As our much-anticipated plans of summer arrive and manifest, may we hold the intention to pause. To pause as a practice of spaciousness, of savoring, and of presence. Pausing allows us to remember that life's moments are transient, and offers us an opportunity to hold keen awareness of the physical, emotional, mental, and energetic qualities of our now experience. These bright, long days of summer feel abundant on the waxing approach to Solstice, and let us relish the fullness of being alive and human. What is your favorite practice of pausing during the busy summer? I'd love to hear from you!

Winter and Spring have come and gone. During that time, there have been many endings, and just as many beginnings. The biggest news is that after 13 years of calling San Francisco home, I've uprooted myself, and am now in the process of re-rooting in Seattle, Washington. Seattle is gorgeous this time of year. The ever-changing sky, the profusion of flowers, the peekaboo mountains: each day, there is some sight that takes my breath away. There is an excitement and delightful novelty to being in a brand new place, starting over; everything is new again. And, there is a kind of fatigue that accompanies this degree of radical change. Transition is hard. It's easy to forget this while we hustle bustle to keep all the plates spinning. Our brains are hard wired to resist change because it takes more energy, and it becomes a conscious practice in and of itself to embrace it. Can we be gentle with ourselves while we are in the midst of change? While we are literally changing our brains and our bodies all the way down to the cellular level? How can we bring that gentleness into our daily lives, our relationships, our yoga practice? Self-care, mindful compassion, saying no, setting boundaries, love notes to yourself, movement, mantra, deep rest, deep breath, eating well, and seeking those things that feed your soul... all are ways to rejuvenate and keep us thriving in the midst of change. What ways do you find helpful? I'd love to hear them!

So, yes... Life is happening. As it does. The yin and the yang, the highs and the lows, the dark and the light. Always moving. A month such as this reminds me (again!) of how life's flow is like the ocean's waves and tides.

I have not turned away from this month's lessons. I have sat with them on the mat, on the cushion, in front of the class, on airplanes, in hotels, in conversation, and at the dinner table. When we are stretched by life's shifts, we also then have the choice to reach (and shift ourselves). Reach out for the net of support around us. Reach out for new information. Reach out for help. For the outstretched hand. For the next step forward. For the loan. For the hug. For the kindness of others. For new ways of self care, when the old ways may not be as effective today as they were yesterday.

I sit here at my keyboard, both exhilarated and exhausted having just finished a six day teacher training intensive. This training marked the final module for application for my 500-hour certification. Every training has been a mirror, and this past week was no different. The community, my practice, and my teachers' wisdom reflect back onto me: my own shadows and light, my gaps in knowledge and internal truths, my stuck places and my open spaces. It is a profound blessing to be doing this work, and it is not always easy. With each training, I deepen my practice of, my consciousness around, and my relationship with yoga.

Transition. The pull toward change has been quite strong this year. Many of you are experiencing it, too; I know because you've shared with me. You've shared: pregnancy, birth, new schools, graduation, marriage, divorce, death, goals met, new goals set, promotions, new jobs, moves across the country, moves across the street, breaking up, breaking down, breaking out, letting go, diagnoses, prognoses, completing treatment, elections, raging wild fires, unusual weather patterns, and on it goes. Movement. Upheaval. Renewal. Transitions, all. It is time to turn the page, set a new horizon, break new ground, move mountains, ford streams, create a new habit, connect a new dot, try out those new walking shoes and step off the beaten path. Be compassionate, to yourself and others: the richness of these times is often evident only in hindsight. But the value is t/here; for these are the times of the most verdant soul growth. These are the times that shape the next step in your unique journey. These are the times that forge the next contour in this incredible human being that you are... and are always becoming. Some transitions may be joyous. And, sometimes they may feel dark, desperate, or desolate. No matter where you are at in the process, there are ways to seek and find peace, acceptance, and grace in your present moment.

So much has beautifully unfurled since I last reached out to all of you... Summer's solstice sun peaked, and the slow, steady pendulum of light has already begun its journey back toward winter's long nights. The Independence Day full moon found me nestled in the beautiful, secluded valley of Tassajara, assisting my teacher, mentor, and friend, Britt Fohrman, at her annual Restorative Yoga & Zen retreat. I celebrated a rich and delight-full 41st birthday with loved ones, near and far. I cherished teaching 25 yoga classes across this stunning city.

Just after sending May's newsletter, I was lucky enough to attend Rod Stryker's Four Desires training here in San Francisco. The 3-day training was rather perfectly intense: an incredibly rich container for deeper self-awareness, a sacred space to dig in to my limiting beliefs, and a fun workshop for seeking the areas ripe for growth in my life... all around the idea of living my dharma (life purpose). I recognized a strong need for more kama (pleasure) and lila (play) in my own daily life, my relationships, and my yoga practice.

I've just returned from a solo mini-retreat in the foothills of the Sierras. My daily meditation could extend as long as I wished to sit, lively birdsong and buzzing of hummingbird wings as my soundtrack. (I'd forgotten how loud hummingbirds can be!) My asana practiced beneath lush, fragrant wisteria, while my sweet, old dog wandered happily in the long grasses. I swung in the hammock for unknown amounts of luxurious time, doing "nothing". The air, the earth, the wind, the coyote howls, the Milky Way: I felt exquisitely altered on a cellular level. The whole day became my practice. This was an intentional space for solitude, a container for peace, a necessity for well-being. I went with the purpose of listening for my heart wisdom, which has felt drowned out lately by the din of my city's cacophony.

March has come and gone without a peep from me in this form of a newsletter. Not because I've had nothing to share, but because the full days and nights of March left me little room to write. Now April has settled upon us, light and fresh, and last night's red lunar eclipse was a sort of ushering in of these new days of Spring. I've been thinking and meditating about renewal lately, specifically after the winter, the fallow period, the dark days. Seasonally, it seems to happen almost on its own, if I'm listening. I notice that I am craving and seeking the warmth of sunshine on my skin, quiet time in nature, and more active physical movement.

One of the most powerful things I've ever done was to begin a gratitude journal. What was originally an assignment from a life coach, has become a small, but mighty, commitment to honoring the good in my life, every single day. (Even the hard ones.) And as neuroscience has evolved, we now know empirically that genuine and conscious gratitude directly results in improved health, goodwill, relationships, and happiness. So this month, as we approach our national holiday honoring gratitude, I invite each of you to acknowledge the beauty and good in your life. Start a gratitude tradition. Make a "thankful tree" for everyone to decorate. Share your "roses" and "thorns" around the dinner table. Write a letter. Simply tell someone in your life something you appreciate about them. Or maybe begin a gratitude journal of your own.