​My first play I ever did was in sixth grade. I was Hodel in Fiddler on the Roof. I loved it. I caught that acting bug big time. And while over these last many years I have not dipped my toe into this pond that is the theater, I never quite recovered from that bug. 
 
I’ve had a relapse recently. And I am in The Elite Theater Company production of SHE. 
 
SHE is about a Victorian house. That is a home to these four extraordinary women who don’t know each other except that they do. Because of this house that they all live in, at different times over the span of 60+ years. 

I play Madeline Van Allen, a recent widow who’s lovely husband Jimmy has just passed after 56 years of marriage and a life filled with adventure.
 
SHE opens this coming Friday, May 24th. I hope that if you are in this area, that you can plan to come. 
 
It is good to be back in the theater again. The smell, the darkness, the sound of my footsteps on the stage. And behind it, too. And these other actors and crew that I get to to play with. This feeling of creativity that is a mixture of preparation with spontaneity with love.  There is nothing like this. This is home.
 
It is not lost on me, not surprising to me, not a coincidence in any sense, that I stepped back into my home that is the theater and into a play about this home, that is my home. It is intentionally perfect. Just like SHE.

I love this.

~ If you’re in the area, please come see SHE, at The Elite Theater Company, Oxnard. You can purchase tickets here: Elite Theatre Company Presents: She ~

​I was talking with my youngest daughter last week. We were talking about friendships. But not just that. It started with a conversation about friendships and moved into a reflection on the impact that is left by all the people in our lives. Whether an instant/just this moment/a one off, or a lifetime of friendship and deep connection, it is those markings—my daughter calls them footprints—that stay imprinted on our souls.
 
Picture a beach. And as you walk along your foot, it prints itself into the sand. Sometimes the beach is soft and easily impressioned and deep indentations sink below the surface. Other times, barely a mark is made, despite the weight against the ground. 
 
And then the sea. It washes these barely left marks away in just one rhythm of its tide, while those other, deep imprints last over numerous ebbs and flows of waves.
 
This is us. This is us in relationship with others. 
 
And it’s not merely length of time that we play along the shore. Oh no, it’s not just that. Sometimes maybe, but that is not the only requisite. How deep the imprint goes until it finds our soul is also of other calculations. 
 
Sometimes we walk the miles of beach with this one other being, and not one dent is made in the grains beneath us.
 
And other times, it is an instant, a one step, that forces such a deep groove into a soft sand. And stays with us, maybe for a lifetime. Maybe more.
 
And then, oh then, there are those that visit many beaches with us. Soft sand, and hard, lay beneath us as we walk. The water’s edge may wash away some moments that we leave those tracks that track our path. But these footprints, they linger longer, and we can see them, many steps behind. And we can feel them forever.  
 
These are those soul friends. They make deep, deep hollows that, while softened by the salty sea, never quite balance back to the level of the surrounding sand. 
 
The beach has been transformed. We have been transformed. 

I have a new car. A green Kia Soul, 2018, 51,009 miles, great price. Great car. Standard transmission.

I sold my old car. To CarMax. Have you ever bought or sold a car a CarMax? They are like the best thing that happened to buying a used car or selling your used car. Like ever. I sold them my car. 

I sold them my 2012, gray Kia Soul, 149,911 thousand miles, manual transmission, keys that don’t work and I could no longer lock the doors, and the engine light is on ALL THE TIME, and even Kia Corporate—plug that shit into their universal diagnostic world—couldn’t figure out what was wrong car that I just love. 

And CarMax bought it from me. Angels camouflaged as car sales. 

And I bought my new car. From CarMax. My new, new car. Because my first new car was an automatic transmission, Kia Soul, 44,506 thousand miles. Great price. Great car. Did I say automatic transmission.

I was in Massachusetts. 

We have a new baby. As in, my son and daughter-in-law of the Framingham Roses brought a new Rose into this world. So I was there. Doing that Grandma thing that included this amazing gymnastic class with my older two Framingham Grandsons of Rose, and playing with them—a lot—and having sweet conversation with my son and daughter-in-law, and watching this amazing new human grow and change every day and just being with this amazing now family of five. 

