Friends! We're excited to announce that we'll be hosting another 1/2 Day Wellness Retreat in the Sacramento area on July 9th from 10am-2pm.
Full details HERE. Hope to see you there!
Lighten the Load.
Coastal Trail, Marin Headlands
The fog was thick this morning, but I could still see a man's silhouette standing at the edge of a distant mountain. I stopped running and watched him, my breath still heavy. I saw his arm swing back, then in a powerful fit, hurl something into the abyss of the ocean. He reached down. And once again, as though trying to throw farther than before, he twisted his body and forcefully launched an object out from the cliff as the grey waves below swallowed it up. I stood and watched him for awhile until he was finished and turned back up the path.
This image burned in my mind the whole day. How we no longer have to carry unnecessary weight and burdens. We can remove the heavy stones from our 'packs' that we've accumulated through the years- the debris and weight we've dragged along with us from broken relationships, unkept promises, shame, guilt- and release them. Hurl them wildly away from us, out of our possession, and surrender them into something wider, deeper, vaster.
"Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous be shaken."
Psalm 55:22
And then, with lightness in our steps, we can finally be free. Free from our shackled past. Free to gather only what we need and continue on our journey. Free to fully become who we were created to be.
In This Moment.
“There is a moment, a cusp, when the sum of gathered experience is worn down by the details of living. We are never so wise as we are when we live in this moment.”
Morning Sun Trail, Marin Headlands
Last week I finished reading the book "When Breath Becomes Air." It's one of those books that I knew I wanted to buy- just so I could freely underline Paul Kalanithi's poetic and lyrical style of writing and have it at my fingertips for the moments when that dulled sense of perspective comes over my life. To remind me again of how keeping our own mortality/death in the forefront helps us live more consciously and purposefully.
It changed me. And I think it will change you too.
Memory.
Wine Country Century 2016, Sonoma County
Have you ever smelled the perfume or cologne of someone you once loved and suddenly you're transported back into time? Your pulse quickens. The same visceral feelings flood back through your veins. You hear the sound of their laugh, fondly remember the way their eyes crinkled, and how safe you felt in their embrace? Scent locks in memories like a treasure chest.
In biking, certain roads hold that same power. It's all etched in stone, and once my wheels roll over that part of the road, it unlocks specific conversations I had, or how I felt mentally years ago racing that same section. Riding up Chalk Hill yesterday, it was only the sound of gears turning over and heaving breathing. But I swear I could hear cowbells and loud cheering and people screaming from the sidelines- You're almost at the top! Keep going! Don't quit!
Memory baffles me at times. How quickly it can be erased. How quickly it returns with the smallest trigger, or on the slightest of whims.
Wherever You Go, There You Are.
"Wherever you go, there you are." It's a truth that's both liberating and terrifying. I thought about this while riding the coast last Monday. If nothing was chaining you to a place- no mortgage, significant other, kids, permanent career, and you had the choice to transplant, where would you go?
It's a good question. It extracted me from autopilot mode and forced me to observe my life in detail. Challenged me to evaluate what makes a life rewarding and full.
By Thursday I was convinced. I'm moving to Portland.
Or maybe Bend.
The cost of living is less. I'd start fresh in a new city on my own terms versus being unexpectedly uprooted. People would know me only starting with my smile. It would test my sense of self in the largest possible way. Without social context and history that people construct of you over time, you're essentially a clean slate. Some artists are paralyzed by the blank page. I find it ripe with potential, bursting with possibility. In Oregon, I'd explore new trails and write in quaint corner coffee shops and make new friends with the locals and learn how to mountain bike. I'd have to be brave and adventurous and ask for help.
And yet I fundamentally knew what I'd be leaving behind. We are meant to have tribes, to be among people who've witnessed the undulations of our lives. Who know our stories. Walked us through devastation and helped resurrect us from the ashes. Who genuinely care for us. I have that here. I have my 'joy network,' as a friend aptly called it. My family. Triathletes to celebrate with after races who inquire about the details- what was my mantra? How did I feel exiting the swim? A guitarist who practices songs so we can perform at open mics together. A lovely writer friend who sips tea with me and meticulously combs through my work and gives me constructive feedback to make me better. PK, who cultivates curiosity and celebrates my small wins- when I was finally able to meditate longer than five minutes and stopped eating processed lunchmeat- and who teaches me how to move through this world by her own example. My friend who climbs rocks with me and listens to my endless stream of consciousness ideas and challenges me to read science fiction. It's true. No single person can possibly fulfill all of these multi-faceted parts of our lives that make us feel seen and heard and understood. We need a network. A joy network. So what makes someone just abandon their existing tribe to leave and start from scratch?
