I've Moved!

Hello to my faithful readers! I've moved my blog… for more of my writing and musings, please visit www.juliannekanzaki.com

World Poetry Day.

Today is World Poetry Day.

Enjoy this piece from one of my favorite poets, IN-Q…

Isn't Life Colorful?

"The preparation of good food is yet another expression of art, one of the joys of civilized living…" 

-Dione Lucas

Some of the craziest work days result in my most artistic meals. It's like all of that energy needs to be channeled somewhere, and what better place than in the kitchen?

Roasted sweet potatoes, avocado, forbidden black rice, roasted chickpeas, carrots, roasted broccoli, red cabbage and hummus on a bed of organic arugula. #plantpowered #eattherainbow

On a different note, today I filled the last page in my journal. I started this one on January 1st. What a sacred morning practice writing has become for me. Tomorrow morning, I'm excited to crack open a new journal, with fresh pages awaiting me. It's like sliding into bed with freshly washed and clean sheets...

Banana Bread Delights.

Sometimes the mood to bake comes on so strongly that all I can do is surrender, throw on an apron, and get busy mixing and measuring and chopping and rolling. Today's creation answered the question of how to handle the desire for solid food on long bike rides when GU gels just don't cut it. I know these will also be perfect for hikes, and will also satisfy you when those mid-day sweet snack cravings hit.

The best part? They are made with real food. No added sugar- not even maple syrup or coconut sugar. Just dates and bananas (and the non-dairy chocolate chips are optional).

INGREDIENTS:
2 large ripe bananas, peeled
1/2 cup packed pitted Medjool dates
1/4 cup extra virgin coconut oil
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp fine grain sea salt
2 cups gluten-free rolled oats, divided
3-4 Tbsp non-dairy chocolate chips (optional)
1/4 c. chopped walnuts (optional)

DIRECTIONS:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F and line a large baking sheet with parchment paper.
2. Add the banana, dates, coconut oil, and vanilla into a food processor. Process until smooth.
3. Add cinnamon, baking powder, and salt and process again until combined.
4. Add in 1.5 cups of the rolled oats and process for only 4-5 seconds, just long enough to roughly chop the oats.
5. Remove the mixture from the food processor and stir in the remaining oats, along with the walnuts and chocolate chips.
6. Spoon 1 large heaping Tbsp onto the parchment paper. Do not press down the dough to flatten.
7. Bake cookies for 10 minutes, rotate the pan, and bake for another 7-9 minutes until golden brown on the bottom.
8. Immediately transfer onto a cooling rack for 10 minutes.
9. Enjoy!

P.S. Share these vegan, gluten-free, no-refined-sugar treats with your gluten and sugar-loving friends! I promise you that they'll love them, and it won't cost you your friendship.

Happy RD Day!

So today is officially "National Registered Dietitian Day." I'm always curious who comes up with these days. It's like "National Siblings Day" or "National Cat Day" where I learn about it only when I see everyone's FB feed or Instagram hashtags. Regardless, it's nice to have a day acknowledging the work that we do, so I'll take it.

So in honor of this special day, I pre-ordered a copy of "The Plantpower Way" by Rich Roll and Julie Piatt. Everyone who knows me is well-aware that I'm one of their biggest fans. I've read Finding Ultra, use their JaiRelease meditation program and am the first to download their newest podcasts. I'm the first to admit that when things get super stressful at work, I put in my earbuds and calm down using her humming meditation. It works every time. It's because of Rich Roll that I purchased my Vitamix, started a regular meditation practice, began using maca powder and hemp seeds, and read The Power of Now and Autobiography of a Yogi. He's helped me raise the bar on my own life, and has inspired me to shift towards a more plant-based diet.

"Transformation begins and ends with what we put in our mouths." Julie Piatt couldn't have said it any better. As a registered dietitian, it's my goal to teach people about the correct ways to fuel their bodies so they can reach their ultimate potential. It starts with food, and I fully support the plantpower revolution that Rich Roll and Julie Piatt are leading. Pre-order your copy today, and we can share meals together that fuel, nourish, and transform us with every bite.

Sunny and 75.

You know you're in good company when the original ride was only supposed to be 50 miles.