And while I was there, my amazing Husband of the Ojai Roses, he bought me this Green Kia Soul, automatic transmission car.

And I drove it when I came back home. 

And I so didn’t like it. Because it was not a manual transmission car. Which I love to drive. It was not that. And I felt like I was giving something up. That was bigger than that giving up my standard—it’s so fun to drive and I love to downshift on the curves and I have control of the road—car. 

The lack of the kind of car I love was more than the lack of the kind of car I love. I gave something up. It felt like my identity. In a six-speed manual transmission car.

I am not ready to give this part of my identity up. Hence the return and exchange and the one I have now.

We take things that are in our lives and they become us. What I drive. The clothes I wear. The things I do and say. Where I live and how I live and who I love. 
​
I gave my up apartment. The one on the beach. In Scituate. On the water, with the sun streaming in, and the 11-minute drive to our beach in Cohasset. The beach we own. Like we own a beach. God, I love this. It makes me laugh. I gave it up, after a sweet 6-month stint that I thought would last longer when I stepped into it back in late September into October to start my lease there.
 
I gave up this apartment because, oh my goodness, the drive up to my son and daughter-in-law and grandkids including this last new one that was just this past month ago born, this drive, it’s long. It’s really long. Like really long. Like more than an hour long. 
 
I thought this would be hard to do. To give up this space. I thought I still needed it. 
 
For a while I needed it. First the one in the woods on the Concord River with my Emu down a path through the trees. And then this, this morning light on the water outside my door just an 11-minute drive to my beach up the beach, apartment.
 
I thought it would be hard to give this up. It wasn’t.
 
I changed my earrings. This is a weird one. I have these really amazing diamond earrings. Great story about them.  Back when my kids were little, like little little, I had this feeling that I had nothing of my own.  Garth had his office with this amazing high ceiling. And his great job and while our money was our money it felt like his money. And I felt like I didn’t have anything. Which was so not true. I had everything. Yet it felt, in this moment, that nothing was mine. The kids had their rooms.  I had the floor in the kitchen below the sink, where I would sit because this is where the heating vent was and oh it is fucking cold in Massachusetts.  So I had that. And felt like I didn’t have anything else. 
 
And so we decided I would open a bank account and we would put some money into it, so I would have something. And we did.  
 
We moved in this money and once I had it…I was like…I actually don’t really need this. It was the fact that it was possible. And so I took this money and I bought myself these kickass diamond earrings.  The only earrings I wear.
 
Until now.
 
I bought a new pair of earrings. These tiny hoops. Still with diamonds but little ones set in these hammered gold hoops that sit close on my ears. 
 
They look different.
 
I am different.
 
I read this quote a few days ago. By Emily Maroutain. “You will know that you are completely done with something when you give it up, and you feel freedom instead of loss.”
 
Yes.
 
There are other things I am slowly giving up. That are not in alignment with me. There is loss still, so I know I am not completely done yet.
 
The earrings are good, though. And I do love this new car.

Imagine you are riding a tractor.  And attached is a cart. Attached right there behind the tractor. Always. You like can’t undo it.  And so everywhere you go, the cart, it goes with you.
 
Now imagine that your tractor you are riding on, it’s Joy. That amazing feeling of deep Joy. You know the feeling. When you hold your grandkids. Laugh deeply with your sister. Love your husband. When the sun shines warm on your face. You get to dance with your daughter. Your dog hits your funny bone in just that right place.  That feeling. 
 
The tractor is that. It’s Joy.

And right behind it, attached, is Grief.  Stuck right on there. Soldered on. So everywhere Joy goes, Grief comes right along. A split second later. 
 
That’s emotional coupling. 
 
I need to make a distinction here.
 
I’ve written about the grief that comes with joy. I’ve shared my thoughts about this here. A number of times. When my son was first married. The birth of each grandchild. Other times of change and beauty and change and newness and change. And I thought this was the way it was. That grief comes with joy. That it just works this way.
 
It doesn’t. And it does. 
 
I wrote once before, there is loss in transition. And there is grief in loss.  
 
