This need for stability has felt super present for me over the last few weeks. The hotel I work at asked me to move rooms. The room I’ve been in since May has started to feel like my home. I’m embarrassed to say that something seemingly so minor set me into an emotional spiral of anxiety and instability. Of course, they weren’t telling me that I would not have a place to sleep, just that I needed to move. Regardless of whether this is dramatic or not, I’ve been feeling a deep longing of homesickness, but not actually for a specific place.

I’ve been having incredibly vivid dreams. A mix of beautiful ocean dreams swimming with whale sharks and some nightmares. One notable nightmare was that I was alone in a hospital in Indonesia and so terrified I was sobbing because the doctors wanted to surgically remove some of my organs. The crazy thing was that I woke up from this dream and I was aware that I was dreaming, but I couldn’t move my body. I was half in my dream and half aware that I was in my bed in my room. I was super panicky at first not being able to move or wake myself up. Eventually I surrendered to the experience, trusting that I was okay because I was consciously aware that it was just a dream. I think my subconscious is shedding light on my biggest fears and dreams.

Grandma back in New Jersey, has been in an end-of-life journey with Alzhiemers. She was one of the most important people in my childhood and losing her this way has been emotional for me. Since she’s been transitioning out of consciousness, I sometimes get this panicky feeling that I am alone in the world and I’m not okay. She has been having some health complications that come with a lot of uncertainty, and it is difficult for me to hear the updates with a 12-hour time difference and an ocean between us.

So, these days I have this idea in my head that if I had a house, everything in my life would be fine. Because then I would have stability and I would be okay. I’m sure I would still have problems. There is just something about having a physical place in the world that is mine, that I am starting to feel like I really want and need. I am also wanting to do more climate solutions and environmental work but in my current life, I don't have enough time or stability to do my best work. I am noticing this as I work on developing a university course called Global Environmental Futures.

I can’t make changes in my life that quickly, so while I explore the questions of where I want to go in life and who I want to be in the future, I am trying to cultivate acceptance and patience. I’ve been journaling about the aspects of my life right now that make me feel grounded: the few friends that I manage to stay connected with around the world, the friends that I have here, my work and jobs that give me a paycheck and a place to be, and teaching yoga every day. I love teaching yoga.

I’ve been spending a lot of time on the computer in course design. Teaching about the environment has been another source of anxiety and instability for me over the years. Regularly sitting with the interconnected environmental issues of climate change, biodiversity loss, and social inequality has taken an emotional toll on me. When you lay out all the information, it is quite overwhelming and nearly impossible not to feel scared about the future.

In October 2022, I was visiting my parents in South Carolina, escaping a hurricane that made landfall in Puerto Rico, when another hurricane made landfall just north of where they live. I wrote in my journal:

I think about climate change on an almost daily basis. I am concerned about the future. I cry thinking about the inequality. The fact that the most vulnerable populations around the world will suffer the most when they contribute to the problem the least sits like a brick in my stomach.

It feels like just a matter of time before any coastal community is on the wrong side of mother nature’s wrath. I want to scream on the roof tops!! What does it take for people to realize what is happening? To realize that everything we love about life is at stake?

As I prepare for the semester to start, what I’m learning is that solutions exist! We really do have all of the solutions and the technology that we need to stop emitting greenhouse gasses and for everyone to have enough. We also all have a unique individualized role to play. And we can even find joy in our work.

I am not talking about ignoring the severity of the situation. We absolutely need to stop emitting greenhouse gases and we need to restore natural ecosystems. I just strongly believe that as long as there is beauty on the planet and as long as we are alive, we have an ability to make a difference and life on Earth is worth fighting for. My intention is to move away from the doom and gloom narrative and focus on the possible futures for humans on Earth and how we can all individually play a role in cocreating the future we want to be part of.

For example, restoring ecosystems is something many of us have access to on our own properties. We can grow food, compost, and plant native plants. Having more life on your lawn means more carbon on Earth and less in the atmosphere! Maybe you are like me, and you don’t have a home, but we all still have roles to play.

Something that makes me super mad is this idea that it’s too late to do anything. There seems to be this rhetoric that we are already on this path and collapse is inevitable and we can’t fix it so we might as well do nothing. Ayana Elizabeth Johnson explains in What if We Get it Right, that we can think about the future on Earth as a scale from 0-100, with 0 as humans going extinct and 100 as thriving ecosystems and paradise on Earth. It’s not one or the other. We most likely will land somewhere in the middle. So, the argument of it’s too late to do anything so we might as well do nothing is silly. Because 40% is always going to be better than 0.

It’s also true for our own lives. We can’t strive for perfection. I know that when I fall into the overwhelmed and anxious feelings, what helps is to give myself the permission to wake up and move through my day trying my best. I just need to do one thing at a time with full presence, remember that my best is always enough, and trust I am always growing. I am cultivating deeper presence and patience in my life. I am letting go fear and anxiety about my future and the future of humans on Earth. I will keep working on climate and environmental solutions regardless of the expected outcome. I think if we all collectively took that approach the future could be much brighter than we even imagine.

I’ve been really leaning on my yoga practice, especially my meditation practice. Yoga brings a very different approach to mental health than what I’ve learned from traditional therapy. Rather than digging and dissecting our feelings and why they exist, the yoga path is one of acceptance. Yoga and meditation has taught me how to find peace amongst the swirling emotions and thoughts of my mind. When I feel my emotions spinning around, I can come back in close to myself. Like a wheel, the further you go out from the spokes, the more everything spins. But if you come back to the center, you're staying in one place.

While I can't change my external circumstances immediately and I definitely cannot change the course of climate change as one human, I can keep nurturing my relationship with myself and with Earth. By staying close to myself, I can find stability from within. By staying close with nature, I feel grounded in the resilience of our natural systems. Stability is not about finding a place where nothing changes, because that isn't how nature works. Stability is about learning to stay connected with yourself while flowing with the change.

Lizzy

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I often think about how cool it is that we get to live so many lives in one lifetime. Lots of humans are scared of change, but I’ve learned to embrace it. Because who knows what the future holds? Depending on your outlook, that’s either terrifying or exciting.

I’ve been in Eastern Indonesia for a bit over two months. My life is full with surfing, diving, teaching yoga, writing, drinking coffee, and yapping with friends. Life is sweet and I am grateful.

Life here ebbs and flows. Some days the waves are pumping. Some days its super windy. Some days the hotel is packed. Friends come and go. Usually I’m the one leaving, but here I get to stay. I live here in this Indonesian homestay more than I live anywhere else in the world. That makes me smile. I feel like I am home.

As I write this, I’ve come down with a bit of a flu. Which has given me the opportunity to slow down enough to write an update. And even as I’ve been sick the past few days, spending lots of time sleeping, I just have an overwhelming feeling of contentment. I feel quite peaceful other than the occasional bit of surf anxiety.

I’ve been journaling a lot. Sometimes I’m lonely. I miss friends and family. At this point though the people closest to me live all over the world. So, no matter where I go, I will miss someone and somewhere.

I guess the reframe is, how lucky am I to leave pieces of my heart all over the world?

I started this page two years ago to share my life with people I love all over the world. Not the highlight reel of Instagram but a more real glance into my inner and outer life.

Instagram has been giving me weird feelings lately. My life is very Instagram-worthy, but I don’t know if I need to document everything I do. Sometimes I watch videos of influencers going through their daily routines and I wonder how much of it is real. Sometimes I think that I should do that too, but then I have weird feelings about it. So instead, I’ll just share excerpts from my journal and some film photos from last year in this corner of the internet.

People tell me all the time how amazing my life looks. It is. It also comes with challenges as any life does. That’s just part of being human though, dealing with the thoughts in our heads and the insecurities. One thing I am insecure about is my voice. I strongly dislike listening to myself talk. So much so that I recorded a podcast a few months ago and I cannot bring myself to listen to it. If you would like to, here is the link.

The surf forecast is not looking great for the foreseeable future. We are coming up onto a flat spell just as I am coming out of this cold. It has also been quite windy here. The ferries on and off the island haven’t run in over a week because of strong winds. Lots of people are stuck as a result. It does make me feel like I am out in the wild, at the mercy of nature on this island. These days, I have enough to keep me busy on the computer though so I am taking a somewhat forced break from the ocean.

I’ve been working on designing a university course, Global Environmental Futures. The goal is to reframe environmental conversations away from doom and gloom and toward a much more hopeful question: what role can each of us play in creating the future we want to see? I am also in a mentorship program with a science journalist and writer for national geographic, the inspiring Avery Schuyler Nunn.

The Antarctica eXXpedition has had me on a bit of an emotional roller coaster. First, it was canceled. The eXXpedition crew couldn’t find an all-women sailing crew qualified to cross the Drake Passage, which is a really important part of their mission, so they made the difficult decision to cancel. I was devastated.

Then, after more conversations, they decided to run the expedition in February with three male crew members on the basis that the research is more important than having an all women crew. We are now leaving from Ushuaia, Argentina.

So, we’re back on.

Which means I now have a little more time to save money, fundraise, and mentally prepare.

Cheers to finding excitement in uncertainty, and to the many lives we get to live in our one lifetime on Earth. If anyone wants to yap about environmental solutions, science journalism, Antarctica, or plastic pollution solutions please let me know.

x

Despite being 11,500 miles away, life here feels more similar to my life Nicaragua than anywhere else I traveled over the last two months. Northern Nicaragua sits at a latitude of about 12 degrees North and where I am in Indonesia is about 11 degrees south. The climate is similar, but opposite. I left Nicaragua at the end of the dry season. Everything was quite dry and the mangoes were starting to ripen. Now in Indonesia, it’s the beginning of the dry season. It’s almost a little bit trippy, like I traveled back in time. Avoiding the rainy season in both places.

I’m currently posted up with a cappuccino in my favorite café, on a date with myself and my journal. As I read through my notes and reflections from the last two months, I can’t help but overflow with gratitude for friends, new experiences, surfing, learning, and connecting all over the world!

In the end of March, I left Nicaragua to go to the United States to spend some needed time with family. From there I headed to Peru to work a series of Surf with Amigas retreats. Within hours of being in Huanchaco, Peru I found myself watching the waves and smoking a joint with some new local friends. Then, the retreat started and I was surrounded by old and new friends sharing beautiful waves with lots of giggles and relaxing time in the sauna in between surfs.