I'm still basking in the afterglow of today.
Spring is definitely in the air.
Buds opening, days lengthening, cheeks glowing with heat.
Stripping off the arm warmers at mile 30.
Solid stretches of road surrounded by yellow blossoms spread across miles of green hills.
A male peacock prancing along the side of the road.
Good company to make you forget about the headwind.
Almond milk lattes at mile 96.
Sunny in every sense of the word.
My heart is so full.

Make Good Art.

Nature makes good art too...

I laugh at how the perfect words land in my lap seemingly out of nowhere, snuggle their way into my world and nestle themselves inside of my heart, right where I need them most. Today those words were from Neil Gaiman-

"Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do-
Make good art.
I'm serious. Husband runs off with a politician?
Make good art.
Leg crushed and then eaten by a mutated boa constrictor?
Make good art.
IRS on your trail?
Make good art.
Cat exploded?
Make good art.
Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it's all been done before?
Make good art.
Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn't matter. Do what only you do best.
Make good art.
Make it on the good days, too.

The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you're walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That's the moment you may be starting to get it right." 

So this has become my manifesto. Whatever comes my way, I'm going to do one thing with it- I'm going to make good art.

Deconstruction.

"Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy."
-Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times

This concept of things falling apart feels so true in my life, especially recently. It's easy to float along, but when the big waves come crashing down and cause you to flounder and get water up your nose, it's harder to keep your perspective. I get hopeless and scared, too. I get fearful and obsessive and my mind runs off the rails like a runaway trail and I have to rein it in over and over from dwelling on the things that scare me down to my core.

Avocado, cucumber, carrots, kamaboko, shiitake mushrooms and nori over a bed of black rice.

Tonight's dinner was metaphor for myself, really. A deconstructed sushi bowl to tangibly prove how life's discordant events can in fact, be beautiful. After I took this picture, I mixed everything up together. It was messy and delicious and colorful and reminded me of how grief and joy and loneliness and hope are all ingredients in life, and are not separate from each other. Life doesn't always present itself neatly, rolled up and sliced into perfect sushi rolls. Sometimes it falls apart, and you just have to be ok with experiencing it in a different form than what you initially expected.

I scribbled these words in my journal early this morning-

"I'm discovering now that writing is much more than transcribing words into a journal, in black and white, on a page. It's a lifesaving buoy, keeping us afloat, providing us with something tangible to grab onto- to rest our weary arms around as we make sense of our world and re-establish our voice and direction in the vast sea of life."

Even if things seem to be falling apart, I've found that making sense of things on the page can make life's obstacles more palatable, and I dare say, more delicious. Just like a deconstructed sushi bowl.

Time to Blossom.

Saturday's mini blessings...

How

did the rose

ever open its heart

and give to this world all of its beauty?

It felt the encouragement of light against its being,

otherwise we all remain too

frightened.

-Hafiz

Seeing Beauty.

"I want to see beauty. In the ugly, in the sink, in the suffering, in the daily, in all the days before I die, the moments before I sleep."

-Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are

As I closed this book, my heart begged, "Lord, give me the eyes to see."

The War of Art.

"Are you a born writer? Were you put on earth to be a painter, a scientist, an apostle of peace? In the end the question can only be answered by action.

Do or don't do it.

It may help to think of it this way. If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don't do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet.

You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter farther along its path back to God.

Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It's a gift to the world and every being in it. Don't cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you've got."

-Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

This has been added to my Top 5 books list.

This entire weekend I've been submersed in amazing musical and artistic talent.  After watching the incredible actors performing Fiddler On the Roof on Friday and the mesmerizing performance of Mona Golabek in The Pianist of Willesden Lane, it is clear that the world is more beautifully expressed when everyone follows their own creative call.

Right now I'm loving Pressfield's book…get yourself a copy and armor up.

I can't wait to see what you've got.

Beyond What I Know.

First hike up Castle Rock 

Last night's beautiful sunset at Point Isabel

"I love going out of my way, beyond what I know, and finding my way back a few extra miles, by another trail, with a compass that argues with the map…nights alone in motels in remote western towns where I know no one and no one I know knows where I am, nights with strange paintings and floral spreads and cable television that furnish a reprieve from my own biography, when in Benjamin's terms, I have lost myself though I know where I am. Moments when I say to myself as feet or car clear a crest or round a bend, I have never seen this place before. Times when some architectural detail or vista that has escaped me these many years says to me that I never did know where I was, even when I was home." 

-Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

Decadently Delightful.

As much as I love words, some of the best art contains none of them.

Someone described this as "decadently delightful," and I couldn't agree more.

I Am Thinking...

Photo cred: S. Sairam

I am thinking about love.

I am thinking about Valentine's Day and how it's strange to choose a random day to think about love because in reality, we are surrounded by it, every minute, every hour, every day.

I am thinking about how I watched The Notebook with a grown man and saw him cry for the first time and realized then how we all have experienced the simultaneous beauty and sadness of complicated loving- the kind of love that glues you together and rips you apart and never quite fades but never quite blossoms, no matter how many years or miles pass.

I am thinking of the beauty of how easy it is to connect with a new friend, and how I stare at her sad blue eyes and listen to her story and just offer space for her, and how I recognize her pain and sorrow and anger and regret, and yet in the very same breath, with the very same eyes, see her relief and her reason and her knowingness that things played out just as they should have.

I am thinking how I have known her heartbreak all too well, and how love and loss thread us together, even though we are different ages and have different hair colors and grew up in different states.

I am thinking about the drunk dials I've answered, listening to honest words, unfiltered and openly gushing the kindest of compliments, only to be forgotten the next day, and how that both stung and saddened me for secretly cherishing those moments of alcohol-induced flattery.

I am thinking about riding my bike with the sun warming my back, my ponytail dancing in the wind, my exhilarated heart pounding as I descend down Calaveras Road. And how that feels like love.

I am thinking about the power of random text messages and how words carry electricity- they can light up your whole day, shift your energy, cause you to smile wide, change your outlook.

I am thinking of my late grandmother, and how I would hold her soft, smooth hands, and how she radiated so much strength in adversity, as well as softness and grace, and how that dichotomy always fascinated me.

I am thinking about Praveena, and how she has cultivated in me a deep awareness of the present moment, of gratitude and mindfulness, and how it is beautiful that a single person can change your world so profoundly. She is steady, like the breath, and I love that about her.

I am thinking about how I still feel love for J, who now is happily married and holds his beautiful wife's belly, with a baby on the way, and how love can change shapes and shift forms and textures, yet buried beneath those decade-old bricks is a timeless love that is genuinely happy for his path and wishes only the best for him and his family. And how I cannot express or communicate that directly to him, but I know that kind of love transcends the miles and time and still arrives at its destination, full of intention.

I am thinking how heartbreak and sorrow were my most beautiful gifts because they caused compassion and tenderness to spew forth from my heart once it was cracked wide open- and how love was always present in those dark spaces, but it was camouflaged in different forms that took me awhile to recognize.

I am thinking how electrifying it feels to be in love, to jump in fully, to drop the umbrella and kiss in the rain, tasting sweet passion mixed with raindrops and feeling the heat of another's breath on your face- and how it feels to be on the same street witnessing that exchange, walking alone, yet soaked in all the grace that I've been given, and how that kind of Love is enough.

I am thinking how much more liberating it is to be love- unguarded, unpretentious, giving freely and openly because it will never, ever run out.

And how I would definitely want more than February 14th to be that.

Colors.

I am sitting in my hairdresser's chair, hair freshly washed, and hold the book in my lap. I flip through it, examining the various colors and my split-second associations. So many colors, so many options. Blond=Playboy Bunny. Dark black=goth. Metallic red=Asian music video dancer. I settle for an in-between color that is both subtle enough for the workplace yet shines lighter in the sunshine. I'm happy with it.

I pull out my snack, and it is a glorious burgundy color. Just chewing it makes me feel love. If I was a fruit, I'd want to be this brilliant color. Its rich hue puts white bread and white pasta to shame.

Dried dragonfruit. Exotic. Colorful. Delicious.

I drive and notice the pastel colors of the sunset, and how it is both soft and magnificent at the same time- strong blues, subtle oranges and pinks spread across the sky. I realize how much of my world, my mood, my pleasures- are dictated by the colors that surround me. I've worn red when I've felt confident, as well as black when I've just wanted to blend in and not be seen. Guilty as charged.

And in thinking about this, it challenged me to ask myself, as well as you-
In a world with no color, only black and white, how would you stand out?