I was trying to make sense of emotional coupling. That I did not know about. Until recently.
 
But. And. There is a part of this grief that comes with joy that is not this. Not this cart and tractor trajectory.
 
There is the loss in transition, and grief in loss that is not a coupling of emotional constellations, but a circling of changes that transpire. Becoming a new mother is amazing and juicy and there is the loss of not mother. Being married to another extraordinary human means the loss of being not that. And we honor those things we leave behind when we step into what is now new and where we are at. So yes, there is loss—and so sadness and grief—with joy and the sweetness of growth. And an honoring. And a noticing. But not a coupling.
 
So the distinction.
 
So Emotional Coupling.
 
What happens is—often in trauma, usually in trauma, and usually when we are young, but not always—what happens is that the experiences we have with the people we have in our lives, illicit both things. Two things at once. Two emotions at once. And so the emotions couple. They bond. They fuse. They think they are supposed to show up that way. One after the other, right after the other. The tractor, then the cart. In an instant.  Because they are attached. Because this is the way that they learned to do that so long ago. And for such a long time,
 
Emotional Coupling.
 
What happens is—often from trauma, usually from trauma, and now that we’re not young anymore—what happens is that the coupling continues. The learned, one after the other, emotional response can’t not be. The joy and the grief. Joy and Grief. They have to come together.
 
Now, if Grief comes first…Joy…nope, she doesn’t show up. But Joy. When she comes first…Grief, he’s right there. In an instant. One second away. Joy doesn’t even get a nanosecond of a moment to sit in the euphoria that is her before…and here we are in grief.
In that order.
 
So joy feels like grief. Love is sadness. Happiness is fleeting.
 
Emotional Coupling.
 
The work is to detach the cart from the tractor. 
 
Step one is to notice that it’s there.  Simple, right? But like, woah. Like oh. Like wow. Wow. I never turned around before. I never turned around and noticed there is this cart attached to my tractor. I just thought that love feels like sadness. 
 
Step one is to notice the cart.
 
And you have to do this for a long, long time. This noticing. “The first step in behavioral change is awareness.” Yup.  Notice. Feeling joy. There’s a cart of grief behind me. Attached. Soldered on to my tractor. Feeling joy. Oh, grief. Love sadness. Happiness is fleeting.
 
I have had moments in my life that stand out where I got to sit in the good stuff longer. Like holding my new babies. Each one.  
 
The image that comes to mind, not any better than any other, but a clear one in my mind—my middle daughter just born and my first-born boy came to meet her in the hospital. My husband, fresh from holding my hand and cheering on the birth of this first new daughter of ours, had rushed back home to bring back the older brother. He fell asleep, in blue striped pajamas, curled with me on the hospital bed. And then, when he and my husband left to sleep in our home, the lights were dimmed. No overhead fluorescents with that constant hum. It felt like the entire hospital floor was sleeping along with this new daughter in my arms. She had so much dark hair and oh my god such big blue eyes. And there was just joy. 
 
The grief cart uncoupled for a couple of minutes that moment.
 
So yes, there have been moments, of just these moments. Of just Joy. I can count them.

​A week ago a year ago Nava died and Moose was born.
 
If Nava is my soul dog–and she is, even now when she is of this life no longer—Moose is my heart opener as he sits squarely on my funny bone.
 
This dog makes me laugh. All the time.
 
He has this amazing Poodle prance that Poodles do. This deet deet deet rhythm when he is playing with me and comes towards me with his toy. Fast forward and then those last few steps become the Poodle prance to land in my lap in the game that we play.
 
And he has this beautiful and so expressive face. And this lovely Poodle body.
 
He zooms around the house—true nervous system regulation—making these puppy now one years old sounds of activation. Prance and puppy pounce and then is at it again. Until he’s not and it’s time for a rest as he plops down, rolls to his side, and sleeps.
 
He jumps on our table—as I have shared here before—and which makes me laugh every time. 
 
He eats very gently from my fork. Pineapple and watermelon. And peanut butter. Peanut butter is both of our favorite food and we eat it together. We share.
 
He sleeps deeply on our bed at night. At the foot, or stretched in-between, and at some point, each night, above my head on my pillow for just a short time. 
 