Community is something I thought I had to give up to live this traveling lifestyle. These past few months though showed me I actually have community all over the world. It’s so amazing that I can show up to any place in the world where there is surf and immediately have community and a sense of belonging.

Traveling through places at such different levels of development really throws my nervous system through loops though. It’s interesting how I have more culture shock in the United States than I do in rural Nicaragua and remote Indonesia. When the pace of life is slow and I am surrounded by nature, I feel so connected. When I pass though cities and concrete, it’s so much harder to feel that connection.

When I was in South Carolina, my friend Donna jokingly told me you have your Lizzy McGuire dream of adventuring through Italy on the back of a vespa and then you have your Lizzy Beyer dream… This comment was so sweet and really got me thinking how crazy my life must seem to people.

Most adults that I knew growing up lived one life forever or at least for a very long time. They worked one job and lived in one place. They did not know any other life. That’s not the life for me though. It’s not my destiny. My destiny is to be expansive, to learn, to connect, to grow, to teach, and to travel.

That’s not to say it’s always easy. Traveling really teaches me to go with the flow. In order to maintain a balanced head space, I have to wake up and ride down the river of life. I am not immune to indecision though. Sometimes my brain spins around back and forth between the logical thing to do and the thing I really want to do. The times I really can’t figure out what to do, I try to surrender to the path of least resistance and trust that I can handle whatever comes next.

There were days in Peru after the retreat ended that I was so tired from working. I was so torn between needing to rest and wanting to make the most of every day in a new place (a new continent no less!). There was one day specifically I remember waking up and really not wanting it to be morning. The sun was shining in my face and instead of jumping out of bed, I though ugh can you go away. It’s always hard for me to know what to do on those days. Close the blinds and go back to bed or force myself up and out into the sunshine and rainbows of my beautiful life?

Leaving Peru I started the longest travel of my life to Indonesia. As with most travel journeys, it was full of highs and lows. I got a bit of a stomach virus leaving Peru. I’m grateful to a nice Peruvian American woman who gave me immodium in the airport. Then on the plane to San Francisco, I got my period. It was a dramatic experience that included bleeding through two pairs of pants and crying to the flight attendant.

In San Fransisco, I was lucky and grateful to stay with my friend Zoe to regroup for a few days after my traumatic bloody flight. SF had good energy and I was surprised to realize how many friends I had there. It felt different than cities on the East Coast and I kept joking that I felt like I time traveled into the future. Zoe and I traversed the city on ebikes, zipping through parks and botanical gardens. We met up with old friends and I made new friends. We even went in a car that drove itself!! I also learned a lot about AI from my friends in San Fransisco. Idk how I feel about AI but I know that AI can’t feel so it seems like all more important that us humans turn our attention to our feelings and our bodies.

Refreshed from a shower, some giggles, and a few good meals I flew to Taiwan and then to Bali. I arrived in Bali feeling on top of the world, only to find myself a big problem at the baggage claim. With some serious universe fuckery, my board bag and boards were absolutely destroyed on the flight, with one board literally in half. One of the boards I was traveling with was quite sentimental because it was basically my first shortboard, handshape by a good friend. If only I could have predicted the future, I would have left it in SF or Peru.

I had to remind myself they are just surfboards. It was a lesson in non-attachment. My friend Vendela who I know from Nicaragua was passing through Bali at the same time! Which was very lucky for me because she had already learned how to navigate the crazy hustle and bustle of the island. We zipped around eating good food and buying new boards and other essentials. We turned a stressful time into an adventure!

Then I had an overnight on another island and finally the last leg of my journey was a ferry to take me home! My friend Kate had been teaching yoga at the hotel I work at since the beginning of April so we had a fun week together. Like a kiss from the island, I arrived just in time for a swell. Now she’s headed back to the states and I’m settling into a beautiful routing surfing, teaching yoga, writing, and scheming something big!

I have been accepted to be part of the trip of a life time. I will be joining a plastic research eXXpedition to Antarctica. It is a month long trip where we will sail from Chile through the Drake’s passage collecting data and water samples along the way. This is one leg of a global project to research plastic pollution in the most remote corners of the world.

I need your help though!!

The trip is self-funded and I am racking my brain for ideas on how to fundraise $14,000. So far my idea is to create an online course on ocean issues, solutions, and purpose incorporating lectures, journaling workshops, and somatic excercises. I am also exploring brand and corporate sponsorship. If you are reading this and have any experience with this type of fundraising, please let me know!!

xx Lizzy

The questions that have been swirling around in my brain are: What’s my purpose? Who am I? How do I be a good human? What do I do with the privilege and power that I have? What is going to happen to the world that I love so much? What’s a life well lived? Does my privilege have to be a burden that I carry? Do we all have a responsibility to be stewards of the Earth? Am I disillusioned?

I waver back and forth between feeling like the problems are so big and I can’t do anything (apathetic) to I must use every ounce of energy that I have to solve every problem in the world (recipe for burnout). Over the last few months, I’ve been striving for balance between the extremes. Through my process, I am learning so much. I’m learning not to rush into anything. I am learning that my self worth is not attached to the things that I achieve or the outcomes of my actions. I am learning that being myself inspires the people around me to be themselves too. I am learning how to reclaim my power. I am learning that speaking truth is one of the most powerful things I can do.

In this moment as I write this, I feel so much peace and gratitude for my life. I just wrapped up a work season in Northern Nicaragua. I’ve been here since November, working for Surf With Amigas, all women surf and yoga retreats. We host the retreats at a beautiful eco-lodge. Our days start in the dark loading boards and driving to surf. The days are planned around the high tide and when we’re not surfing, we go on adventures, practice yoga, share beautiful meals, and laugh a lot. This life, this livelihood is a gift. I get paid to share my love for the ocean and surfing with other women.

When I’m not working, I live here in the local village on a small farm with plantain, noni, lime, mandarin, mamme, other fruit trees, and lots of chickens! We have baby chicks running around right now. I love how in the tropics, the seasons are marked by the fruit trees. It’s the beginning of mango season right now, and mangos produce so much fruit. I am living in an abundance of mangos. Which is amazing and honestly, a childhood dream come true because mangos have always been my favorite fruit and a special treat for an American girl. I turned 31 last month and my friends through me one of the best birthday parties of my life!

Classically, and because no life is, it has not been all sunshine and rainbows over here. The end of 2025 and beginning of 2026 brought me into a dark place inside myself. Why the darkness? Well, the obvious things: watching the United States government collapse through my phone screen, the background awareness that we’re approaching irreversible climate tipping points has me imagining the world my future children will inherit, and my grandma who’s my closest family member is dying from alzheimer’s. I’ve gone through spirals of anxiety, fury, grief, apathy and eventually after lots of writing, surfing, crying, meditating, and moving my body, hopeful again.

There were a few weeks that I was living this beautiful life and at the same time feeling so uncomfortable and unsafe in my body. In this time, I tried to lean on my yoga, surfing, and meditation practices. Nothing really helped though. I couldn’t just close my eyes and go to a place of inner peace. Sitting in meditation was making me feel all the bad things more. I couldn’t go surfing and forget about the world’s problems. I would see plastic on the beach and shed actual tears.

Then suddenly, I stopped feeling. With the numbness, there were no more bad feelings and no more good feelings either. It was frustrating to not be able to fully feel and enjoy the beautiful life I was living in the present moment. I couldn’t force myself out of it. I tried. Eventually though I became thankful for the apathy. Feeling apathetic forced my body and nervous system into a needed a break.

I don’t think the point of life is to not feel bad feelings. I think the point of life is to grow our capacity to feel all the extremes of the human condition. I think we must feel the bad to feel the good. I also think we must feel the bad to care enough to do anything about it. So here I am now, after feeling all my feelings and back in a place of grounded hope. Not the type of hope that says, I hope things work out, but the hope that says, change is possible and I am going to be a part of it.

The global environmental issues university course I teach started last week. I am incorporating dreaming and imagination into the curriculum. I feel a responsibility towards my students to not end the story with collapse. If our political, economic, and ecological systems are collapsing, what happens next? In nature, if a fire brings down a forest, new life pours in almost immediately. Can we actively be part of the reorganization of new systems, while these ones burn? Can we show up for our neighbors and care for our communities during these times? I feel like it is my life’s mission to prove to myself and others that living differently is possible.

I have been most inspired these last months by Joanna Macey and The Work That Reconnects. When I was in the states in October, I was a participant in the Earth Leadership Cohort. A group of young people committed to doing good work in the world came together to learn and practice The Work That Reconnects, which is group therapy that bridges activism and spirituality. It was a transformative experience that pushed my emotional depth. Now, I feel supported and connected to a community of people around the world working on projects with a steadfast commitment to how beautiful of a future we can live.

I’ve been really liking the phrase how you do anything is how you do everything. What if being an activist is to be actively engaged in the life right in front of you? What if being an activist is doing our best and accepting that our best is constantly changing? What if being an activist is finding a healthy balance between equanimity and empathy? What if being an activist is connecting with our human and nonhuman communities, and our hearts?

I would love to know your thoughts too.

xx Lizzy

Life is so beautiful and easy here that sometimes I feel like I’m hallucinating. A part of me doesn’t even believe this is real life. I am basically in a yoga residency and I love it. I teach yoga to the guests every day, take classes at the hotel next door, and have been studying philosophy and yoga for grief online. I also teach a class for the hotel staff once a week, which has been beautiful. They are patient with me as I try to learn enough Indonesian words to get through. This island and specifically the surf camp I work at has become a home over these last few months. It’s comforting to know that when I come back next year, I’ll slide right back into this beautiful little life.

There is so much to be amazed by every day here. It’s a gift to be so in awe of what is directly in front of me. The culture is beautiful, the waves are amazing, and the reef is alive. I have met so many interesting and beautiful people. There are endless adventures to be had on land and in the ocean. On a recent snorkeling mission, the reef shimmered with life. Schools of fish shimmered in the crystal clear water, an eel peered at me from his cave, and a giant lobster hid from me under a ledge. The colors were phenomenal. I wish I had an underwater camera to share! I have been gaining confidence through freediving and feel so much peace underwater. Later that same day, walking down the beach, I found a nautilus shell. Just one of many gifts I’ve received from the ocean recently.