Fresh Air.

"Sometimes, I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed."

-Mary Oliver

#aftertherain #poetryinmotion

Trailblazer.

"Here's the truth that you have to wrestle with: the reason that art (writing, engaging, leading, all of it) is valuable is precisely why I can't tell you how to do it. If there were a map, there'd be no art, because art is the act of navigating without a map. Don't you hate that? I love that there's no map."

-Seth Godin, Linchpin: Are You Indispensable?

When I saw this at Point Reyes, I went the opposite way. #trailblazer

The Type-A part of me that secretly loves structure and to-do lists and schedules to follow is constantly at odds with the artist/creator side of myself that loves the words freedom and flow and feels stifled by timelines and objective goals.

It's all about balance, I suppose. I'm learning this on a daily basis- that there is always more than one way to approach a problem, to find another solution, to course-correct and overcome the inevitable obstacles that present themselves on the path. I'm learning to let go of what I've trusted (structure), and navigate without a map. 

It's hard. But here's the honest truth- I was never good at reading maps anyways.

Trudging Along.

Spotted on the stairs of Berkeley Bowl West.
Advice for both life and writing.

"So when we write and begin with an empty page and a heart unsure, a famine of thoughts, a fear of no feeling- just begin from there, from that electricity. This kind of writing is uncontrolled, is not sure where the outcome is, and it begins in ignorance and darkness. But facing those things, writing from that place, will eventually break us and open us to the world as it is. Out of this tornado of fear will come a genuine writing voice." 

-Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within

Arranging the Pieces.

"Arrange whatever pieces come your way." -Virginia Woolf

Diving into the steamy pool as the clock hits 6am means only one thing- my writing time (morning pages) and meditation have been shifted even earlier, to an ungodly hour that starts with a 4. But I've been consistently doing both of these long enough in the morning to understand their inherent value, and skipping any one of the two, or even both (gasp!) is unthinkable. I'm thankful I've developed them into my morning routine that they are now as habitual as brushing my teeth and lotioning up after a shower.

I'm listening, a lot. Propped up with my pillow behind my back, legs crossed, with sleepy eyes and the covers shrouding my open palms, I'll just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I find it interesting how ideas will just drop into me, stay for awhile. And I'll notice them, tuck them away, and focus again on my breath. In. Out. In. Out.

From a bird's eye view of the past few months, I am fascinated how people, situations, and opportunities have emerged in the most exciting and creative of ways. Lots of pieces, different shapes and colors and textures, and here I am taking whatever it is that shows up in my life, and arranging it in such a way that best fulfills my dharma in this big and beautiful world.

It would be just as easy to take those same pieces and say, "It's impossible," or "I can't do that," or blame the economy, other people, or come up with a million different excuses to keep myself from fulfilling my destiny. But perhaps it's the inner artist in me that sees these independent pieces and wants to fit them together in a creative and meaningful way- one that will ultimately be of service to those around me.

This same approach applies in the kitchen. Yesterday I looked at the kabocha squash resting on the counter, noticed the kale in the fridge staring me straight in the eyes, the $3 organic red bell pepper begging me not to go to waste, and the forbidden black rice greeting me as I opened my top cupboard door. So I took those pieces and arranged them together in one of the most delicious meals.

Roasted kabocha squash stuffed with forbidden black rice, wild rice, kale, onions,
red bell peppers and shiitake mushrooms.

How are you arranging the pieces in your life?

Second Chances.

Enjoying the view...

…and the 808s

This weekend I've been thinking a lot about second chances, do-overs, and the mystery of grace. During yesterday's ride along the coast, aside from enjoying the view and the miles, I had one other goal in mind- to revisit a painful site down near Davenport. I wanted to go over the railroad tracks again- those same metal lines that caused me to crash, flip sideways along the road, bruising my ego and my body. I needed to prove to myself that I could pass over them again, this time unscathed.

As I saw them appear, this time I tactfully and carefully positioned my wheels at a perpendicular angle, and as my tires passed over them, I breathed a sigh of relief. There's something about that experience- knowing that second chances exist- but we must have the courage to approach those areas now with caution and care and compassion.

Beauty from Pigeon Point.

