The name of this newsletter was inspired by the things that time after time come through to save me when I've lost myself: a song, a poem, and a good sing-cry in the car. I hope to continue powering each edition with inspiration from music, from poetry and from various forms of catharsis. Along the way, I’ll share what I find that helps me keep the thread (more on what I mean by that later). I hope that the words and practices help embolden you on your own truth-seeking, thread-keeping path.
A Song
The song was, "My Ego Dies at the End," by Jensen McRae who is only 25 years old, and one of those old souls who has managed to tap into something quietly universal. The first time I heard her song was thanks to the blessed algorithm of Spotify's Discover Weekly. I sobbed in my Honda Fit in the parking lot of Maddie’s day care before proceeding to play it on repeat for my entire drive home, and then all throughout the day and the next day.
It made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t in a while. (Like Rupi Kaur writes, “"What a relief / to discover that / the aches I thought / were mine alone / are also felt by / so many others”).
The lyrics reminded me of a dream I’d had a little over a year ago — a dream I’d been so moved by I’d taken it to my dream work course instructor Marci to help me decode it on a podcast. At the time, I knew the dream held a warning for me that my body didn’t have the capacity to heed, and thus…I didn’t. The last year, ever since my fall in the canyon, has been challenging in a quiet, frozen, wintry way. The dream remains, like Marci called it, an opportunity for a dress rehearsal. It’s a realm that I can access to develop the capacity that my physical body doesn’t yet have the intelligence or the conditioning to trust. In many ways, I feel like I’ve betrayed the guidance this dream sought to offer me.
Translation? I have a vision for my life in which I get to help people to learn and own their personal truth (which is really like saying just “the truth”), supported by movement and self-exploration practices.
This vision I have is one that is sharpening not through dreamy dreams, but through effort, trial-and-error, risk-taking and uncomfortable moments where I’ve had to market myself, and I’m proud of the progress I’ve made. I led over 60 people through courses and classes online from the summer of 2020 through the spring of 2022 with movement, meditation, journaling, yoga nidra and tarot sessions and I had an absolute blast. I know this helped people, too.
This work has value. But it’s an unconventional career path, one that is not quite supported by the current ~marketplace~ and building a sustainable income will take time. (Trust that even as I write this, a part of me is going, “Who told you that? And how much time? AND BE SPECIFIC.”).
Back in February, I accepted a very ship-like job, the first full-time job with normal ass benefits I’d taken in a couple of years. The great thing about this transition point was that I had somewhat of a map to ground my decision-making in the form of a vision board I created on Notion. This isn’t your typical vision board with photos cut out of magazines (although I love those too), but it’s more tactical and for me is more like a manual for decision-making. It reminds me of my values and my beliefs, and it allows me to come back to a center when the influence of others’ or the culture broadly becomes incredibly loud. I created it one week in February 2021 while living in a house in Benson, AZ with a reiki healer whose book shelves were stacked with Tarot decks as snow fell around, blanketing the prickly pears and knocking out stable Internet connection. There was an isolation, a stillness and a quietude it afforded me and I’m so grateful that I captured it at that moment.
Sometimes the conditions of our life don’t allow us to access the wise parts of ourself. So instead of looking at a job offer, I came to the board. And it felt like having offline Google maps — finding directions through a town whose streets I’d downloaded back when I had the connection, even though months later I didn’t have the same connection anymore. Fast forward to today, and I’m working on a campaign that’s built upon a provocative writing prompt for people who face medical bias and stigma. It’s been rewarding and meaningful work, and I credit this to the diligence I took in my decision-making, and my vow to honor my values.
In the spring, I set out to manifest a specific part of my vision: the floppy-eared dog. I welcomed home a yellow lab puppy and named her Madera after the canyon where I fell while alone because I’m a sucker for redemptive poetic gestures. She goes by Maddie and ya’ll: she’s so much work. 😂 One day soon I’ll have a story or two to tell about this season of life but truly I can now finally understand when parents say things like, nah, we are just surviving, give them the iPad so I can complete one full actual human thought. This past summer was puppy season and I just resigned myself to it. I barely wrote. I cried sometimes. My cycle got all fucked up by the stress. I did it all by myself while working full-time. You’ve heard of maternity leave. I was on puppy leave.