A particularly special gift came the other day on a dropping swell. The waves were still solid, but the conditions were far from perfect. This swell was accompanied by strong offshore wind and current which makes catching the waves, especially the bigger ones really hard. I had just arrived to the lineup and was sitting outside, waiting to observe a set in a safe zone, and respecting the surfers that had already been out. Suddenly a rogue set wave came through. Everyone in the lineup was paddling for their life to get over the wave. I was watching the house size wave roll in and contemplating what to do.

It was coming right to me. I was in the most perfect spot.

So, I pressed my chin into my board, dug my arms into the water, paddled with all my might, and mentally committed. I felt the catch and pressed my board down hard into the wave on my pop up fighting the wind that was trying to hold me at the top. I couldn’t see anything as the wind sprayed ocean water into my face. My muscle memory completely took over as my board connected with the wave and I raced down the and then passed the section. I was ecstatic. High on life.

Of course, not every surf is this aligned. The lineup can be crowded and people don’t always have good etiquette. Surf lineups are little social microcosms, and some surfers take out their emotions on each other by dropping in, name calling, and even yelling. In a recent surf, the waves were small and it was crowded… a recipe for aggression. Two guys kept following me around, every time I paddled, they paddled right next to me. I felt myself getting super agitated. If I was a cartoon, there would have been smoke coming out of my ears. Then suddenly, I was in the middle of a school of bright yellow fish. Observing them I couldn’t help but smile. My entire body relaxed. Thank you, ocean, I thought. Then I got out, because surfing is supposed to be fun.

Nothing can ever be perfect, and there are definitely inconveniences that come with life in paradise. My little house is very rustic. It’s open air and my shower and toilet are outside. The water goes out a lot. Sometimes my timing with wanting a shower doesn’t line up with when the pipes decide to run, and I’ll go a few days without. It’s also really dry and windy right now so a lot of dirt and dust has been blowing into my house. No matter how much I sweep, everything always feels dirty. Unless I’m surfing, I pretty much always feel dirty.

But honestly, not feeling the western standard of cleanliness is a minor inconvenience compared to the tragedies playing out around the world. Outside this little bubble, the world is chaotic with political unrest, genocide, and climate catastrophes. I feel so safe here that I nearly forget what’s happening in the rest of the world. When I do spend time watching the news my heart is heavy and my body filled with grief, especially for Gaza. It’s a strange, disorienting privilege, to be watching societies crumble while my day to day is so beautiful.

With only a few weeks left here, life is beginning to ramp up again. The university semester is starting soon. In preparing for the semester, I’ve been returning to my lectures and course materials. I keep finding myself sighing aloud as I read through them. I know all of the information well, yet it always feels like I am reading it for the first time. Every year, Earth Overshoot Day comes sooner, we are racing past climate tipping points, we’re living through a mass extinction of species, and we produce more than enough food to feed the global population, yet millions of people go to sleep hungry. The corruption, greed, and deep unfairness of our global systems hits me hard no matter how many times I’ve read it all before.

Despite the heavy reality, I know in my heart there are other ways for humans to live. I refuse to slip into the hopeless environmentalist doom and gloom narrative. I’ll admit that I do feel frustration that every privileged person doesn’t feel a sense of urgency to do good in the world. Maybe people want to and they don’t know how. Everyone has gifts to share though. There are roadmaps and paths forward. There are old ways of existing that us humans can return back to. We just have to look to nature. It is possible.

With my cup so full from island life, I have been dreaming of ways to pour my energy into the world. I’ve come up with a project called Let’s Gather with wellness and community care offerings for activists and changemakers. The vision came from noticing how disconnected so many of us feel from ourselves, from each other, and from the land. Even when we are surrounded by people, loneliness runs deep in many of us. There’s rarely enough space in our relationships for our full, wild selves to be seen and welcomed. I’ve also learned that when met with compassion and community, grief can be composted through our bodies.

Let’s Gather is still taking shape, and I am letting it be emergent. For now, I imagine offering yoga, meditation, breathwork, and other mindfulness workshops to activists and changemakers. My work is inspired by Joanna Macey’s The Work That Reconnects, Yoga for Ecological Grief with Laura Johnson, and the Good Grief Network. When I am back in the US, I hope to provide these offerings for free to environmental organizations. If this speaks to you, please reach out. Or follow as the project unfolds on Instagram.

Of course, my nerves have been creeping in as I develop programming. What if I fail? What if no one shows up? What if it doesn’t work? What will people think? But when I look back at my life experiences, I feel proud. I’m living the life I dreamed of and it took courage to get here. So, I keep soothing my anxieties and reframing my fears to: I’m brave enough to try.

I remember feeling the same nerves when I started this blog, and I still catch myself wondering if anyone reads these. Every so often someone reaches out to say something resonated, and that validation feels good. I don’t need it though. I write for myself. Writing helps me integrate my life and let go of caring too much about what others think. For years, I shaped myself to fit into boxes I thought people wanted me in. Now, it’s both freeing and sometimes scary to show up fully as myself. So, I’ll keep using this corner of the internet to commit to authenticity.

Soon, I’ll be in a new place, in a new rhythm. Some things will be easier, and some things will be harder. Sometimes I still catch myself stressing that I’m not making much money. I know that’s capitalism ingrained in me, whispering that my worth is measured in numbers in a bank account. But when I zoom out and ask myself, what is an abundant life to me? Abundant time to rest, dream, meditate, and write. Abundant healthy food. Abundant waves. Abundant adventures. Abundant love. Abundant community. Abundant health.

So, for the next few weeks I will savor up island life with salty hair, sore shoulders, and an open heart.

xx

Lizzy

In this moment, I revel in how good it feels to need for nothing

Journaling Prompt:

What does an abundant life look like to you? People often believe they need money to access abundance. But in truth, abundance can be found in places and ways that money can’t buy. My life is an example of this. Yours can be too!

What are your personal metrics of abundance? Get as specific as possible. How do you already experience abundance right now, without needing more money? How might your choices shift if you used these measures to guide your life, instead of financial metrics?

It’s winter here, in the southern hemisphere. Yet in the tropics it’s endless summer. The days are stretching a little longer, day by day. It’s high tourist season here, yet the town is calm. Surf tourists come and go, scattered among the rhythms of local life. For now, there’s a nice balance. A kind of harmony that feels rare in surf towns. I’m witnessing a moment in time that feels fleeting and precious.

On the other side of the world, it’s summer. The island where I’ve spent nearly every summer of my life is humming with its familiar chaos. Friends there are hustling through the short tourism season, trying to make the most of it. I love that place and I’m grateful to not be there.

That island feels hectic, busy, and crowded. It’s still beautiful, still full of people I love, the bay still full of clams, but it’s changing. Local culture is still there if you slow down enough to look beyond the chaos. I can imagine what it must have been like before: before the bay was lined with bulkheads, before terrapins had to fight for a place to lay their eggs, before the constant beach renourishment projects. I picture the island without mansions, with the barrier island vegetation intact, and the coastlines wildly open. The marsh stretching long on the bay side and natural rolling dunes lining the ocean side. I mourn that version of the place, even if I never truly knew it.

I’ve lived in coastal tourist towns all over the world. Places where people go to escape, and where locals rely on visitors to make a living. There’s beauty in sharing a home with curious people traveling to meet a new place. Over time though, tourism can reshape a place entirely. A place can start to become what visitors want it to be, rather than what it naturally was with culture fading away in the transition.

Now, I’m living on one island in one hemisphere and dreaming of another. Somewhere in between my scattered thoughts, I’m realizing what it means to be shaped by multiple homes around the world. I belong everywhere and nowhere at once.

Sometimes, my heart feels heavy. In no way do I regret the life I’ve chosen. I love this life and the beautiful people and places I’m lucky to know and witness. I remind myself that everything good in life comes with a cost. My lifestyle comes with quiet griefs as all full lives do. I miss moments with family, friends having babies, and the everyday closeness that you can’t replicate through phone calls or photos… especially with a twelve hour time difference.

At this point pieces of my heart are scattered across the world, across oceans and coastlines. I’ve let go of versions of myself, of trajectories I once thought I was on. Dreams that once felt real have drifted away with new dreams taking their place. I know some of my current dreams will float off and others will manifest.

I’m reminded of that phrase: your new life is going to cost you your old one. And it’s painfully and beautifully true. Change is part of life. The world doesn’t stay still, and neither do we. This island. That island. Every coastline is shifting quite dramatically right now with sea levels rising. Cultures are constantly evolving. Visitors changing the places they visit while simultaneously being changed by their visit.

I think the thing to do is stop holding on so tightly. What if we learn to move with the ebbs and flows of life. I’m remembering all I have to do is be present and grateful for whatever is right in front of me.

How many lives do we live in one lifetime?

To be fully alive in this world is to keep adjusting and practice constantly softening and opening. What does it feel like to let myself be free to grow into whatever version of myself comes next while honoring and grieving the pieces I leave behind?

To live fully is to change often and to love deeply is to be as present with our grief as we are with our love.

Xx Lizzy

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Usually when I arrive to a place I’ve never been I’m eager to explore and adventure. Eager to see the sites, learn the waves, do the activities, and meet the people. This time though I was eager to ground and to settle. Since I arrived, I’ve barely left a one mile radius. It feels so good to sink into a place after traveling nonstop since October.

My days are beautiful and slow. There is nowhere I need to be and no schedule to be on, other than to teach yoga once a day. The days feel long and spacious with plenty of time to do everything I want and need to. Yet, the weeks are cruising by. I’ve been spending my free time writing, laying in the sun, looking for shells, practicing yoga, and of course surfing. A typical morning starts sitting in meditation before teaching yoga. Then I leisurely eat breakfast, go for a coffee, and then for a surf. The wind here is regularly offshore. The waves are good all day, so there’s no need to rush to the ocean right from bed.

My time here began in a yoga mentorship with Aaron Reed, who helped arrange this opportunity for me. For two weeks, Aaron trained me in yin and restorative practices, which is the style of yoga I am teaching here. It’s perfect because the guests here, and myself, have tired surfer bodies. In the morning classes, we have a surf prep stretch to wake up and open our bodies, specifically our shoulders and hips. Then in the evenings we settle into a surf recovery restorative class. The hotel I am working at finished building the shala a few days after I arrived and I am the first yoga teacher here! The owners and staff are always checking on me to make sure I am comfortable and okay. I feel taken care of and valued.

The reef to surf is nearly a mile out and on the inside of it is a super beautiful lagoon. It’s super calm and great for swimming, especially at the high tide. The tides can be dramatic depending on the moon phase and the sunsets have been some of the best I’ve ever seen. The locals farm seaweed in the lagoon. They go out at low tide to check their crops, then harvest and dry out the seaweed on the beach. I’ve spent hours walking the beach hunting for shells.