All of life is like the single bike lane down the coast… miles filled with lessons of loving and letting go and learning and listening and leading and living in each moment. Noticing the way the sun hits the water at a certain time of day, how the fog collects in certain places and then lifts gently and blends back into the sky, how the wind shifts throughout the day, but also the reality of humanity- the shredded tire pieces strewn along the highway, shattered glass shards glistening in the afternoon sun, a random tennis shoe lying in the center of the road, all alone.

Luckily, there is a thing called grace, and this allows us to get up after we've crashed, wipe the blood off, and later return to the same spot a year later to conquer the thing that initially took us out- yet this time we are moving confidently, with awareness and gratitude, and staying upright.

I heard this song for the first time this morning, and it encapsulated everything I've been feeling this weekend. As I jogged the perimeter of the lake tonight and felt my breath in my lungs and my heart beating, it made me so grateful for the larger second chances we all have in life.

Because those are the ones that really matter.

Chasing the sunset tonight...

You give life, You are love
You bring light to the darkness
You give hope, You restore
Every heart that is broken

Great are You, Lord

It's Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
We pour out our praise
It's Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
To You only

You give life, You are love
You bring light to the darkness
You give hope, You restore
Every heart that is broken

Great are You, Lord

It's Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
We pour out our praise
It's Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
To You only

-from "Great Are You Lord" by All Sons and Daughters

Treading versus Swimming.

"Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim." -Tyler Knott Gregson

Sunrise swim lessons in life

Today was an extremely full day, so I knew what I had to do this morning- head straight to the pool for some active meditation. There's something so calming and womb-like about the water pre-dawn, when only the pool lights illuminate your arm stroke and the remnant stars greet you when you flip over and swim backstroke. This quote came to mind as I was swimming, anticipating the day ahead and realizing that it would be busy- yes- but filled with all the things that I had invited into my life and wanted to build.

When life is brimming over with activity, it's easy to feel as though you're drowning…but remember that you are constantly curating your own life, and at the end of the day, if you're following your passion, it becomes easier to find your rhythm and glide towards your destination.

And just like in the pool, I know that relaxing into it versus thrashing around, is the more sustainable, long-term, preferred way to move across the water.  I'm hoping that even in the future when 'busy' starts to boil over, I'll always opt for the smooth and graceful stroke above water. And I'll be sure to occasionally flip on my back once in awhile to enjoy the view of the glimmering stars.

That Smile.

"It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving, but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living." -F. Scott Fitzgerald

Las Trampas sunrise...

Lately I've realized that as I walk down the street and pass strangers, I naturally smile, unaware that I'm actually smiling, until they reciprocate with a genuinely happy smile. My lips turn up into an even wider grin for such a beautiful and free exchange of unsolicited love.

Someone once told me that outside Oprah's makeup room hangs a sign that says, "Please take responsibility for the energy that you bring into this space." All life is energy and we are transmitting it at each second. We are all beaming signals like little radio frequencies, and the world is responding in kind. I believe this, and it applies not only for a make-up room, but for all the rooms in our lives.

As Preston Smiles (no pun intended) would ask, "What would love do in this moment?"

It's always a good question to ponder. And while you're thinking about that, smile. It makes the world a sunnier place.

Casting Out the Line.

Seen from my climb today up Calaveras...

After an amazing solo bike ride (Oh, how I've missed you, mid-week miles!), I called my dad to ask him what he wanted to eat for his birthday dinner that I'm hosting on Saturday. I'd already heard from the rest of the peanut gallery what they wanted to eat, so I wanted to go straight to the Source, the Birthday Boy himself. He was fishing, so I got his voicemail, left my message and ended it with, "I hope you caught a lot of fish!!" He called me back a little while later, and apparently he didn't catch anything. Not.even.one.fish.

Waking up before dawn, packing up the car with gear, driving out to the lake…all for what? But I know that he's had many days like today, yet he still loves fishing more than I love riding my bike, and days like today are just part of the game, unfortunately. And at the same time, days like today will not derail him.

Yesterday I attended another open mic at Pegasus Books and a handsome fellow took the seat next to me. He inquired if I was going to read, and I shyly answered, "Yes." He looked down at my hands which were holding a book.

"You're going to read from your book?" he asked.

"Oh, gosh no, this is a book that I just bought," I stammered. "I'm reading this…" I wave a folded-up piece of white paper.