When the coyotes are out he will sit up, alert, at the end of the bed looking out to the darkness through the closed shades. Guarding our selves.
 
He loves to show his love and excitement by licking us. Not my most favorite of Moose activities. Good morning licks. I just got home licks. I walked out of the room for a nano second licks.
 
He is his own self.
 
He is smart. God is he smart. And quite discerning. Friendly and playful and quite the alpha with most of his friends. And quick to decide a dog is not for him.  
 
Same with people.
 
Don’t just go to him and get in his face. He’s a Poodle. He’ll consider you and decide if he wants to engage. 
 
I love this dog.
 
Where Nava, my soul dog who I miss every day, nurtured and protected me by creating this container of safety and stability, Moose, my heart opener, funny bone prancing Poodle, walks forward with me in this joyful way. The light shines very brightly on this Poodle dog of mine.
 
Rest in peace, Nava Doberman—January 20, 2015 to February 22, 2023.  Happy Birthday Moose—February 24, 2023.
 
You light up my days.

​We all have these stories we tell. 
 
I like to break them into two buckets.
 
There are the ones we tell about those things that happen in our lives. You know, these stories we bring up at parties that we know will get a laugh. These stories that are classic and funny and so easy to share.  And each time we share these experiences we can hear the story as we tell it. And it comes out the same way each time. We can hear the repetition but can’t seem to detour from the path.
 
Because...
 
Well, these are really just good stories.  Like really good. They capture these moments that we are sharing about in such a good way.
 
 
These stories, I am finding lately that, though these are great stories, and basically true even though over time memory becomes the truth and the truth gets blurred by time. These are good stories. And so they come up. Even though I am a bit bored of them and when I share them, they feel routine and, to me, a bit predictable. And a bit pat. (trite)(mundane)(routine)(habitual)(automatic).
 
But God they are funny. 
 
Like the one about how we named our first dog story. Or the one about our Doberman’s girlfriend, who he dated for a quick minute, and then she had 12 puppies. (now that’s a story!). There’s the moving into Framingham story and the how I met my husband one, too. There’s the when I was pregnant and in law school and rear ended a fancy car in the parking garage, but when he saw my MASSIVE belly…precious cargo. And the we appreciate your talent story about landing a role in a film in New York that they suggested I do for free. 
 
And so many more. 
 
And I don’t want to hear myself tell them anymore. Even though, as I reflect on them as I reflect in this writing, I love these stories a lot.
 
So there are these stories. Still true. Faded a bit with time but I’ve told them so many times that each time I tell them, they are the exact same kind of true.
 
Then there are the other stories. 
 
These are more the ones we tell ourselves about ourselves and about other people.  These are not the, God that was such a funny moment story.  Nope.
 
These are the stories that fit a narrative that serves us. These are the stories that we have created over time because they fill a need. Because we need them. Because they make things make sense.  Until one day…oh fuck, they don’t. 
 
We still use them for a bit more after that. After the oh fuck moment. Because they are a habit and have kept us safe for such a long time and fit the rhythm of our internal dialog.  So we repeat them still. 
 
And each time, they feel that less good. 
 
I was coaching someone the other day, and we were talking about how the shifts we make in our evolutions of our soul in this journey of our human experience, these shifts, when we drop in there is often a delay. Our soul goes ‘oh thank fucking God that you made it here finally’ but in our bodies and our minds there is a bit of a lag. And so the stories, they continue for a bit.
 
And then, one day, we say this story out loud to our friend. Or our therapist. Or our friend who’s a therapist and these words, they exist in the air and we say, ‘oh fuck.’ But louder now, because this really isn’t true anymore.
 
And then we let them go.

I’ve been reworking my website as I rework my work.  
 
Let’s start with my work. As many (all)(most)(some)(most) of you know, I have been a Divorce Mediator for a long ass time. Too long (sometimes) I think—I have declared that I am retiring from this work a number of times. But still I will get pulled back in because, well… I am really good at it. And help a lot of people. I make a difference in their lives and it’s hard to not step in and work with these couples and families during this, God, this is such a most difficult time in their lives. 
 
