytwo.co) and the list goes on. Although, yes, I show up to the activities, it’s not about the activities - those are just reference points for me to practice harmony, union, rhythm and presence.

I find aliveness in witnessing the expansion of what I’ve known the edges of life to be. 

So that’s why I choose the activities that I do. And why I am still showing up to the water as a swimmer - that deserves it’s own post someday)

That’s why I offer reference points of practice to those who choose to be part of the elevenfortytwo community every day. It’s what I know - devotion and practice. 

What is it that you know? Looking at your life, what are you devoted to? 

And well, if you want to practice with me every day, you are welcome to text 7706355358 and follow the prompts. It is absolute joy to practice with those who cross my path in this way.

i will share deeper a little later, and i will introduce now that i engage daily with folks via text and if you want to join that community, just text “breathe” to 770-635-5358 and follow the prompts, key words are follow the prompts.

my personal new year begins on january fifteenth and i chose to surround myself in the mayan jungle for a week. to know me deeply is to know that i really enjoy being in places where i have to understand the native language with my heart (not my head). i really enjoy the uninterrupted experience of witnessing the teachings of nature. i thoroughly enjoy cliff diving in every country that i visit. and well, this is the experience that i am engaging with you all from.

every new day, i generally wake up to the sounds of birds, this has been a practice for years. when rolling over at 530 or 6 and questioning my life and why i am up so early, i hear the chirping of the birds, greet them and the day remembering that all is as it is.

in the jungle, not only did i wake up to the sunrise and the sounds of the birds, i saw them. i saw the cardinals running into the glass in attempt to meet their reflection. i saw the steller jays sitting and witnessing the cardinals. i watched the hummingbirds. i witnessed it all.

i also experienced seven mayan ceremonies (including one where a grandmother traveled in six hours to offer a blessing - this was an absolute treat to receive). i remember that during one of the ceremony setups, an apprentice asked me how i knew the north, east, south, west directions without a compass. i told her that i watched the sun rise (east) and set (west) and the direction of the water travel.

releasing the sense of urgency offers so much spaciousness for the wisdom to unravel. and well, you can always use a compass. it’s a support. and supports are amazing gifts too!

throughout my life, i’ve not been one to really talk about what i know. i do speak what i know when asked or assigned to. just not for the intention of being right. it’s actually quite interesting to witness the need to be right about so many things and/or to prove others wrong. while it’s something that i do not cognitively understand, still I witness it in curiosity. it is my truth that we are all making it up as we go. right and wrong are such binary traps and seem to bring up so much tension. and well, i imagine it can be supportive to live in that space. i also know that right and wrong may often help people locate themselves in reference to the environment. personally, i enjoy living what i know to be true (beyond the intellect), watching what i know evolve into new truths all while witnessing others do the same.

anywho! home to where we are right now. here.

i imagine that from time to time, i will offer long form writing in substack. since the ending of 2022, i have found my sweet spot for offering in joy to the world through sharing daily practices. i enjoy the experience of working with the people that cross my path and i often received the question “so how do i keep doing this between our sessions”. in my world, “this” is just the practice. how do i remember to be present? well here’s how… and you all are invited. as shared above, text “breathe” to 7706355358 and follow the prompts (this is the most important part). and then you can invite your family, friends, loved ones, and those who are a little more challenging to name as loved ones to do the same (they have to be in the US or Canada). that’s it.

will you practice with me?

let’s be here together.

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The beautiful thing about barre is that the practice is so intentional. The first time that I attended the class, the teacher described this as a mind/body workout. A great majority of the movement is fine and all within one inch. There will be moments that we “flush it out”. And then we are back to isolating deep muscles that are often not attended to as intentionally in most other classes.

Back to the class.

When she offered that layer, it resonated so deeply with where I am practicing in life right now. I’d say a great majority of my life has been heavily momentum and will. Anyone who knows me would likely tell you that there isn’t a goal that I haven’t met in life.