Surfing here has been nothing short of amazing. Ithink I caught the biggest waves of my life a few weeks ago. Then, in the same day, I taught my first yoga class. Surprisingly both had a similar emotional arc: nerves and the fear leading up to it; trust in myself to do it; and then the euphoric feeling of doing something new and scary. Both have been a good reminder that everything is hard before it is easy & that I can do hard things.

On the biggest day I surfed, I was so terrified watching the beautiful house size waves roll through. I grounded myself with my breath while I watched a few sets from the channel. My local friend Sofie was ripping, which gave me some confidence. Finally, I felt the courage to paddle for one. It was so beautiful and I was in shock taking the big drop. Then after that first wave, it was pure fun. Although, getting knocked around on the inside later in the session wasn’t fun but I stayed calm and it actually wasn’t so bad.

I’ve been taking a freediving course, which has been a dream of mine and helping me stay calm in the surf. The coolest thing I’ve learned is that we humans have biological advantages to help us survive and hold our breath underwater. Thanks to something called the mammalian dive reflex, we can actually hold our breath longer underwater than we can on land. Receptors in our face signal to our body that we are underwater, which locks our throat and nose so we don’t take in water if we pass out. As our bodies move into deeper water, the pressure starts to shrink our lungs, but our spleen (who knew our spleen did anything!) starts sending blood cells to the lungs, giving us an oxygen boost!

It is so empowering to learn how capable our bodies are in the water. It gives me more confidence in the ocean. My body can handle this. My body was made for this. I am a human that is so connected to the ocean. We evolved from ocean mammals. We came from the ocean so, what a gift and privilege it is to return to the ocean every day.

This life here is a gift.

Teaching yoga gives me a sense of purpose, which I’m grateful for. I’ve also been loving sharing yoga. I’m amazed by how energized I feel from teaching. I also feel my own practice deepening in the process. I’m not being paid to work here, but I am receiving so much. In exchange, for teaching one class per day, I have a rustic accommodation, three meals a day, and access to the boats. It feels amazing to have all my needs met in a place.

I don’t have to think about what’s for dinner. I don’t have any online work right now, so I barely have to use my brain. Which is a good break. It’s not often in life that we have a moment to shut off our brain and just feel. I do still think though. I have lots of intrusive thoughts. I’ve been spending some time every day writing them down.

One thought I’ve had, is what would it mean to live a meditative life? To be so focused on whatever task is at hand. To be so engulfed in the present moment that nothing else matters. To not be distracted by worries, fears, or to do lists? To live in flow. How I am living right now is as close to that as I’ve ever been. I am falling into such a beautiful flow here. I have been leaning into the rhythms of life on the island, in the ocean, and in my body. I feel like I could live the rest of my life here in this rhythm.

My only complaint is that the hotel I work at has terrible coffee. Like really bad. Its instant coffee but it doesn’t really mix into the hot water so it’s a sludgy thick coffee drink. Luckily just down the main road is an amazing cafe, Indika with local coffee and homemade coconut milk. I can’t resist going for a fancy coffee every day. I’ve also made a lot of friends from hanging out in the cafe.

The community here is a blend of expats and locals. Everyone has been really kind and welcoming. The other day, I went to help with surf lessons for the local kids. It was a super special moment because there aren’t many locals surfing here. I plan to keep helping out, but I couldn’t speak to the kids at all which was frustrating. So, I feel inspired to try to work at learning a bit of the language. Then, yesterday I went to the local school for a cleanup and visit to the waste facility center.

I am always disheartened by waste management in rural tropical places. It’s bad everywhere in the world, but in a place like this, you can’t look away from the waste problem. Most local families here burn their garbage. The waste facility center is new. They are composting organic waste and cardboard, processing glass, and looking for solutions to plastic waste. It’s imperfect, but a start.

I’ve been working through an online training on Yoga for Ecological Grief with Laura Johnson, a yoga teacher and environmental science professor. She speaks to how yoga can be a portal for self and collective transformation. Ecological grief is pain felt in our body for the world as our awareness grows. Yoga can help us through it by shifting our perspective on feeling our pain for the world, not as dysfunction, but as sacred.

The training has also been relevant and helpful for moving through the grief I have from losing my grandma to Alzheimers. Despite the amazing time I’m having here, I’ve still been sad as I’m losing the person I love the most in the world. She’s been the most important person in my life. She’s still alive but she’s gone in so many ways. I’ve been feeling a hole in myself without being able to talk to her.

My training is pushing me to honor and acknowledge the emotions that come up. I’m trying to work with and learn from them rather than suppress and push them away. Western culture has a tendency to understand pain as dysfunction, as shameful, and as fearful. Yoga provides an alternative approach. I’m learning that to deny my grief for the world or for losing a loved one, is to deny my full sacred human experience… my aliveness.

The twelve hour time difference has made it nearly impossible to keep up with anyone from home. So, I feel disconnected from friends and family leaving me a little homesick and lonely. I have made lots of friends here and I know those connections will keep deepening. Friends from home reading this, feel free to send me voice note updates on your lives! :)

Surfing is the best medicine for grief, well really for all emotions. Through surfing right now, I am feeling so much confidence and trust in myself. Once I acknowledge it’s a good wave and I am in a good spot, I commit. I’m realizing this can be applied to all aspects of life. I can ride the waves of life, the opportunities, the jobs, the relationships with confidence and discernment, building inner trust along the way.

I am finding so much balance here in Rote. Over the last few years I have felt like my needs for stability, safety and groundedness were at odds with my needs for freedom and adventure. I’ve been sacrificing the first for the latter. Saying yes to all of the adventures even when it meant sacrificing my inner peace.

There is so much opportunity to adventure around the island and in the ocean here. Yet, my life as a yoga teacher is a beautiful container of safety and stability. My mind feels clear, I feel healthy, rooted, grounded, and balanced. I am also using this opportunity of stability to pay extra attention to my hormonal cycle. It’s the first time I will spend a full 28 day hormonal cycle in one place since September.

Being here, teaching yoga, surfing, and reflecting back on the last few years makes me feel so proud of myself. I’ve been honoring my body and its limits, especially in the different phases of my cycle when I know I need more rest. I am equally as proud of myself for the days I sit sessions out as I am for the days I send it.

I wish I could tell my grandma all of this. I know she would be proud of me too.

xx Lizzy

Now that the semester is over, I have had more time to write. I’ve been reflecting on the last few months these days since I’ve been home in NJ. I’ve been feeling really connected to birds and butterflies for their migratory ways. A few weeks ago, I was rereading “What is Emergent Strategy”, an essay by Adrienne Marie Brown from All We Can Save, which is a required reading from the Global Environmental Issues Course I just finished teaching. I got chills reading this excerpt:

Birds don’t make a plan to migrate, raising resources to fund their way, packing for scarce times, mapping out their pit stops. They feel a call in their bodies that they must go, and they follow it responding to each other, each bringing their adaptations.

There is an art to flocking: staying separate enough not to crowd each other, aligned enough to maintain a shared direction, and cohesive enough to always move toward each other. (Responding to destiny together.) Destiny is a calling that creates a beautiful journey.

In Mexico there were so many beautiful birds flying by while I was surfing. At the yoga training there were majestic big white butterflies that would float, I mean fly by. The owner of the property told us that the white butterflies were spirits of the indigenous people that used to live on the land. Every time I saw one, my heart would drop. I love to think about how birds and butterflies don’t have to think about their migration or their journey. They don’t make pro and con lists. They just follow their intuition. They know exactly where to go.

We humans have become so disconnected from our intuition and inner knowing. I think we still have it though and in this season of my life, I’m trying to find mine. I am on my own migration, moving through life following my heart and my dreams. I have been saying yes to any opportunity that excites me even if I don’t always know why or how I am going to pull it off.

The second week I was in Mexico, my sister and her friends came for a healthy bachelorette party. We stayed in a beautiful boutique hotel, ate amazing Mexican food, surfed tiny longboard waves, learned how to dance salsa, and had deep talks about life, love, and the world. It was super wholesome, super cute, and we had so much fun. Everyone I met in Mexico was so kind. I made so many new friends, and it was amazing to feel so connected in a place I had never been to before.

Traveling is really fun, and it has its super hectic moments too. My flight out of Mexico to New Jersey turned out to be an especially hectic moment. I was on one of 15 planes that got emergency diverted to Washington DC. What was supposed to be a super simple travel day turned into arriving exhausted and confused in a city I had no plans to be in at 4am. The airline and airport were over capacity trying to figure out what to do with thousands of people unintentionally there. No one could tell us when they might reschedule the flights or what we should do. I ended up convincing three women to share an uber with me all the way to Newark. I begged the uber driver—a super kind man named Dany from Nepal—to take us all the way to New Jersey. By the end of the car ride what was stressful turned beautiful. We were all traveling for different reasons and from different places. We spent the four-hour car ride sharing laughs, stress, and stories.

Another downside to traveling so much is sometimes I feel super ungrounded. I haven’t slept in the same bed for more than two weeks since October. Think back on the last few months, it’s like I jumped off a cliff, trying to learn how to fly. For a while I was flailing around on the roller coaster of Central America life. Learning what I need to thrive and slowly getting better at taking care of myself in constantly changing places. Constantly learning where to get food, where to surf, where to find wifi to work. Central America life is a lot of: “okay, this is happening” or “I need this”, so “now I do this”. I’ve been learning how to pivot, how to innovate, and how to trust myself.

Sometimes I question why I chose this. Why did I jump off the cliff in the first place? There’s a part of me that thinks it’s important to build our human capacity for uncertainty and change. Life and nature are constantly changing. We just don’t always notice it because our modern society creates an illusion of stability. This society has ill prepared us for the level of ecosystem and atmospheric change happening on our planet. So, if I can increase my capacity for uncertainty, and you can too. Then maybe we can all learn to be a bit more comfortable in our unpredictable and constantly changing world?

The simplest reason though, for why I have chosen this life is that I’ve just been following what feels right. As I get older (30 hehe), I am realizing my core value and desire is freedom. My entire life journey is this path to freedom. To be free is to be fully who I am and none of what anyone told me I should be. To be free is to be connected to the nature outside me and the nature within me.

