Lost + Found (Start Here)

Butterflies sparkling in the clouds

A few years ago, I had an adventure with a– shall we say– non-ordinary state of consciousness, where I experienced the world as so beautiful and clear, it rendered me speechless. This oddly wonderful felt sense continued long after the psychedelic journey ended. But after the euphoria of being so vibrantly alive faded, mild depression and a sense of listless waywardness came over me. I didn’t share this with anyone but my nearest and dearest.  From the outside, it probably looked like I just vanished. A writer with no words is invisible. 

Our biggest challenges are often our greatest teachers. 

It took time (much more than comfortable), but instead of giving up, I began to see this challenge as a creative constraint. If I couldn’t speak or write effectively, what else might be possible?

I didn’t know it that morning when I woke up unable to put a single descriptive sentence together, but that experience would be the catalyst for a career shift and a life shift in progress. Out of necessity, I started using my creativity differently: on canvas, in the kitchen, on my rollerskates. I bathed in forests and sketched leaves. I danced (again) at sunrise.  Over time, new air and light and life filled my lungs and my days. 

I felt called to learn the science behind how all this creative play was feeding my soul, so I went back to school.  Through expressive arts, I got reacquainted with parts of myself that I’d abandoned long ago. Gave extra love (and crayons!) to the wounded little girl within. Then I heeded a quiet whisper that believed if this experience was so healing for me, it also could be for others.

As a coach, I used to work almost exclusively with artists, helping them to get focused and launch their projects.  Today, I use an embodied creative process to help my (mostly non-artist) clients connect more deeply to themselves and their desires– with no creative background required.

This work is as playful as it is deep, and far more clarifying than just sitting and talking. For overthinkers especially, it’s kind of magical because we use a different part of the brain. Through art making and movement, we make the unconscious visible so we can work with what’s actually going on. Then we address blindspots and overcome obstacles through a process that is dynamic, playful and so freeing.  This unexpected career pivot is a synthesis of my favorite skills, and I’m so damn happy to have temporarily lost my voice so I could find this. 

You probably know the rest of the story. Eventually, I also found my words again. Well, actually, the words found me. Which is why I’m here in your inbox, sharing this with you now.

I’m so glad you’re here too. I look forward to playing with you more in this space. 

Instructions on Not Giving Up

By Poet Laureate Ada Limón

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out

of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s

almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving

their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate

sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees

that really gets to me. When all the shock of white

and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave

the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,

the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin

growing over whatever winter did to us, a return

to the strange idea of continuous living despite

the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,

I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf

unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.