This year has been chock-full of distraction, distancing, and drama. As it comes to a close, may you find yourself giving and receiving Presence. I believe this to be the most powerful and valuable gift we can give ourselves – and others.

Recently, something occurred to me for the first time: to hold Presence in any given moment, there is nothing I need. It is not doing a thing; it is not having a thing; I do not need to acquire / find / buy / know anything, or feel a certain way.

Do you remember that you are a miracle?

You are the manifestation of your ancestors' dreams. Ridiculously tiny mathematical odds led to exactly your person being exactly here and now, where you sit, breathe, and read these words.

I recently read that for you to be born from the past 12 generations you needed a total of 4,094 ancestors over the past 400 years. The probability of you existing at all comes out to nearly zero!

Take a moment to let that sink in.

Why do I bring this up? Because each of us alive today stands on the ragged edge of evolution, descended from a long line of change agents. It is a miraculous gift that we are here, now!

There is – and will continue to be – important, sea change work to do! This year has leveled up the wakeup call. I guarantee that your community and this planet needs YOU. And they need you healthy, vibrant, focused, and sustainable.

In service of this – our collective community wellbeing – I will keep shouting from the mountaintops: REST IS ESSENTIAL!!

Rest is a key survival skill of the 21st Century... and I've yet to meet anyone who doesn't need more of it. Rest is not just sleep (although sleep is necessary for a well-rested human). It's not just naps. It's not scrolling or screen time. It's not distraction. It is the opposite of distraction.

Have you noticed how easy it is to fixate on “what’s wrong”? Or that bad news makes more headlines than good news? Or that insults or slights stick in your craw more than praise? Our human brains are literally wired for something psychology researchers call “negativity bias”. This means we often remember traumatic experiences more vividly than positive ones, think about negative things more frequently than positive ones, perceive bad news as more truthful than good news (!!), and react more strongly to negative stimuli. The scientific theory is that this is an evolutionary function of our brain's constant need to frame all of life through its survival lens – it’s always trying to keep us safe from potential danger. Negativity bias can adversely skew how we think, respond, feel, and make decisions – from a place of fear and pessimism, rather than discernment and consideration.

There is much on my mind and in my heart these days, friends. Yours, too, I know. I hope that you and yours are finding love and support... and remembering how critical it is to take downtime. We have more to do. I am using my particular position of privilege in the world to listen, learn, watch, donate, collaborate, and last – but never least – to hold space for others listening, rest, and healing.

I've recently returned from a two-and-a-half week cross country road trip from Seattle to New Mexico, and back. I'd like to share one of the insights that came from witnessing breathtaking geological marvels formed by inconceivable eons of erosion, plate tectonics, and climate change: Everything is changing – all the time. Nothing is static, immutable, or forever – not even a mountain. There is slow, steady, imperceptible change; urgent, violent, disruptive change; change that comes without warning; change that simmers and hints, a long time coming; change that unfurls wondrous before our eyes.

I woke up today thinking "Yes, you can be grateful AND angry at the same time." Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that we have access to the entire wild spectrum of human experience at any given time... and that that fact can be both overwhelming AND a powerful tool for authentic connection. And that's where I'm at these days, my friends. Feeling all the feelings, combined with intermittent fatigue, overwhelm, and confusion, doing the best I can to take care of myself and others, as I ride this new world rollercoaster with all of you.

How are you? What are you doing to stay resilient? What have you given up? What have you gained? Are you taking naps? This is a remarkable time for our brains and bodies, and they need more rest because they're under stress and expending precious energy adapting to a new not-normal.

Whether you are working with renewed or expanded commitments keeping our communities safe and functional, honoring a stay-at-home order by limiting your normal actions, in quarantine, and/or home with your children trying to figure out how to home school — every one of us needs time dedicated to quieting our nervous system; keeping our immune system strong; connecting with our own body, heart, and mind; and refilling the inner well.

Summer skies and temperatures are pretty much perfection up here in the Pacific Northwest! The cherries, peaches, and pluots have been blowing my mind. I've managed to get out of the city and into the mountains backpacking for several long nourishing weekends. I've gone swimming in lakes, and even tried out SUP (Stand Up Paddle) boarding for the first time! And in the midst of all of this savoring joy and abundance, I've found it challenging to carve out actual rest time.

I've spent a lot of last past year letting go. Again. And creating space. Again. Renewal is always and constantly a process. It is non-linear, often iterative, adaptive, and seldom as simple as we'd like it to be. I could make, as many others have, a strong case that life is cyclical; an ebb and flow of opening and closing; of letting go and reaching out; recurring creation and destruction; of inhaling and exhaling. And with any and all forms of letting go, spaciousness, freedom, and the capacity for something new arises. For me, yoga and movement have been and continue to be a resource for being in mindful connection with and observation of this cycle within my own life.

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.