We are emerging to a state of existence that feels manageable and part of that is that I’m learning to ask for help. I also started a new writing class that meets in-person (exciting). Slowly, I’m coming back to the page. Soon, I’ll be returning to teaching movement classes — stay tuned!
I returned to this newsletter format because I’ve found it leads me to a kind of laid-bare style of writing, and I don’t have much interest in anything other than getting at the truth. Of all the feedback I have ever gotten from readers in the past 8 years of writing Om Weekly, the most complimentary were replies from people pondering new questions they were prompted to ask themselves. That’s why I do it. That’s why I’m here, broadly speaking.
This life season taught me one thing: when I stop writing, I start lying to myself. My brain has no choice but to revert to old stories and false stories and other’s stories. Even the “pre-downloaded map” of my vision board felt more difficult to follow or trust. That’s when I lose myself and the thread.
I always lose it when I stop writing because writing isn't something I have to do for a living, but it's something I do to feel like I'm living: I’m the walking dead, a mere husk of my former self. Friends and people around me know it. They’ll start saying things apropo of nothing like, hang in there and, are you OK? and [inset meme] love you!
When I got the break I needed, that’s when I heard the song.
A Poem
On approximately the fiftieth listen, I started to get curious about one particular word: thread. Where had I heard a word like that before? And then it came to me, the poem by William Stafford called, "The Way It Is."
If you're unfamiliar with this poem, here it is in full:
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
Evidently, back in December 2020 this poem struck me because I had emailed it to myself. When I found it again, it granted me the permission to reach back out for the thread. I love how the poem is not so much an invitation, but is instead an observation: “While you hold it you can’t get lost.” As though by magic, just by reading it, it is true. I love poetry for its deep truth.
My purpose with this newsletter is to hold the spirit of this poem, that we are all following our own secret, messy thread that no one but us can see or understand. I know sometimes we lose it, but I want to remind you that it doesn’t matter who sees or understands your thread — you must keep it nonetheless. You can keep the thread through ritual, through practices, writing, movement, or something as simple as lighting a candle from 8 to 9pm and turning down the lights.
We have so many distractions in this world that fray the edges of our thread, that tangle us up in others’ threads. It is not our job to explain the thread, but we should do our best to keep it.
A Question
One of my favorite sentences in the universe is five words long and was written by Cheryl Strayed: “Ask better questions, sweet pea.” (The rest of the line goes: “…The fuck is your life. Answer it.”) A good question is sometimes really all you need, especially if you are really in your head, or don’t have a good song, poem or parking lot to cry in.
The question I would pose to you today is:
How do you keep the thread?
Upcoming Intentional New Year’s Retreat
An exciting update: I’m leading an intentional yoga retreat on New Year’s Eve weekend in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western Maryland! I’m hosting it with my dear friend and life coach Catherine Andrews, and it will be our third retreat we’ve hosted together — and something tells me it will be a special one. Think: cozy fireplace, surrounded by trees in a cabin, in the company of like-hearted women, doing Tarot, doing nourishing yoga practices and enjoying wholesome meals. We think there’s probably not a better way on the planet to start your new year. If you want to take time to “download” the “offline map” of your vision for the year ahead, this will be that time. We hope to see you there.
Post-Script
While I was writing this last week, the southwest region of Florida was hit by Category 4 hurricane Ian, devastating the town of Englewood where my mom and dad have lived for 13 years. My parents rode out the worst of the storm in the “safe room” of a closet and are gratefully safe. There is not much left of their beloved town, nor many of the surrounding areas. As of yesterday power returned, and as of today, about half-pressure of running water they have to boil. My parents and their neighbors are bringing food to one another and doing what they can. But the aftermath of a hurricane at this scale is awful, and it will likely be a slow road to recovery. Some have lost their lives, and others have lost nearly everything but. Please keep the people of Florida in your thoughts. United Way is raising recovery funds if you wish to support financially for those without the means.