Momentum and will have served, and will continue to serve, their rightful places in my life. I am well practiced at using those techniques. This past year has invited a deeper knowing of what intention is like in practice. What I have observed is that it requires fine movement and uses muscles that I didn’t know were there - the ones that are a bit softer. Leading with intention has expanded my practice of trust. As I expand my practice of trust, I loosen the grip on time and settle into the present moment. When I settle in the moment, I can breathe with much more ease. When I breathe with much more ease, momentum is no longer heavy lifting - momentum gets to serve its supplemental role. The entire body is at ease as I arrive. And arrive again. And again.

This reminds me of cross country running and hurdling. I’d say my success came from rhythm and repetition of knowing what to use and when to use it. Many cross country runners would sprint their way into the lead, yet burnout at the end. I learned early on to use momentum at the end to strategically shorten my time. Hurdling was all about knowing steps and positioning so that the “sprint” was actually a dance - this is the difference between someone jumping hurdles, and a hurdler. A jumper sees the hurdles as things to overcome. A hurdler sees the hurdles as part of the track. So I guess, this practice of leading with intention isn’t new after all. I will say, though, that it typically has not been my go to outside of physicality. Leading with will and force to dominate something is innate to not understanding the game.

It’s interesting to sit back and witness life in this moment of leading with intention. My experience is that I am allowing momentum to serve where it needs to and I am not overworked. This life is not a fight to win or dominate. It is a practice to keep coming back to. The question continues to be, how do I want to arrive at this moment. That’s intention.

If I already know that as I speak it, it is so, my assignment is to see it.

“Seeing it” takes the work of many fine motor muscles. These muscles must know what to do - and this comes with practice (rhythm and repetition). Looking for it uses the larger muscles and often creates fatigue from overcompensation.

What would it be like to look at what I see and allow those larger muscles support the fine ones as I see it into expansion?

What I can tell you is that it feels like compassion and grace to the body and the mind.

One movement at a time. One breath at a time. Practicing within 1 inch of our edge. Well, that’s barre.

And, might I say, that’s life.

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Yesterday morning was different. I said yes to that yearning desire. I grabbed a journal and a book (Radical Dharma) because I needed something to do. 

The only request was to go to the pool. It’s always interesting to witness myself adding things to do when the only assignment is to do the thing. 

I arrived to the pool and opened the gate for the first time (I’ve lived here for over two years). I put my “productivity kit” on the beach chair and heard the invite to put my feet in the water. 

Ok. Yes. 

And there I sat. I looked up and around and noticed one of the most beautiful sights that I’ve had the pleasure of seeing in a long time. I was surrounded by beautiful architecture, my feet were swaying in the pool, the trees were blooming inside and outside of the gate, the wind was blowing, the sun was kissing the nape of my neck.

I sensed peace in my body. I was present. 

In that moment, I realized the reason that I decided to create spaciousness in my calendar at the beginning of every week. To be here. Fully here. Wherever here is.

I thought of the passing desire as of late to be in the light more often. And there I was, in the light of the sun. I would tell myself, “it’s time to move to a new home, I need more light”. How interesting is it that I just needed to move into the light - that the fulfillment of my desires was readily available to me. My body kept inviting me into the thing that I was asking for. My assignment was to listen and say yes. 

As I sat there, fully in the moment, I began to embody gratitude. This is the gratitude practice that makes sense to me. In the past, I would hear “be grateful”, and I would experience it as a separation from the present moment. For years, I’ve heard about the benefits of gratitude journaling, yet it never resonated as a consistent practice because it felt like a force. In this particular moment with my feet in the pool, I was grateful. I didn’t have to conjure it up. It was an affirmation of the present moment rather than a thing to do. 

This is gratitude. This is the practice. 

I saw my life. I felt myself in a life that was once a vision. I laughed about the times that I gripped the life out of this vision when my resources didn’t match my outline. My heart smiled as I thought of who I became during the journey so that I could sustain and expand the vision as it materialized. 

I noticed that my focus when I gripped was getting to the destination. When I released the grip, I understood that the timing was about developing a level of nourishment that would sustain me while experiencing this pit stop on the journey of life.

I will always arrive at my destination. 

Crystal, put the address in the GPS and ride it out.

The question is never if I will get there. The experience is about how I will choose to arrive. How will I choose to land? How I land is how I will continue. 

