It’s green. It’s icky. It’s slimy and sneaky. It knocks us to the ground and makes it gosh darn impossible to stand back up without grasping or holding or reaching for something to fill the large hole. What is it you ask? Jealousy. Gosh darn jealousy. And here is one of my stories.

It was an old fashion standoff between my mother and me. The weather that day was pouring rain…like the kind of rain that chimes, zings and plops as it falls. My mother handed me a creased (fresh out of the wrapper), powder blue, floor length raincoat with a corduroy collar (think LLBean circa 1986). I took one look at her and one look at the raincoat and then starred straight into her eyes. “It’s not raining,” I said.

I’ve seen and felt trauma in all shapes and sizes. I actually never realized how small it can be. Small trauma is magnetic. It’s like the tiny snowball that gets pushed along and collects more and more snow until it forms a tight ball of snowy ice. Small trauma is a force to be reckoned with. It seeks out similar stories, invites them in and together they wreck havoc on our energetic selves.

One of my favorite spiritual teachers said to me, “just step aside Christine.” When she said this, I knew exactly what she was talking about. Just step aside, and let the universe work through you. Get out of my head and into my heart. This is no easy feet. Some days, the distance between my head and my heart seems way too long. Some days, there is way too much traffic. Today, however the road seems clear and so today, I step aside and write.

We can juggle many balls. We say, “we got this.” We say, “it’s fine.” We say, “I guess it’s meant to be.” We forgive, forget and move on. We do it, we do it, we do it. And then suddenly, we don’t do it any more. It is then and there the balls drop. It is then and there we stare at those colorful spheres and say “hunh?” And IF we want, it is then and there we invite presence in, we allow truth to rise, and we say “come on in” to that word vulnerability. It’s time to work its’ upmost scary magic.

Glennon Doyle said we can do hard things. I guess we can. Yesterday it happened twice within the same tender, fearful and unexpected moment.

Big question right? But honestly, if I could just muse for a moment…”How did we get here?” I’ve been sitting in this question for a few months now and, for me, it feels quite uncomfortable… like some days, I want to crawl out of my own skin. While we’ve all put our best foot forward to make subtle changes in the ways we think and live each day, we’ve also been slacking a little bit too. Sorry for my pessimism this morning it just sometimes hits me over the head and I exclaim out loud “Why haven’t we been better?”!!!

One of my favorite topics to talk about is school. In fact, it makes me giddy most of the time and frustrated as hell the other part. The giddiness lies in the possibility, while the frustration bristles at the question “What in the heck have we been doing?” We continue to educate in a broken system (bigger discussion for a different time) and my whole heart knows it is time to shift. As a quick aside and shout out… I know there are hundreds of brilliant teachers and schools already making these light-filled changes…thank you. THANK YOU.

Just. Start. Typing. Some days I so desperately want to just start typing and my mind spins a mile a minute around the WHAT. What in the heck do I type? Perhaps you’ve gathered a bit about me already, but I do have a lot to say. I am a feeler. I am a lover. I have places to go, things I want to do and yet…. blank.

This morning, while on my run, I passed a close acquaintance. I said good morning, called her by her name and was greeted by a rather peculiar look. She looked at me funny and said “Tine, its Sue.” I responded by saying “Yes, I know it’s you Sue. I said your name.” Anyway, what followed was a somewhat awkward exchange of words and I continued on.

Dear Readers,

I wanted to share with you my very first writing exploration into LOVE. I believe I wrote this in 2011. As a side note, this was also the time I started to face my fears of writing. I actually went as far as sending this piece into a magazine competition. No, I did not win but celebrated my own victory. Facing a fear.

Sound familiar? Yes, we’ve all probably mimicked or referenced this iconic scene from Karate Kid at one point or another in our adult-ish life. I know for me I’ve been excited to share this movie with Luke and Harley and even attempted to entice them with the preview over the past year or so. The problem with the preview is it doesn’t necessarily take your breath away.

In the past few years, I’ve intentionally started working with my intuition in order to help me unlock certain mysteries or blocks that live inside of me. One tool I use is to pay close attention to the pictures and symbols that appear in my space while drifting off to sleep. This is a really powerful experience.

My journey into spirituality has felt like a turbulent flight. Like really turbulent. And I hate flying. I think about this often ~ how can you feel so connected, so passionate, so inspired by a certain something and absolutely fear it at the same time? I know exactly where this fear comes from too. Actually, the fear stems from two different places and it’s time for me to let that go.

This morning I woke up and, metaphorically speaking, felt like I was trudging through sloppy, muddy sand with no particular direction or exact end point in sight. I don’t mean to bring the mode or energy down on this Monday morning but the number of times I’ve said “we will see” to my two hopeful children is starting to sound old and grumpy.

This morning I experienced the most delightful sound. It was the sound of a mix tape. And no, it was not the actual song awkwardly making its way through the sound waves and no I didn’t even have a tape cassette or actual tape near by. It was a song that echoed in my heart and in my mind. Some might call it nostalgia or a memory, I like to think of it as a simple gift from the heart.

I write from the heart. From a place that is always seeking and pondering the truth and today, I reflect on a pair of orange leggings. These orange leggings are more then orange leggings. They represent comfort, laziness, forgiveness and strength.

For me, education happens here. I know I’m speaking against the grain but I ‘m calling forth one of the many elephants in the room. The over-sized, slightly lost elephant simply looking to be loved and seen. I have to wonder, if this time at home will invite more of these questions forth. Are we doing it right? Are we educating from the heart or are we swimming against a system that is completely broken?

Humor is a powerful force. When we laugh, the energy around us shifts and can totally redirect what might have been a devastating situation into a more lighthearted moment. When hard things are heavy, they tend to stick with us on and within our physical bodies (picture a big black splat of paint thrown at your body). Conversely, when hard things are inserted with love or humor or compassion, our body redirects that black muck and we feel…well… lighter.

Something shifted in the past two days. Energetically there seemed to be a heaviness, a stillness that felt new. In this space I also felt an agitation that I hadn’t experienced yet. I wanted to explode out of my body and yell “no more!” My son, Luke, was expressing this as well. At the beginning of quarantine, he reminded me “I’m an out and about kind of guy.” He’s right. He’s a funny kind of extrovert/introvert. He’s in his glory out and about in the world, playing sports and moving through his daily routines. He feels safe in this space. They fill his cup.