I recently learned that it takes monarchs four generations to complete their migrations. The offspring start right from where the ancestors leave off. When they are born, they don’t have instructions or a map, and they know exactly where to go. I am grateful for the women who walked the path to freedom before me. Now, I walk my natural migration knowing there is no finish line. I know that I am a future ancestor and the women who come next will continue from where I leave off, just like the monarchs. There is no rush. My pace is perfect.

I do think something big shifts in our worlds when we start living in alignment with our own values rather than living within the norms and values society tells us we should have. I think my life is proof because the level of synchronicities happening is so crazy. I used to track every small miracle, and moment of perfect timing. I had to write them down, so I had proof. Now, my whole life feels like a string of synchronicities. So, at this point, I don’t think its luck, I think it’s alignment. It’s what happens when I choose to do what lights me up instead of doing what I think I should be doing.

After the training, I stayed at a friend’s Airbnb in San Pancho. Well, I actually didn’t realize she was a friend until I walked in the door. We met the last summer while I was working at a brewery on Folly Beach. She told me about surfing and living in Mexico. I told her about the Surf with Amigas retreats I work. Fast forward almost a year, and I randomly ended up staying at her Airbnb right after she came home from a Surf With Amigas trip to Peru. She just met a bunch of my work friends and we had other mutual friends from the Carolinas… including my friend who shaped my surfboard! We went on a boat trip to a surf break and paddled out into a lineup full of women. We were all so stoked. It was super cute. As we were chatting between waves, we realized we had mutual friends, actually a mutual best friend! This moment, in the ocean with ten other women, I felt lit up from the inside out. I was so sure that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I think we, as humans, are so powerful in our lives here on Earth. When we tap into our intuition, magic happens. Life can become one magical event after another. Running into a friend, a walk in the park, when the ocean gifts you a wave, an encounter with a butterfly. It’s all magic. Our whole lives are magic. The fact that we get to be alive in a moment in time when there is so much beauty on Earth and there is so much biodiversity- it’s magic. We can live in heaven on Earth. Why are we not constantly overflowing with gratitude for our health, our communities, nature, and our relationships?

I feel so much gratitude in life right now. I am writing this from New Jersey and am heading to work a retreat series in Costa Rica soon and then off to a remote island in Indonesia to teach yoga to surfers. Life is magical. Life will be beautiful. Life will be crazy. Life will be hard. Life will be sad. I know I can handle all of it. It feels kind of weird to share, brag, and boast on the internet. My life has been playing out so amazing recently that sometimes it doesn’t even feel real. I am living my dreams after so many people told me my dreams were unrealistic.

Maybe my story can inspire you because truly whatever you want to do in the world, you can do it! I truly wish for you to feel this free too.

xx Lizzy

I vividly remember journaling on the plane. My brain was synthesizing everything I had learned to be true about the world and myself and trying to think about how I could have the biggest positive impact. I was reading Ishmael by Daniel Quinn at the time and was resonating with the concept of takers versus leavers. In the story, “takers" represent modern societies that exploit the environment, while "leavers" are traditional societies that live in harmony with nature. Our current society is made up of takers. We have taken so much, that nature is now reacting. I was on my way to experience a mini society of leavers.

As an eager recent graduate, I came to the conclusion that the only way to make real change in the world was to work in US Federal Policy. My favorite professor’s voice echoed in my mind: “The only way forward is systemic change.” I wanted to do meaningful work that contributed to that change. My reasoning was simple: The U.S. is one of the biggest contributors to global greenhouse gas emissions, so if I could help change U.S. federal policy, it would create ripple effects worldwide.

I had a big problem though: moving to Washington DC did not sound enjoyable. It did not sound fun at all. Thinking about it felt dark and draining. When I imagined myself living in DC, I felt all the light being sucked out of me. How could I go and fight for the Earth when I would be so disconnected from it? I crave to live closely connected to the natural world. Closely connected to the land and the ocean. Am I even a fighter? Is fighting the only way to create positive, meaningful, long-lasting change in the world?

I was experiencing major internal conflict, and I was looking at my life options in two extremes: get a job in Washington DC or move to a remote area of Central America and learn to live off of the land. Moving to an off the grid community felt super selfish. I felt like I’d be abandoning the collective, signing off to live my dream life without contributing to society at large.

A year after experiencing the permaculture retreat at The Yoga Farm, I went back to work as a community member on the project. The biggest gift I received from The Yoga Farm was to experience a life outside of capitalism. I existed for a moment in time in full reciprocity. I contributed to daily life by cooking, hosting, and educating guests. In return I was fed, housed, and had the beautiful experience of connecting with land in a deeper way than ever before.

What I’ve learned is that there’s almost always a middle ground.For the last two years, I’ve been teaching environmental science courses online for Quinnipiac University while traveling Central America and working as a surf coach. I’ve often felt lost, out of my comfort zone, and terrified—constantly wondering what comes next, both for my personal journey and our collective journey as humans on Earth. But through these travels, I’ve learned a lot about myself, humanity, and the natural world. I’ve expanded my worldview and built inner resilience. I have finally managed to find peace in the present despite the impending societal and climate doom.

Now as the social and political climate of the world has drastically shifted, while we are simultaneously reaching atmospheric and climate tipping points. I have been in a state of reflection of what now? What can we do? & How do we it? As I redesign the course I teach, I’m focusing on opportunity—the opportunity to create the world we want to live in. How can we harness creativity, love, and connection to guide us forward?

I deeply feel for all the federal employees who recently lost their jobs. Many people working for NOAA, the EPA, the National Parks Service, and other federal agencies went into their careers with the same goals I had—to change the systems from within. If this is you reading this, I would love to be in conversation with you right now. I want to remind you that you are capable, and you are powerful. An ending is also an opportunity for new.

Capitalism is self-destructing as we speak. As I watch the world as I know it burn down from afar, I am going to keep dreaming of the better just world we are creating in the ashes. As my university course starts next week, I am inviting my students to do the same. And if you’re reading this, let’s start dreaming. What if we come together in community? What if we change our values systems and act with love? I don’t have the answers, but I’d love to explore these questions together. Drop a comment or reach out with your thoughts.

• What does a just and sustainable future look like to you?

• If you could redesign our society’s value system, what would be at its core?

• What’s one small (or big) way you are contributing to building a better world?

• How are you navigating change and uncertainty right now?

• What examples of regenerative or alternative models of living inspire you?

xx Lizzy

Check out my post from May, 2023 from the Yoga Farm :)

Does the Ocean Know We Love Her?

The story of a rideable wave starts out at sea with a low-pressure system causing the atmosphere to rumble, lightning to strike, and wind to howl. Unorganized at first and unruly at worst, energy begins moving through the open ocean away from its original fetch. Slowly the energy organizes, and atmospheric conditions may become clear. The troughs and crests of the swell pick up and lower boats, gently though, as a wave won’t break in deep water. As the swell gets closer to shore, offshore buoys begin to send readings through the internet, and surfers wait in anticipation.

When the swell finally arrives in shallow water, it interacts with the coastline and the topography of the ocean floor. If the swell direction hits just right, the period is in a suitable range, and the tidal and wind conditions align, a rideable wave appears. Surfers show up at first light hoping for the best mix of conditions. The journey of a wave is equal parts physics and magic. Waves are energy of the Earth– of the atmosphere– and it is the greatest privilege of my life to connect with our planet through surfing.

Finding flow with surfing requires I listen to both my body and the ocean. I have been learning to not push past injuries and know when I’ve had enough. Learning to tune into the flow of both my physical body, my emotional body, and the ocean body is the greatest journey of my life. Surfing alone takes the pressure off though. The parts of my ego that surf for performance and care what other people think of me disappear. I let waves go unridden and just admire their existence. I love surfing alone. Just me and her.

I was really sad in the water one morning and my body wanted to cry. To avoid the judgmental stares of the shreddy shortboarders that surrounded me, I paddled out and over to where the waves weren’t breaking. I let my tears run. I carefully watched each tear pour out of me and into the vibrant Caribbean Sea. In that moment, I felt the barrier between her and I melt. I surrendered and poured myself into her. The salty water of my body became part of her big ocean being. It was a reminder of our connectedness, as I watched myself become part of the water cycle. In that moment, she held me.

Minutes later, a rogue set wave swung wide, right to me. Everyone else was way out of position, paddling hard, and duck diving to get out of the way. I watched the wave coming in from a distance and my tears turned into laughter. Because certainly, this was a gift. Thank you, I whispered between tears as I paddled just two times into the biggest most perfect wave I saw all morning.

The water cycle on Earth, like any cycle, does not have a clear start and end point. At any given time, 97% of the water on Earth is in the ocean. Fresh water evaporates off the ocean surface turning into clouds. Some clouds remain over the ocean, pouring water right back into the source. Others move landward, gifting rain to our rivers and lakes. All rivers and lakes eventually pour back into the ocean. Along the way, some water becomes a part of the plants, the animals, and even the humans.

We can’t create new water. All the water that will ever exist on Earth, exists right now. As humans, we are borrowing water. Unfortunately, sometimes we return that water in a less than ideal condition. The rain that falls into our humanscapes becomes runoff as it follows the path of least resistance, carrying litter, fertilizer, pesticides, leaking car fluids, and other contaminants on its trek. During big storm events runoff can carry larger objects like cars. All our waterways on Earth lead back to the ocean. All the pollution from all over the world ends up in the ocean.

Keep reading on Withitgirls.com

It's easy to hold back my tears and I often do. Not wanting to make people uncomfortable or worried. Not wanting to burden anyone with my emotions. There is something so freeing about letting the tears come and go as they please though. Letting them pour out of me and remembering in that moment that I am connected. My tears, a part of me, returning to the water cycle, eventually making their way back into the ocean. So, I’ve been thinking of life as an opportunity to show myself fully. I think to live a full life is to be fully engaged with all parts of myself. I’ve been asking my tears and my anxieties what they have to say? Most importantly, what can I learn about myself from the tears I don’t let myself shed?

In between the tears, January was full of beautiful moments and a lot of travel. I have been fully engulfed in the present, in the places I’m traveling through and with the people around me. Traveling makes me feel super free. Every landing in a new place is an opportunity to be the fullest and freest expression of myself. I have been having beautiful connections with people, land, and wildlife.

