I know the difference these days between feeling alone and feeling lonely.  Alone can be spacious. But the lonely? Nobody else can really fill that, nor should they.

I tend to think that I'm often alone in this world. (OK, hold on—if you're a dear friend of mine, I know that I'm not. But the little kid and teenager in me is far stronger some days than the adult who has built a life with amazing friends and a sweet, small family.)

Oh and for the most part, I think most humans are the right people for this work.

And I realized: if I ever seem distracted when I'm in conversation with you, I'm most likely thinking of my family.

My closest friendships these days have very little if any drama—we have emotion but we do not have drama. We address any discomfort in a nanosecond or nanoday depending on our will for confrontation.

There's a particular kind of heartbreak that comes with loving people through our differences - not the small ones, like do you drink coffee or tea, do you push up the sun or stare at the moon, but the deep, values-level differences that make you wonder if you're even living in the same world anymore

Last week, my oldest son came home for a visit. While being on his own (kind of) he asks for a lot less.

In the quiet aftermath of that loss, I found myself thinking about all the forehead kisses that would never come—gentle reminders of connection that had always been our special language of love.

I began a new day job a few weeks ago, and the stories are already writing themselves.

Over the weekend, in a voice memo conversation with a dear friend—a sister to me in this life—she mentioned that her soul is tired.

Life isn't often easy. But in finding what truly resonates – not what we think should resonate – there is a different kind of peace.

Just returning from vacation with my sweet family of four. It takes me a while to settle into vacation. Partly the self-employed gig (insert well-loved hustle) and I think also an unsettledness to letting go of the normal routine of everyday life.

I've spent years sharing my journey - the grief, the joy, the in-between places where most of life happens. I'm able to share in a way that is deeper than some I know. But there are even deeper parts I keep hidden. Locked away. An old survival trick for me that doesn't serve me so much. It lets me be just enough vulnerable. But not so much I risk anything.

This morning in my yoga class, I spoke about waking up with heartbeats and breath—the not-so-little things. I guided my students toward santosha—that beautiful Sanskrit term for contentment that's etched not just in my practice, but quite literally on my wrist. The tattoo serves as a daily reminder that contentment isn't something we chase after or achieve, but rather a quality we cultivate by noticing what's already here.

Sometimes offering a soft place to land it starts with a smile. Sometimes it starts with a thank you to a stranger. Sometimes it’s a yoga class, and letting people know that they are loved, sacred and needed on this earth. Not in spite of anything, but because of everything. They are everything – they offer all their thoughts, all their energy, all the messy, all the good, all the bad.

I have been noticing new friendships blossom and sweet check-ins with others. I have been counting the wake-ups until I join a dear friend and ex-pat in Mexico for a week or more. All this in the midst of terrible news and heart-wrenching current events.

I think about how important it is for humans to be included and belong. Sometimes, we find we belong in friendships and communities long before we realize we belong to ourselves. Some of us need to see and feel what being cared for is like before we can introduce it. The adage "You can't love another until you love yourself." I call bullshit (one of my late father's favorite words) on this. I have learned tenderness with myself from some of my most sacred friendships. I have learned to show up for myself and be a soft place to land in dark moments, craving someone else to pick up the pieces. I learned to pick myself up off the floor after being picked up, but loving others.

When a friend does know me well and I am surprised by a recent observation, I feel a few things, loved, seen and also terrified if just for a moment. At times I still want to jump in a bunker after admitting an emotion or a past mistake, perhaps admitting I do not know or that I may feel paralyzed in a moment over a decision.  Yet, those who have walked with me and stayed by me I am forever grateful.  

Midnight Blue

Mexican hot chocolate

Leopard print in moderation

Being able to remember my Dads voice, even though it has been 12 years

Giggles  I hear from the children who live next door

That really soft part of a horses nose

Balancing 1/2 Moon

The relationship with my mother we continue to learn and heal