A little over two years after I landed, I chose to actually see. And now that I have chosen to sit in the light and see, I can imagine and vision again from a place of presence. I am grabbing for nothing while allowing myself to experience everything. I get to invite curiosity as I play and watch the path unfold. 

What a gift! 

This is how I practice gratitude.

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What I have noticed since being more intentionally aware is that much of my life has been created with a “good life” in mind. If you ask me any day, ease and freedom are my practices. In freedom and with ease are how I approach pretty much everything. I do all of this to cultivate the circumstances for my body to have a good life.

In my recent work with my coach, I’ve be invited to take that practice even deeper.

I’ve taken time to acknowledge where my inner child lives in my body through embodiment practice. She lives at my core. In a deep meditation, it was revealed to me that I’ve done all of the things to create a “good life” for her, and rarely has it been in the language that she understands best. So, she’s felt neglected quite often.

I put the lunch money on the table. I make sure that she can do whatever it is that she wants in life. I make sure that all of the responsible things are done. And well, what does she want?

I want you to hear me, really hear me. I want you to spend time with me. I want you to let me get messy. I want to play. That’s what I want, to play. I can see that you are doing your best to take care of me. And they are in ways that my heart doesn’t quite understand. I want hugs, and kisses, and I want your time. I love that you do all the things that you do. Can you take me with you next time? Can I come? Can I play too? When you enter new things in your life, you leave me at home. Can we do the things together?

So here we are, we are getting to the gym.

I sat with my thoughts at 550 am. If I bring play into my workout, I could mess things up physically. If the voice of playfulness is too loud, I may miss an instruction. The assumption was that if I brought my inner child out, she would be problematic. In that instance, I could see why she’s felt neglected. At 557am, together, we went inside. I had no idea what to expect with this new intention.

I noticed seeing myself in the mirror more. I actually saw myself and I loved what I saw. I noticed that playfulness in listening internally and choosing to take my pushups on the bar. Weeks ago, I would push through floor pushups and re-injure my shoulder, taking it as part of the cost.

The experience that ignited the share of this was hearing my inner voice say “we are stronger than you think”. At first, I rejected the notion of needing to be strong. I’ve lived a life of being strong. And then I remembered my intention and listened. As I balanced myself on the tiny ball with my legs in the air, the instructor invited us to lift our hands above our heads. Every time she has offered this practice before, I would notice the wobble and keep my hands on the floor. I kept hearing “we are stronger than you think”. I tried it today, and for the first time, I allowed my core to stabilize me. I allowed my inner child to stabilize me.

She didn’t come to mess things up, she was there to play. She wanted to come along and show me what trust could open up for me. She was there to enhance my practice. She just wanted to come. She just wanted to be invited to play.

She is me, we are not separate.

We are stronger than you think.

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As adamant as he has always been about who I would be in this world, he has always been as firm about the fact that there will always be a soft place for me to land, here. Not there, here.

And this, for me, is the point of practice - particularly point practice. This awareness is why I allow myself to live my life as a practice. I find beauty as I wander. I explore new things as I wander. I learn new languages as I wander because I experience it all as practice for the sake of practicing. There is no need for mastery. My soft place to land is always here with me. Point practice reminds me of this.

I create space for meditation quite often in this world. Point practice holds a special place in my heart. Yes, the focus is point. Deeper still, the practice is knowing that point is always available when the awareness has wandered. This practice becomes the journey. Every point practice is an experience of all that is. And the point remains as my soft place to land.

Here’s an invitation for all of us, in our own way, to loosen the grip on point as we acknowledge it as a soft place to land. A home to come to. An invitation to know that there is always a place for you.

As is always true, my dad calls himself my number one fan. So it won’t surprise me if he reads this. So dad, as you read this, know that every word you say matters. Thank you for loving me in your way. Yep, you taught me to “to get two for the takedown and 6 for the pin” AND you taught me that my best will always be the only way. Thank you always offering the hug after I get out out the 6ft circle where I have to execute leverage, balance, and positioning on my own. I’ve always paid attention. Thank you for this soft place to land.

And to you, the readers, welcome to my practice.

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