At the end of December, I finished work in Nicaragua and took a boat to El Salvador, the land of right point breaks. While I was here, I had a health scare and ended up in the nicest hospital I’ve ever been to. I felt super cared for both by the manager of the hostel I was staying at and the doctor. Then I traveled to Puerto Rico to uproot myself from the island and move out of my friend’s house. Arriving in Puerto Rico always feels like arriving home, and this time was no different. It was a gift to connect with the island and old friends. I love Puerto Rico. I am so grateful for the community I have there, and for now it’s time to go.

From Puerto Rico, I traveled to NJ to spend time with my grandma who is on an end of life journey with Alzhiemer’s. It feels special to have this quality time with her through this process. To give her hugs, sing her favorite songs, and hold her hand. Her end of life journey is prompting me into a dance with grief as I slowly lose the person I have leaned on the most in my life. She’s never going to ask me again, what’s new kid? Her capacity to pump life, light, and love into me is disappearing. I can’t talk to her about the election.

I wasn’t planning to be in the United States the days of the presidential inauguration and I really wished I wasn’t. Being in NJ those days felt really intense for my body and nervous system. The town I am from in New Jersey is conservative and the majority voted for Trump. I’m still confused how so many people voted for a racist and a rapist. This is feeling like a super super scary time to be alive. The world feels very uncertain. The amount of change that we are about to undergo as a society feels overwhelming.

The United States has been on its way here for a while. It’s not like everything was perfect and all of a sudden, our government is about to collapse. Things have been far from perfect for years, decades, lifetimes. The home of the free? The United States is the home of the patriarchy. The home of capitalism. The home of propaganda and power over the people.

Our government is now clearly an authoritarian oligarchy. Oligarchy means businesses control the government, which is not new. Billionaires and corporations have been funding political campaigns, heavily influencing elections, and holding power over politicians for a long time. What is different with Trump is that he is open about it. Our country’s flaws are fully out on display. There is no more hiding and pretending to be better than what we are.

I am grateful to be back in El Salvador. El Salvador is a beautiful country. The waves here are abundant. The energy here is peaceful. The people here have been through a lot. They are welcoming and kind. The country is on the other side of political and social unrest. It feels like a gift to receive the Salvadorian energy right now. Here, I am remembering our human resilience and our capability to move through adversity. I am engaging with the human capability to love and forgive. Life here is slow and nourishing. I am able to ground in the present moment when I go for a walk or a surf.

I’ve been teetering back and forth between grief and gratitude. Surfing these days has been pumping energy back into my body. This morning I watched a squirrel running through a tree and remembered that we are all connected. The present and the future feels scary, yet I know the world continues. Until one day it won’t and I’ll be dead. Because everything has an ending. Everything dies at some point. Ecosystems die, social systems die, and even planets die. Yet, how lucky are we to be alive in this moment in time with so much life still alive.

So, while I am grieving the biodiversity my future kids won’t experience and the places I love that will be under water at some point, I am also grateful for the opportunity to work and live in Central America right now. I simultaneously feel like the world is ending and that my life is playing out in an extraordinarily beautiful way. I am drinking fresh coconut water as I watch the tide fill in. I am lounging in the sun and speaking the best of my broken Spanish. I am zipping fast down the line on my twin and going for long paddles when the waves are small. I am writing and writing and writing because it’s my best tool for making sense of anything. I have the capacity to hold all the grief and all the gratitude.

I love working here. The days start early. I help load the trucks and head off on surf adventures to different breaks. The retreat guests are all women, and we are all female surf coaches. The other instructors feel like lifelong friends and our team is so hardworking it doesn’t even feel like work half of the time. When we are not surfing, we have dance parties as the sun sets, wakeboard through the estuary, play soccer with local women, and have deep conversations about everything from hormones, sex, livelihood, and wellness to worldly issues. We eat decadent food, and we laugh so much.

Through this job, I get to share my passion and connection with the ocean, which feels so fulfilling. The ladies who come on retreats bring diverse life experiences, and it’s a joy to connect with so many who live, work, and exist in such varied and inspiring ways. I have been feeling so much belonging and purpose through my work here.

The town I am living in is rural and charming. Dirt roads wind through patches of peanuts, sesame, corn, and crops I don’t recognize. The people are humble, kind, and welcoming. Yet life here hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I got a real taste for the more challenging sides of life in Nica earlier this month when Tropical Storm Sara took a slow roll over Central America and dumped rain for days. A storm like this was unexpected this time of year and the roads quickly turned into rivers. We were left without power, water, or a way out of town for three days. Fortunately, we anticipated the storm and ended the retreat early to get the ladies out safely.

Unluckily, this was my entry into life in town for my first week off. I didn’t have a good sense of how to exist here on my own yet. During the retreats everything is taken care of, quite comfortably, for me. The sudden shift to navigating a week off in a rural Nicaraguan town—with no groceries, no power, no water, and limited transportation—felt chaotic. The little tienda in town had no food. The other coaches helped when they could, sharing meals and offering rides. A local hostel with a generator let us charge our phones, which felt like a small miracle.

On top of the storm, a series of gross events happened that really pushed me to an edge. A cat peed on my board bag. A bird pooped out a worm onto my Birkenstocks. The house I rented had a natural thatch roof which was home to an ecosystem of critters, including bats. At night the bats would wake up, chirping and pooping away. I would lay in bed in the dark imagining the ecosystem of bats, geckos, and who knows what else thrive above me. One night, I woke up from being splattered with unknown animal poo in the middle of the night. That broke me. I was dirty, hungry, and exhausted.

The next morning the sun came out and I met my friends for a surf. Everyone was rejoicing. The storm was over, power was back, and the waves were pumping. My experience was not so joyful though. I went for one wave and slid out, putting me in the impact zone to get pounded on the inside by the next three waves. In that moment of getting worked, I realized how physically and emotionally depleted I was. Days of dysregulation had left me disembodied and drained. I felt defeated, and the ocean reflected back to me my struggles on land. I paddled in, went home, and reevaluated. The one thing I could control was moving out of the bat-infested house, and I did.

My friends Hannah and Jack were visiting from North Carolina and I moved in with them. It was a gift to spend a few days with them.

That week, I slammed hard into an edge with both surfing and life. As a surf coach, I often talk about comfort zones and edge work. Growth happens when we challenge ourselves, but I’ve learned it’s crucial to know when to step back. When we’re outside our comfort zone, our bodies enter fight or flight—it’s a natural response to fear. People often call me brave, but the truth is I’m scared all the time. I just choose to act despite my fear. Sometimes, though, I push myself too far. Living in a constant state of fear and stress isn’t sustainable; it can wreak havoc on our bodies and nervous systems. Balancing growth and safety is an ongoing process with no fixed destination. That week reminded me to honor my limits and to recalibrate as needed.

Working the retreats, I am present and embodied. It feels like a gift to momentarily forget about the world problems of climate change, industrialization, and global inequality that often weigh heavily on me. Being here allows me to immerse myself fully in the moment. Working during the US Presidential election was a weird experience though. When I woke up to the results, I was dissociating hard. My brain tried to detach, to protect me from the reality of what had happened. But as the day went on, my body couldn’t keep up the act. Fear and unease started creeping in, until they took over entirely. By the time I went to yoga, I could barely hold myself together. Then I didn’t. In the middle of class, I let it out. It being a full body shaking sob. An uncontrollable, messy emotional release that I needed.

The election results triggered big climate emotions in my body. With climate, I think the more you know, the more terrified you are. The combination of atmospheric instability and now great potential for political instability feels like looking deep into a void. What comes next is unknown and the potential for disasters seems high. I’m scared. Scared because the United States is less safe for women, immigrants, black and brown people, and LGBTQ+ folks. I’m scared for the loss of life, security, and peace for many people and nonhuman species around the world happening now and in the future.

The fear is a lot to hold. Some days, it feels unbearable. But that day in yoga reminded me that I can’t keep it trapped in my body. It has to come out—in tears, in sobs, in whatever way it shows up. Giving myself permission to feel and release these big emotions feels important. It also feels important to not to make a home in the fear. If our future reality is going to be scary and dysregulating, like living through the storm here proved to be, then we don’t need to live through that fear twice. I don’t want to live so stressed about the future that I miss the beauty surrounding me right now. What a tragic waste of my time here on Earth that would be.

In a way though, fear has been the undertone of my time here. Climate catastrophes are here, and it is impossible to not look. It’s almost as if my terror of an unstable atmosphere, triggered a literal hurricane. I take care of myself by choosing to engage with the beauty, joy, and play in life. I can hold both emotional experiences and that is the beauty of duplicity. So, I keep choosing to stay in the present and to be with the beauty that still exists. I choose to hold onto peace and to let myself feel held by the natural world. I feel the fear, and then I return to the peace—over and over again.

Thanksgiving and Black Friday are always tough for me. Thanksgiving because it’s a holiday celebrating colonialism and industrialization and its existence in that vein makes me feel angry and sad. Back Friday because it is a reminder of our consumer driven culture, which makes me feel anxious and terrified of a future with more and more uncontrolled human waste. This year, though, I was working a retreat over the holiday. Instead of sitting in those feelings, I chose to revel in my gratitude for life and livelihood.

I honored both parts of myself—the part that mourns the past and the part that finds joy in the present. Yes, that moment in history is deeply messed up. It’s messed up that we celebrate it. And yet, the traditions we hold now feel so distant from their original intentions. So, I allowed myself to see the beauty in the delicious Thanksgiving feast prepared for us and to lean into gratitude for the life I’m living.

In a bit of irony, I had assigned my students a waste-tracking project over the holiday. They tracked their waste for 24 hours and reflected on their observations. This semester, my students have been incredibly engaged, and their reflections were thoughtful and inspiring. Many shared how they plan to reduce their personal waste, and it left me wondering:

What would happen if, collectively, we shifted from takers to makers? How could that shift transform our identities, our cultures, and the way we live?

I am off work again this week and have landed in the guest house of a sweet and hospitable Canadian couple. I feel so much peace staying here, not having to worry about my basic needs of eating and sleeping. The property is beautiful, lined with coconut palms, plantains, and papayas. There’s an abundant basil garden, and the guest house I’m in has a gorgeous view overlooking a protected bay. We surf this bay on retreats a lot. I love the vantage point of being above it, watching the tide come in and out throughout the day, and the opportunity to connect with a wave this intimately.

