Let not the desperate-sounding library titles, the pharmaceutical ads, and that woman fanning herself quietly in the corner of your favourite local cafe deter you: menopause is a rite of passage. But you would be forgiven if, when you hear the world...
Almost every rite of passage or radical transformation begins with a catalyzing moment or collection of moments that begin a chain reaction of awareness, awakening, and becoming. There were two catalyzing moments that I can distinctly remember that set...
Across time and culture, we have always turned to the earth to support us through rites of passage and other times of radical transformation in our lives. From wilderness quests to clarifying walks in the woods, the living world is our ally and midwife in the...
No matter how your life is changing right now, there is something that is happening underneath all of the external trappings of transformation – beneath the complexity of grief and joy, beneath the pragmatics of adjusting to newness – and it is shaping your...
Here we are. This month marks the beginning of the third year of the Covid-19 pandemic. For me – and maybe for you, too – it feels like I've lived three lifetimes since the day we realized this might be a Big Deal. Not unlike many of history's turning points,...
"I want to live more of my life in Authenti-CITY. Like, C-I-T-Y. City," my friend said to me as we sat across from one another in her sun-drenched living room. Immediately picturing a place filled with people wearing whatever the fuck they wanted and,...
In a whoosh of woodstove-warmed air, I stepped outside, my hiking boot crunching on crusted snow and the door creaking behind me as I pulled it closed. Winter dawn was breaking in the unassuming way it does, dark blue, and I moved with the habit of quiet...
Three weeks ago, I had an epiphany. It was one of those simple epiphanies, you know? The ones that seem a little obvious or that may already be living in your intellectual awareness, but that happen in a way that etch themselves on your heart....
The leaves of the Creeping Virginia vine that crawls along the trellised entrance to my home turned red early this year. Or so I thought. I had been able to mostly ignore the lash of cold dew across my bare toes as I walked outside to check on the garden that...