Today on my bike ride, I found, as I always do- that when the legs spin, the mind spins too. It got me thinking as my heart was pumping and the wind was blowing through my hair, how thrilling- yet also so unbelievably scary- it would be to one day be holding my own published book.

Fitting, since this quote came from the book I was holding in my hand, The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield. What a necessary and appropriate tool for everyone to read.

And so, it continues. Just like my dad, my deep-seated love is what drives me each morning to wake before dawn, gather my gear, take a deep breath, and write. I can only hope that after persistently casting my line out day after day, soon enough, there will be a worthy fish on the other end.

Upcycling.

"I stand in the mist and cry, thinking of myself standing in the mist and crying, and wondering if I will ever be able to use this experience in a book." -Erica Jong, Fear of Flying

Me too, Erica Jong, me too.

Stepping Into the Arena.

It is late on a Thursday night and I become aware of the outside light and how dusk subtly unveils herself over this little town of Pinole. The air behind these cafe windows is cool and crisp, and I sit here inside cozied up in the back corner with my latte and journal, where I've been for hours, writing. My hair smells of espresso and I notice how the closer the clock ticks to 7 pm, the more I am racing heart and twisting gut and short inhales. I have come here to write, yes, but really, I've come here to read. To read my own work during open mic.

A lil' caffeinated inspiration...

I watch nervously as a man in a checkered flannel shirt stands up on the stage and strums his guitar. All I notice is his greasy hair and long beard and think to myself that he's the kind of person I wouldn't want to sit next to on BART. My mind wanders because I'm concerned that my piece isn't appropriate for this audience, and how I've never been to an open mic here. I wonder if it's too late to dig through the weaved straw basket at the front of the stage and crumple up the piece of paper with my name written on it and hide it away in my pocket. It is always easier and safer and more comfortable to hide.

My thoughts are interrupted by an awkward silence. Then a strum. The guitarist has forgotten his lyrics. He fumbles around. We wait in anticipation. He finds his rhythm again and we all relax in our seats. Suddenly, I ignore the beard and the strange genre of music and I just see him- in all of his imperfection- and recognize his humanity, rawness and vulnerability on that stage. I recognize beauty. I hear myself clapping louder than the others around me because I am applauding his ability- more than anything- to show up and share his truth with this world.

Then, it is my turn and I feel the eyes on me as I walk towards the stage, adjust the microphone and sit on the wooden stool. I look out into the audience and am greeted with the eager eyes of young and old, men and women. I take a deep breath and my heart feels a strange calmness as I speak- these words that were conceived in the depths on my journal pages, words so near and dear to my heart that for the first time are being birthed out into the world, gasping for life-giving breath as they are caught and received and cradled by this captive audience.

I ignore my shaking legs and sweaty palms and smile in an effort to steady my voice. I continue to read, "Perhaps things aren't falling apart, maybe they are falling together," and I hear a voice from the darkness rumble, "HELL YES!" and suddenly it is no longer 'me' up here and 'them' out there- we are all connected. This umbilical cord of words allowing them to hear my truth, my heartbreak, my hope and I just pray from underneath the warm spotlights that somehow these words will offer a light to direct someone back home.

I breathe a sigh of relief when it's over, and I don't really hear the applause, I am marinading in my own feelings of sheer joy, for choosing courage over fear. A woman grabs my hand as I make my way back to my seat and says, "Thank you for sharing your words," and that alone makes it all worth it, stepping into that arena, daring greatly.

The guitarist comes up to me at the end of the night as he is walking away, we exchange affirming words and he tells me, "I really, really enjoyed your poem." And I nod graciously and think about how all of life is poetry- some of the lines ebb and flow and some don't rhyme at all, but somehow it all still works. I feel light and fluttery and alive. Suddenly, the room feels more expansive and I am aware of how spacious the world feels when you can freely express who you are, no longer bound or imprisoned by what other people will think.

We all have a unique voice and talents and words and stories to share with the world. Fear paralyzes most of us, but regardless of that, we must step into the arena, to dare greatly instead of looking in from the outside, wondering what would have happened if we actually showed up for our own lives. You'll find that once you enter into the arena, even though failure may still exist, you will experience a deeper contentment and freedom and respect for yourself.