There’s not so much swell in the water right now, but the past few days have had perfect log waves at high tide. I was lucky to have a solo session the other day and felt a moment of complete connection with the ocean. It filled me with awe and gratitude. The last few days have been low tide mornings. Which is not ideal for surfing as the wind tends to come onshore in the afternoons. In some ways the onshore wind is a gift. My body is exhausted and in need of rest. Yet, I don’t have the self-control to idly watch perfect empty waves. Plus, the onshore wind sends breaths of cooling wind through my window.

I am grateful to feel peace and groundedness these days. I don’t have transportation, but I’ve embraced the slowness of walking. I don’t need to go too far. I have everything I need right here. Over and over again, I give myself permission to experience rest and joy. I invite you to do the same.

xx Lizzy

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What I’m Reading:

1. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert
This book came into my life with divine timing. Recommended separately by three different friends, it was exactly what I needed in this moment. Gilbert makes the case that ideas are spiritual beings. As humans seeking to live creative lives, we can either make agreements with the ideas that come to us or let them pass. She explains that we can shake hands with an idea and commit to bringing it to life, or we can say, “No thank you, I don’t have the energy to actualize that right now.” The idea will simply move on, as all it wants is to be realized.

This concept hit me deeply because I always have so many ideas swirling around, and I’m currently exploring a particularly big one. Inspired by this book, I decided to formally shake hands with the idea and commit to actualizing it. I’ve been talking about it, writing about it, and making plans to bring it to life. Recognizing that a Yoga Teacher Training was a foundational step, I started looking into programs. Then, in a moment of pure universal magic, I won a full scholarship to a yoga teacher training the very next day! This opportunity is a gift that I am truly so so so grateful for. Life is magical.

2. In the Flow by Alisa Vitti
This book, also recommended by multiple people, is all about embracing the cyclical nature of womanhood. Vitti explains how most diet and exercise research is based on men, who operate on a 24-hour circadian rhythm. Women, however, have both a circadian rhythm and a 28-day hormonal cycle. This means that much of the advice out there isn’t tailored to women’s needs.

The book offers an overview of the female hormone cycle and serves as a guide to working with it instead of against it. By connecting with our 28-day cycle, we can interact with the world in the most effective and harmonious way. It’s a beautiful reminder that our inward connection to ourselves is also an outward connection to the natural world. I’ve been inspired to observe my own cycle more closely and learn how to honor it as I work through this book over the next month. It feels empowering to see my body as a source of connection to nature at all times.

3. The Climate Optimist Handbook by Anne Therese Gennari
I’m reading this book alongside an online course Anne is leading, and it’s been a transformative experience. Through the material, I’m learning about the psychology behind why people choose to act—or not act—on climate change and other global issues. One of the most resonant ideas is shifting the narrative on climate from responsibility to opportunity. Climate optimism invites us to believe that a better world is possible and encourages curiosity, dreaming, and imagining what that world could look like. Instead of focusing solely on minimizing our negative impact—making ourselves smaller and taking up less space—we can focus on maximizing our positive impact.

This perspective has been a revelation for me. Much of my climate activism has been driven by guilt. As a privileged American, I come from a country and culture that has caused immense harm to the planet. How could I not feel guilty? For years, I’ve carried anger toward others who don’t share that guilt. The opportunity framework feels like an invitation to put down the burden of guilt and blame and instead step into the exciting potential of creating a better world. It’s helped me reframe my activism from one of anger to one of curiosity and hope. Optimism, not in a toxically positive way, but as action driven by possibility rather than guilt. We didn’t create the systems of oppression and destruction we were born into, but we are alive now, in a time when drastic, radical change is needed. What an incredible, powerful moment to be alive! Let’s dream bigger and start building the world we want to live in.

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I’m crying because we’ve reached a tipping point. As our global temperature keeps rising, hurricanes will continue to be larger, more powerful, and more frequent. The Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic are at record-high temperatures. Storms like Helene are supposed to be rare. Scientists warn that this is the new normal. I’m crying thinking about the future storms and the future devastation.

I’m not trying to scare you. Although, if you’re living in reality, fear is a very valid response.

I’m writing this from my bubble of stability and comfort on Folly Beach, sitting on the pier, watching the waves. We were lucky this time. Every hurricane season, I feel the duality. The contradiction of praying for waves while fearing every brewing storm. Checking the National Hurricane Center website regularly, I’m torn. Some places will get waves, others will be destroyed. What an intense duality to live in.

I’m terrified because there is no such thing as a climate haven on Earth anymore. Asheville, NC wasn’t supposed to get hurricanes. As the global temperature rises, climate induced natural disasters are going to keep getting worse. Yet, we keep moving forward with our heads buried in the sand. We’re producing and using more fossil fuels than ever. More plastic than ever. Plastic, which comes from fossil fuels. Do people even realize that?

What terrifies me most about climate change is its instability and unpredictability. Modern humans co-evolved with a stable climate. Life on Earth thrives because the climate allowed it to. When climate changes dramatically, mass extinctions follow. We’re living through Earth’s sixth mass extinction.

I’m raging because I feel like I’ve been shouting from rooftops for ten years, since I first learned about climate change. Many others have been in this fight much longer. I’m raging because we have solutions, yet our leaders are slow and unwilling to act. Corporations care more about profit than people and corporate interest leads domestic policy. I’m raging because these scenes of devastation have been playing out around the world for decades and no one in power cares. Profit over people every time. Money over a livable planet every time.

How many times will we choose money over a livable planet? When will we collectively learn?

I don’t understand why we prioritize money, a system we invented, over the Earth, something that existed long before us and will continue long after us. Earth is our life support system. We are creating a situation where the atmospheric conditions of Earth are not suitable for human life.

Despite the rage, fear, and grief I am still hopeful. I am hopeful because as long a we are alive, we have the opportunity to come back into right relationship with the Earth. We have solutions.

I’m hopeful because I spent the beginning of last week at The Hope Summit. I spent two days in an auditorium full of other people who understand the severity and have committed their lives to this work. I am hopeful because there are so many incredibly intelligent and heart centered people combating these issues with diverse skill sets and backgrounds.

I’m hopeful because there is a path forward.

Climate change is symptom of our culture. Patriarchy teaches us power over. Power over women. Power over the poor. Power over our bodies. Power over nature. Earth is more powerful than we realize. It is a human illusion to think we can have power over nature. Climate change stems from the belief that humans exist outside the bounds of nature. We don’t. The sooner we realize that and start working with the planet, the less destruction we’ll have to endure.

We need fewer things and more connection. We need to buy less and spend more intentional time with friends and family outside. We need to shift our focus to wellbeing and mental health. We need to step out of the rat race.

Let’s take our heads out of the sand. Let’s grieve the current and future loss together. Let’s rage together. Let’s be terrified together. Let’s use all that emotional energy to make changes in ourselves and our communities. Let’s not forget climate change work is culture change work. Let’s remember we humans created the systems of oppression that we live within, and we humans have the power to break free from them and change them.

In May I completed a FLOW Facilitation Training with the Good Grief Network to host group climate therapy sessions. Last week I had the opportunity to co-facilitate a climate grief circle. It was so powerful. My heart has felt so open since then. We are in this together. We need to be better teammates and better community members.

If Hurricanes Helene and Milton are setting in the reality of our global predicament, welcome to reality.

If you are struggling processing this, please reach out and I will point you in the right direction to support. If you are feeling empowered to act and don’t know where to start, please reach out.

I’m grateful for the adventures of my life. It’s a yes, and situation though, because I often feel incredibly ungrounded.

I actually had a moment recently where my inner critic said, “I’m such an ungrounded person.” A gentler voice responded, “No, that is not always true.” Yes, I’m self-aware enough to know that I tend to untether easily. I’ve spent a lot of my life with my feet hovering a couple of inches off the ground—or worse, free-falling. In the past, I’ve tethered myself to people, places, or jobs, looking for something solid to keep me in place. Those attachments can limit me, make me feel less free, and keep me in places long after they no longer serve me.

I was supposed to go on a trip to the mountains this weekend to visit Earthaven Ecovillage—a trip I was really looking forward to, something I felt I needed. Lately, I’ve been on a mission to build my inner resilience against uncertainty. I thought this trip, with the intention of grounding in my body, was going to free me from my lifelong struggle to feel tethered. The retreat was canceled, and instead of being on Black Mountain, I spent the last three days watching Hurricane Helene, a wildly unprecedented storm, dominate Western North Carolina. My heart has been heavy as catastrophic flooding has left roads impassable and entire towns isolated from aid.

Hurricane Helene is a stark reminder of how unstable the world is. The waves were firing in Alabama. WHAT!? A friend of mine shared an Instagram tutorial on how to make a compost toilet at home, since people on Florida's Gulf Coast have been urged not to flush. As we edge closer to multiple climate tipping points, it is so clear that power and control cannot help us. We, humans, will never have power over nature.

Personally, this weekend left me feeling ungrounded with no plans and the disappointment of missing something I had so deeply looked forward to. Then today—the silver lining— I went on an inspiring walk with the MARSH Project.

& let me tell you, I love the MARSH Project.

I love it because it’s simple, grassroots, nature-based, and a win-win solution. It started with three neighbors who wanted to revitalize their neighborhood creek so their kids could play safely and the wildlife would return. They began by cleaning up layers of trash from the wetland. Then got more neighbors involved, encouraging everyone to plant native species in their yards— creating an ecological corridor.

I love it because it challenges how we think about community. In ecology, a community is all the populations of species living in a designated area. What if we thought of our neighborhoods as ecological communities? Spaces where we live, play, and connect together.

I love it because it’s a model for grassroots change. It’s an invitation to look around at our own neighborhoods. What do you love about where you live? Do you have a favorite tree or park? It’s an invitation to think about how your neighborhood could be improved. Maybe it could be cleaner, or perhaps there’s an opportunity for a restoration project. The possibilities are endless when we create space to dream about what our communities could be. It's even more powerful when we engage as many of our neighbors as possible. Together, we can co-create a shared vision of our collective spaces.

It works because neighborhoods are smaller systems within towns and cities. You don't have to deal with all the rules and regulations that come with citywide projects. A neighborhood feels like the sweet spot for change—it’s approachable, and you get to enjoy the fruit of your labor. Quite literally, if you dream up a food forest.

The creek walk with the MARSH Project was exactly what I needed to feel reinspired today. It was a kickoff to the Hope Summit, a conference focused on “Reshaping our relationship with water, waterways, and the ocean through community-driven solutions.” I’ll be spending the next two days at the conference and I am stoked for the intellectual stimulation and inspiration.