And there is the Couples and Family Mediation work that I do, too. An offshoot of the Divorce work, at first, when couples I was separating were referring me to couples that were coupling but still challenged in their dynamics with each other. And then, in time, as a stand along offering as my reputation grew in this bucket. I work with couples, with families altogether, with parents and their kids, with just their kids. It’s good work. 
 
And then, over these past number of years I started to step into something new—I am an Executive and Leadership Coach.  
 
This fell into my lap as my husband’s coaching company, Garth Rose Consulting, needed someone (me) to take over the coaching as he grew his (amazing) software company, GenRocket.
 
The progression to this makes sense. The executives I coach are predominantly in Family Business. So the GM is managing the VP of Sales, who also happens to be his older brother. And the dad (founder) is retired, but not really. And the youngest sister, just out of school and doing support work, actually has the most commanding style and the best leadership drivers of the bunch. 
 
Family Mediation camouflaged as Leadership Coaching where I offer tools in leadership and management and delegation and accountability. And communication and active listening and self-regulation and empathy and how to be kind while also being direct.  You get the idea.
 
And so.
 
The work that I do most, is mostly this Leadership Coaching work. While I will take the Divorce Mediation client (see above, in paragraph 1) and I continue to work with couples and families, the focus of my time is the Leadership and Executive Coaching.
 
But my website, it was still presenting me as a Divorce Mediator. 
 
Time for an edit (upgrade)(rework).
 
I launched it today. This is my Home Page (introduction)(explanation)(overview of my offerings)--
 
~
Hi and welcome to Elizabeth Rose Mediation.

It may seem that my offerings don't quite match—the Executive and Leadership Coaching along with the Mediation work— oh but they do.

Because all this work, whether the navigation to end your marriage, the commitment to nurture your relationships, or the desire to grow as a leader in your company, all ground on two essential skills— 

Emotional Intelligence and creating the container of Psychological (Emotional) Safety.

A quick review--

Daniel Goleman popularized the term Emotional Intelligence in 1995. He states that emotional intelligence is a person's ability to manage their feelings so that those feelings are expressed appropriately and effectively.

There are four Emotional Intelligence Pillars: Self-awareness, Self-regulation, Awareness of others (Empathy), and Building Relationship.

Allow me to paraphrase/expand/engage a bit with this--

Emotional Intelligence is the ability to manage our feelings so that they are expressed in the best way to support our relationships with each other. This means we need to know where we're at, how to regulate where we're at so that we don't sabotage our interactions with others, understand where they're at so that we can read the dynamic and, again, self-regulate in response to their emotional and possible de-regulation and, in turn, build this productive and quite lovely, even when it's a challenging dialog, relationship with others.

Once we do this, we are able to create Psychological Safety (the business term)/Emotional Safety (the relationship term).

Psychological Safety means that, as leaders, we are creating a container in our work environment that accomplishes four essential goals for a great work environment--

—Inclusion Safety. That members feel safe to belong to the team. They are comfortable being present, do not feel excluded, and feel like they are wanted and appreciated. 
—Learner Safety. That members are able to learn through asking questions. Team members here may be able to experiment, make (and admit) small mistakes, and ask for help.
—Contributor Safety. That members feel safe to contribute their own ideas, without fear of embarrassment or ridicule. This is a more challenging state, because volunteering your own ideas can increase the psychosocial vulnerability of team members.  And, 
—Challenger Safety. That members can question others’ (including those in authority) ideas or suggest significant changes to ideas, plans, or ways of working.

As Leaders, when we create this container of Psychological Safety, we are creating an environment where our team can approach us with confidence, knowing that they will be listened to, respected, appreciated, and valued.

Now Emotional Safety—similar theme, different word choice--

Emotional Safety means that, as humans in relationship with each other, we are creating a container in our relationship with others where--

—We feel valued and valuable. 
—We can truly be ourselves without the risk of judgment. 
—We can show our weaknesses without being taken advantage of.
—We can share boldly and express ourselves freely.
—We feel seen, heard, and understood.