The beauty of this Truth is that you don't have to write your name on a piece of paper and drop it into a basket, waiting for it to be called.

And you're not limited to only five minutes. Your entire lifetime can be your open mic.

We're all in this together. And if you forget, just look up. I'll be the one clapping the loudest from the back.

Running with the Mind of Meditation.

"The body benefits from movement, and the mind benefits from stillness." -Sakyong Mipham

Sunday morning movement.

I'm halfway through this book, and it's fascinating- mostly because it weaves together two major areas of my life…sport and meditation. I would have never guessed there would be so much overlap between the two, but apparently there is, and who better to describe the intersection than a Buddhist meditation master who also has nine marathons under his belt?

We've thought so long that these two activities are separate and vastly different from each other, but really that's the farthest thing from the truth. So read the book. Then drop into silence. Then lace up the shoes.

THINK.

I've learned lately how powerful our words can be. As a little girl, I loved the book "Silver Boxes" by Florence Littauer. It was such a strong visual that our words should be like little silver boxes with bows on top, making the receiver feel loved and warm.

Yesterday I spotted this on the trail and it seemed oddly out of place- bright pink letters splashed across a pipe, tucked underneath the moss and leaves of the dirt trail. But it caught my eye, and made me pause. Which is so valuable in this life where we are constantly rushing around, grabbing our coffee and not making eye contact with the barista and jabbering on our phones and erupting reactively with hurtful words that somehow slipped out of our mouths in the moment- so fast that we couldn't catch or retract them. And like arrows, they had already pierced the heart of the listener, spreading their poison into the veins.

So before you speak, THINK:

Is it True?
Is it Helpful?
Is it Inspiring?
Is it Necessary?
Is it Kind?

This is a good litmus test. Because our words form our thoughts, which ultimately turn into action.

So even if it seems as unnatural and out of place as those bright pink letters smack dab in the middle of a trail, try it. THINK before you speak. Who knows, the words you speak into someone may be the tiny acorns of life, and years later when you revisit that trail, you'll see how that mighty oak tree really did grow.

The Journey.

Some deep truths from Mary Oliver…

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stories.
But little by lithe,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.


Tonight I watched a segment with Tom Shadyac, who presented the topic of polarity- light/dark, life/death, abundance/loss.  We are taught from the beginning to run from trouble, disaster, danger, disturbance-  but in reality, this is the heart of all growth, of all of life.  It's what makes us better artists, better poets, better writers, better humans. How can we understand abundance if we have not experienced loss? How can we fully grasp the beauty of trust if we haven't first tasted the sting of dishonesty? Mary Oliver shared with Tom Shadyac that her poem "The Journey" was birthed from one of her most darkest and painful experiences. And yet, out of such a dark seed bloomed one of her most famous poems. It's true, all of life, with all of its duality, is a living and breathing art form in one way or another.

Write It Down.

"Pay attention to the weather, to what breaks your heart, to what lifts your heart. Write it down."

-Ellen Meloy

#oceantherapy

Today was all about exploring the coastal trail, sitting, writing and moving on to a new spot and repeating.

"I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order." -John Burroughs

I find it interesting how words easily come in and out, mostly steady like the waves. Sometimes there will be a bigger wave that crashes harder- sometimes it is painful, sometimes it is inspiring. The day was gorgeous, full of pelicans and seagulls and sand and scattered white fluffy clouds and hot chowder and delicious seafood.

Sunset from the deck of Sam's Chowder House

My 7-year-old niece got a hold of the book of poems I wrote for my dad's Christmas present. And now she is officially obsessed with poetry. It's endearing, but she also keeps me on my toes, constantly asking me to tell her a poem. On Friday, my brain started to hurt after awhile and I wanted to eat my dinner, so I changed it into a game where I would make up one poem stanza, and then pass the mic. This would give me 30 seconds to get in another bite of food before it was my turn again.

Last week, my mom took her to Lawrence Hall of Science and all she wanted to do was write a poem. So she sat there and began to write, "It was a blustery autumn day…" when my mom answered, "Kaia, it's winter time." She very matter-of-factly responded, "It's my poem. I can write whatever I want to."

She's only seven. And she's brilliant.

So the next time you feel stuck creatively, take her advice. Don't feel obligated to conform.

Write whatever you want to.

You will be pleasantly surprised.