One day, I will be at a place in life where I am ready to root, and I am going to think back on this lesson from the MARSH Project.

xx

I surfed non-stop for the next three hours until I was starving. I rushed home, wanting to move as fast as possible to make breakfast and check my emails so I could head right back out. My energy was pulsing through me. To be honest, it was a little hectic. I imagine I’d be hard to be around if you couldn’t match that vibe. I ran back and forth between my house and the beach, checking the waves over and over, while cleaning the house frantically since the tide was too low. Surf jitters made me clean the house after I’d been procrastinating for days. THANK YOU SURFING

I’ve surfed my heart out every day since Monday, feeling the energy pump through my being. I haven’t felt like myself lately. I think I know why, but I’m going to blame it on the eclipse in Pisces. I’d been feeling like a turtle hiding in its shell, shielding myself from the world, doing the bare minimum to get by. Now after a week of surfing—I am back. THANK YOU SURFING.

Very few things can shift my energy like that. Maybe nothing else. Yoga is different. There’s no instant gratification with yoga. Yes, I generally feel calmer after but yoga is a long game. Writing keeps me integrity, helps me process life, and connect with my emotions. Meditation helps ground me, helps me accept. I definitely need yoga, writing, and meditation. They’re maintenance, helping me to feel good and be a better human. I also need surfing.

Surfing transforms me. It literally moves energy out of me. Why does it feel so good? Why are so many of us obsessed with it? For me, surfing feels like the thing my body is meant to do. It fills me up more than anything else in life. I feel free. I feel calm. I feel secure. I feel like me. I feel stoked. THANK YOU SURFING.

I’ve been loving the word stoked. I have been using it in conversation a lot, and I am just feeling so stoked on life today… THANK YOU SURFING. For real though, stoked is like excited, humbled, grateful, and present all wrapped up into one. I love being stoked. I am stoked to be here in my cute little cottage a block from the beach. I am stoked to go to a conference in a few weeks on ocean issues and storytelling. I am stoked to be heading to Nicaragua at the end of October for another stint with Surf with Amigas. I am stoked on all of the things to come that I can’t even dream of.  

xx

Photo by the amazing Lena Hentschel

What does it mean to be alive? 
To breath? 
To have a heartbeat? 
To have consciousness? 

How about a spectrum of aliveness
based on how much we lighten up 
the world around us? How enlivened
we are when we interact with the 
world as we encounter it? 

I want to feel alive. 

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Photo by Monica Andrea

Last Christmas, my grandma gave me a pink journal that says “I love New Jersey”. I thanked her and swiftly hid it in the closet before flying back to Costa Rica. A few months ago, I was ready for a new journal, found that one, and just laughed. This journal that represents a part of me I was actively hiding is now full with a detailed analytical and emotional account of my healing and self-acceptance. I don’t love who I was all the time in New Jersey. I don’t love the culture I was raised in. I don’t love the way that culture shows up inside me. And I don’t love how I reflect that culture back outwardly.

Yet, I carried this journal around for the last three months while unraveling myself from layers of cultural and societal conditioning. It’s been a process of unlearning. I've been in critical review of my identity, values, and priorities. What is the cultural conditioning I’m made of? Patriarchy. Capitalism. Catholicism. Analytically and logically, I know that patriarchy and capitalism are unsustainable systems. I know those values do not breathe life and energy into a happy, healthy planet and human population. Yet, through somatic work, I've been learning how deeply integrated these belief systems are in my body. Through this process, I am starting to understand what people mean when they say to "decolonize yourself."

As someone raised to please, all these cultural norms have shaped who I am and how I show up in the world. I’ve been conditioned to be nice, to appease, to be quiet. I am leaning into the discomforts that come with speaking a little louder, being confident in my opinion, and pushing back. Somatically, I’ve been feeling the pain of being a woman in the southern United States. Which has led to a process of excavating generations of patriarchal pain from my body. These days, I feel it all so close to the surface of my being. The daily patriarchal affronts—catcalls and long stares—poke at something deep within me. It’s the ancestral pain of all the women before me. Scared. Unsafe. A fire inside me. Silent for safety. It leaves me slightly on defense in all public places.

I am really interested in my internal landscape right now. Sometimes my brain and body are as captivating as nature—ideas sparking and thoughts flowing, a glimmer into the abundance of possibility. I’ve been experiencing a process of acceptance, learning to love my story, my journey, and my process. Embracing all the hardship, hurt, and heartbreak. Slowly letting go of shame and guilt. Accepting the emotional burden of being human and thinking about the even bigger burden of hiding that burden.

The feminine urge to soften and surrender is strongly alive in me. I spent the last few years chasing challenges, intent on doing all the hard things. I wanted to grow and learn as much as possible. I burnt myself out by applying a productivity mindset (ingrained in me by capitalism) to my personal growth and healing. I was determined to take every challenge, internally and externally, as an opportunity for growth. I was living in an internal fire, completely out of my comfort zone, in every aspect of work, play, travel, love, and life. I was living with many unmet needs and growing inner resilience as a result.

My soul has been begging me to chill out. To take life more gently. To live softly. A gentle voice reminds me, “It’s okay to learn lessons twice. It’s all okay. Trust me.” Being here on Folly has been an incredibly grounding experience. I’ve been in really deep, beautiful dialogue with myself. In many ways, life has felt like a living meditation: Stretch. Grade. Teach surf lessons. Read. Work at the brewery. Surf. Write. Go to yoga. I’ve been feeling very present and embodied as I move through my daily life. It’s been peaceful and powerful to create intentional, slow living for myself.

Being in the water feels so good right now. Being on land here can feel challenging. I feel all the cultural and societal pressures and expectations. I often don’t feel free. My body doesn’t always feel safe. In the water, none of that comes with me. In the ocean I feel safe, secure, and at peace. Sometimes I forget how healing the ocean is. I had been in an anxious loop the last few days, and catching one wave—one knee-high, choppy, mushy wave—changed my energetic and emotional state completely. I was present; nothing else mattered. I was in tune with the wave and my board for an entire ten seconds. The experience completely shifted and released the anxious energy that was trapped in my body.

The deeper I go within myself, the more expansive my understanding of the natural world is. I have never felt more of the Earth. The Earth is my greatest teacher and my human body is my lived experience of Earth.

I am Earth.

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This post and process has been primarily inspired by My Body, My Earth: The Practice of Somatic Archaeology by Ruby Gibson.

There was the truth I told when a river poured out of me
& then the truth I told when I took the blame 
& then the truth I told when rage fired to my limbs
and finally, the truth I told when I found peace.

My boundaries are soft. Easily pushed through. 

I need to be tougher they said. I need to have a backbone and not let people take advantage of me. I need to make my edges harder, more ridged. 

Is that not another way for me to take the blame for other people hurting me? Softening is instinctual. My body wants to surrender in trust. 

Hardening is not the answer. I need to surround myself with people who let me be soft. 

Photo by Krystal Aguilar

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In the beginning of June, I moved into a little cottage on the property my parents manage on Folly Beach. Mom and Dad put lots of love into making the cottage a home. I have been loving seeing and reconnecting with old friends and family. I miss the sense of calm that I feel when I am in more rural places though. I miss the slowness of life and how deeply connected I feel when I am alone in the vastness of nature. I feel my people pleasing out in full effect, which makes me feel less free. My senses and energy feel so sensitive right now. I feel myself contort to make other people comfortable, to smile or laugh on cue, and easily dissociating from overstimulation.

I feel less safe in my body here, nervous what men are going to say to me and often finding myself paralyzed for a second when I notice a man staring. Money feels fake now that I have seen how little material things I need to thrive. While I know I need money to exist in this society, my drive to attain it is just not the same. I am moving so much slower than the people around me. The fast-paced US culture of consumerism is just not for me anymore. I have sped up since being here but trying to keep life as slow as possible.

I am working at a brewery and teaching surf lessons this summer. Despite being in the middle of busy east coast summer, I am in an internal winter. I am so deep inside myself right now, it is like I am dusting off the cobwebs of my soul. I am grateful to have made some new friends and see some old friends recently. To hang out with other humans and feel so good and so myself feels like a sigh of relief. It is like I am melting into myself in the most positive way. A space to share what’s haunting me, exciting me, to cry and to laugh. It is just the best.

The Folly surf community has been incredibly welcoming and fun to be a part of. Watching people go from strangers to friends has been beautiful. I am also feeling super grounded. Stability feels really really good right now. I am basking in the comfort that comes with living with my parents, remembering it is temporary, and enjoying what I have right now. I’ve been trying to actively be with the positives in my life. Not denying the negatives of my reality. Accepting and being with the negatives too, but actively engaging with the positives.

I’ve been really missing clean waves. When I first got here, I was really critical of the surf. Interestingly, the lack of waves has me feeling more stoked on surfing. It’s almost like I had to come here, where the waves are shit majority of the time to get super stoked again. I also feel my surfing improving from surfing the imperfect Folly slop. This past weekend, I surfed in The Folly Beach Wahine Classic and won the Women’s Longboard Division! It was a super fun weekend and I was so impressed by the level of surfing in the challenging conditions.

The last time I lived in Charleston, I was 22. This younger version of me has been very present since I’ve been here. At first, I felt like coming here was moving backwards. My perspective really changed when I started to connect with this younger version of myself. I have done so many of the things I dreamed of when I graduated college. In the last 7 years, I started a reef safe sunblock company, I got two masters degrees, I moved to Puerto Rico, my surfing improved a lot, & I am a professor. I have lived experiences that I couldn’t have even dreamed of. My understanding of the world and humans has expanded so much. I keep living my dreams and dreaming even bigger. I am proud of me & I am in awe of the life I am creating.

I have been getting really clear with what I want and dreaming big. I have been diving deep in my yoga practice as a way to connect with myself deeper and find peace in the chaos here. Doing a yoga teacher training is definitely on my radar. I am also obsessed with the idea of sailing right now. I don’t know a thing about sailing, but it seems like an incredible way to experience the ocean and the world.

I am also in awe by the overwhelmingly positive response I have had to starting this blog, so thank you for reading! I would love to hear from you in the comments. Did anything resonate? What is inspiring you? What are you dreaming of?

I am currently inspired by:

• I highly recommend watching Toryn Martin’s film Calypte: A Sailing and Surfing Voyage

• I have been binge listening to the Waterpeople Podcast hosted by Dave Rastovich and Lauren Hill