When we, as participants in our relationships, create this container of Emotional Safety, we are creating an environment where the people we care about can interact from a place of vulnerability, which is the key element that fosters connection, knowing that they will be valued, honored, supported, and respected.

It all starts from here.  From knowing ourselves, and then taking that knowledge into the container of safety for others. 

When we are able to do this, self-reflect and self-regulate, understand how each other is feeling, and create the space for honest dialog, we can negotiate. We can challenge each other. We can self-advocate and also be generous. We can delegate. We can support each other. We can solve disagreements and compromise. We can engage in ways that allow us to move through all the obstacles and opportunities that come with being human.

Welcome to Elizabeth Rose Mediation.  I hope I am able to work with you.

Thank you,
Elizabeth Rose
 
~
 
Please visit my website at www.elizabethrosemediation.com
 
And thank you for reading my writing today. 

I am stepping away from social media for a time.  
 
I feel a privileged guilt doing this. 
 
The hostages held by Hamas in Gaza can’t take a break from their trauma but I can stop reading posts about them. 
 
Our country will continue to be infiltrated by terrorist organizations paying our citizens to march for a Global Intifada and I can shut down my feed.
 
Some government officials can turn their backs on the only democracy in the Middle East and I can deactivate my Instagram and look out my wall of glass and onto the mountains in the winter morning light. The best light.  
 
An International Kangaroo Court of (In)Justice can hear a case filed by a country that courts a terrorist regime and I can sit with my young puppy and my old man, 21-year-old cat and the only thing I can choose to worry about is his care and comfort in his old age.
 
But still I will worry about more. 
 
I will seek out fair and honest news reporting (hard to find). I will speak with my cousins in Israel and listen to sources that feel honest and clear. I will support organizations that I believe make a difference. And will continue to have conversation and, yes, discourse, with others because engagement is essential to the health of our humanity. 
 
But this, this social media addictive drug is a dopamine hit that is hitting too hard.  I need to turn this off.
 
I can turn this off.
 
I am blessed that I can turn this off.  
 
I do not take this for granted. 

~

This world, it seems, 
is upside ended.
And pulls my heart 
till quite extended.
The flux and flow, 
I tumble with it.
And feel I need 
a self-timed limit.
This page will be here, 
still for viewing.
But visits are 
my soul’s undoing
And so I take a pause.
For now.
Until my body
does allow.

​I had a Facebook exchange on one of my posts some weeks ago.  This FB friend asked me how I would expect to get people to understand me when I use terms like ‘pseudo pro-Palestinian protesters’ and ‘anti-Israel protesters’ in reference to the violent protests that I believe are anti-Jewish, anti-Semitic rallies camouflaged as pro-Palestinian protests and that are unfolding all over our country right now.
 
I asked him to share with me an example of a pro-Palestinian protest that was not violent and anti-Jewish. Just one. 
 
So he quoted Martin Luther King: “Violence is impractical because it is a descending spiral ending in destruction for all. It is immoral because it seeks to humiliate the opponent rather than win his understanding: it seeks to annihilate rather than convert.”
 
This is reference to my words… not in reference to the protesters.
 
Then he asked me if I thought all of my accusatory, insulting language was going to make things better for my relationships with friends who see the Palestinian side as well as the Israeli side?
 
Kind of concerns me that he doesn’t feel that the violent protesters are…well, violent and has a problem with me calling this out.  Kind of concerns me that he feels that “anti-Jewish” is insulting.  Kind of concerns me that he assumes that I only see the Israeli side.
  
And I asked again, share with me one protest that is not violent and anti-Jewish (oops that phrase again, my bad).
 
Show me one non-violent, pro-Palestinian protest.
 
One protest where the protesters faces are all uncovered, where they do not chant ‘from the river to the sea” or ‘intifada revolution.’ Where they do not burn Israeli flags or rip down American flags.  Where they do not stop traffic at airports, or take over retail establishments, or deface national monuments or call Israelis Nazis or tear down posters of Hamas hostages in Gaza.  
 