All of this was swarming in my head. The desire to have novelty in my life, mixed with adventure. Torn between having the luxury of freedom and independence, yet aware of my desire for partnership. Later on in the day, my friend held my hand and looked into my confused eyes and said, "Oh, Julianne, you're already whole. You're spinning on an axis in a beautiful way, already complete. You're just looking for the perfect place to lay down your roots." I could only nod. I had no words.
I like this wishbone-shaped tree because it reminds me that we have agency over our lives. Wishbones rarely crack in your favor. Wishes are good for birthday candles. But for my life, I want to make conscious, deliberate and well-planned choices. Thrive and stretch towards the sun. Put my roots down in fertile soil and trust they'll firmly intertwine with my joy network, wherever that may be.
Keep Exploring.
“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”
Russian Gulch State Park, Mendocino.
Glass Beach.
Glass Beach, Fort Bragg
Glass Beach offers a visual reminder of how some art can only be created through the transformational process of breaking. I watch kids and adults alike, hunched over, sifting through the sand and searching for pieces of colorful broken glass. Radiant shards illuminate the sun and woo people towards them.
The most beautiful and whole-hearted individuals I know are those whose lives have been shattered in some shape or form. The difficult times we fear will destroy us are very often the ones that break us open and allow us to redefine who we were meant to be.
I am drawn to these people. They have known loss and tragedy and have a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. I want to pick them out from the plethora of grey rocks. Hold them in my hand. Admire their beauty.
The Journey.
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 stones.
But little by little,
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.
-Mary Oliver
Look Around.
“If, then, I were asked for the most important advice I could give, that which I considered to be the most useful to the men of our century, I should simply say: in the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.”
China Rock, Monterey
Putting the Pieces Together.
Everytime I run Marin Headlands, I explore a different trail. Today, I ran farther than anticipated. I panicked when I realized that an out-and-back would be 20 miles. My only option was to piece together past trail runs and figure out a way to loop back to my car. I was on unfamiliar terrain when I spotted a group of kids and their hike leader.
"How far to Miwok trail?" I gasped.
"Just around the corner," he answered.
The kids gave me a line of high-fives and cheered me on as I ran past them. Once I turned the corner, I recognized where I was. It was my "Aha!" moment of utter exhilaration and relief. It felt like my trail runs were now all scotch-taped together in a way that made perfect sense.
Rodeo Beach, Marin Headlands
Coastal Trail, Marin Headlands
I once heard about a novelist who approaches writing in a non-linear fashion. She doesn't write a book from start to finish. She writes independent scenes instead. Random. Unique. Inspired in that moment. Much later in her writing process, she prints them out and rearranges them like puzzle pieces and physically tapes all those sheets of paper together. The raw material for her storyline is literally held together by scotch tape. What a magical moment for her to sit cross-legged on the floor and witness months of labor come together in a synergistic way.
We go through life as though our experiences are independent events. That job. That relationship. That move. We should take the time to connect the dots, to sit on the floor with scissors and tape and piece together our narrative. Our story. In a way that feels meaningful and makes sense to us.
What we tell ourselves is largely self-constructed. You'll be overwhelmed with delight when you see the beauty in your own story arc for the first time. It's like getting high-fived by a whole line of kids as you run towards the sun.
The Importance of Margins.
"How are you?"
"Busy. Really busy."
We all know individuals who repeatedly respond with this answer. Busy feels important. Busy means you have real duties and obligations you must tend to. Busy means you are needed.
I know, because I used to be one of those people. Running from task to task, checking things off "The List" continuously from 5am to 11pm fed the task-oriented hungry wolf inside. Simultaneously, it also starved creativity- the quiet little sheep that needed time to roam in the grass and soak in the sunshine, unhindered by Time and Obligation.
“A broad margin of leisure is as beautiful in a man’s life as in a book.”
Running clears my lungs and my mind. Logging the miles along the Coastal Trail this morning.
Deliberately creating space in your life to play is the catalyst for creativity. Ideas need room to breathe. The jam-packed To-Do list is seductive, but it also leaves little room for serendipity.
Took a break and climbed all the way to Pirates Cove to watch the waves.
I listened to an interview with Adam Grant, the author of Originals: How Non-Conformists Move the World. He mentions how procrastination may be the enemy of productivity, yet it also serves as a resource for creativity. When we are not actively engaged in a specific task, we can enter the flow state more readily and access a wealth of ideas. Build margins into your life. With the extra free time, listen to Adam Grant. Guard that space like your life depends on it. It does. And so does your creativity.