One protest where the protesters sit peacefully and speak about the challenges in Gaza. And know where Gaza was. And what river and sea they are talking about. And care about the Muslims being killed in other countries. And call out Hamas for the atrocious crimes against humanity, the rapes against so many women and girls, the beheading and cutting off of limbs and breasts, the burning of babies, the taking of hostages, that Hamas inflicted on Israel on October 7.
 
Show me just one protest. Just one. Show me one pro-Palestinian protest that is not anti-Jewish. Show me a pro-Palestinian where the protesters show up in a non-violent way.
 
The response was “some people see dragons all around them.”  
This means me. 
 
I asked him if he wanted to have a conversation around the nature of these protests, or if he wants to just critique my way of communicating. 
 
I asked again for him to share one non-violent, pro-Palestinian protest.
 
I asked him if he wanted to continue the conversation over coffee or a call.
 
He said I was not willing to listen and if he couldn’t change my mind, why bother….
 
I said that was unfortunate… that direct communication in person is a much better way to have this kind of dialog.
 
And I shared that I was curious why he felt my words were violent and insulting, as I felt they were factual and based on my experience of what is happening.
 
‘Whatever,’ he said.
 
‘And there we go,’ I said.
 
And then he blocked me.
 
The end.

​I wrote thirty-two writings in 2023. 
 
A few quite funny. Some, especially most recently, very political. Many deeply reflective as my soul traveled to this next place in my evolution. In this human experience. On this planet of earth/school of survival.
 
This place that my soul is traveling to, some days I am here. Others, still not so much. But I know where this place is now. And overall, the scales tip more to the easeful side. So this is good.
 
When the scales tip that other way, and I am in the patterns—that at this point feel performative—I can see this easeful place in the not so distance and, while part of me acts the part that no longer serves me, that knowing voice in my mind continues to ask this question--
 
—"why do you want what is not good for you?” Still. Why, when I know what I know, “why do I want what is not good for me, still?”
 
But let’s back up.
 
This process of growth and transformation that propels us forward into the horrible abyss of despair that then becomes our sweetest next place to be, it happens when we are in discomfort.  
 
We make changes in our life when we are in discomfort. When where we are at is just too uncomfortable, too painful, too challenging, too out of alignment, to unhealthy, too unfulfilled, too uninspired. 
 
And we feel called to shift. In a big way. We know we have to move. Because we cannot stay where we are at for even one other moment. 
 
And so we step in. 
 
But let’s back up.
 
Discomfort shows up all around us. In our interactions and our choices. In our dysfunctional, and also quite lovely, relationships. In our challenging communications and our inability to communicate.  The Universe supplies over and over and over again these painfully awesome symptoms of our internal imbalance.
 
At first glance we think this is the real discomfort. And we often just move from here. Just as our medical profession often treats the symptoms—take this pill, have this surgery—rather than hunting for the cause of the symptoms in the first place, our humanness does this too. We are in the muck of the symptoms of our internal discomfort and we fix just that.
 
We end a marriage or relationship. We quit a job. We disconnect from a friend or change the way we care for ourselves with our food and movement practices and meditations and all.
 
And yes, this works. For a while that is really a quick minute in this lifetime of ours.
 
Because when we move forward in reaction to an external symptom of our discomfort, it’s not really a moving forward, it’s a running from.  And it’s unsustainable.  
 
Because the cause of the symptom is still there.  And this where that question comes in. 
 
You know, the—"why do you want what is not good for you?”—question. Because it is this question that moves us out from the external symptom and lands us into our selves. 
 
This is where we have to move from.
 
When we ask the question—"why do you want what is not good for you?”—we are taking the symptom—the “what is not good for you”—and tracing its path to where it was born—to the “why do you want?”  
 
The question takes us into the internal mess of chaos. 
 
This is the real discomfort. Painful and hard and so not an easy place to land.
 
And here’s the thing, if we sit here long enough, we begin to make sense. We begin the deeper reflection. And we begin to unravel. 
 
And then we move with intention for growth. And then we move in response to our internal now knowing and with a choosing in our actions. And then, once we can find ourselves in here, we move from a place of internal love and respect and desire for ourselves. 
 
And then we move forward from here (touch your heart). 
 
And then it lasts.
 
Welcome 2024. Bring it on.