THIS WILD + PRECIOUS LIFE
As we officially make the transition to fall, I have been reflecting back on the past season with gratitude and amazement. Most of my biggest and best moments of summer were kinda scary.
Leaving my full-time job to pursue my business
Leading my very first weekend yoga + adventure retreat
Crashing my motorcycle on the North Shore
Jumping off riverside cliffs and whitewater rafting with some amazing women
….and one more little thing to be revealed soon (no, I am not pregnant)
You know what, though? These scary things became the best things.
If we stay inside our comfort zone that is what we will experience - Comfort. Familiarity. Repetition. Stagnation. And that might be okay, for a while. Until it’s not. Yes, taking risks can be scary, unpredictable, and uncomfortable. Risks can give you knots in your stomach, lumps in your throat, and scrapes on your knees. But when you are able to step past the fear, the questioning, the uncertainty; risks most often lead to some incredible rewards. When you are able to listen to the calling of your heart instead of the voices in your head, you will find your most wild and beautiful life is waiting for you.
What is your most wild and beautiful life? I have no idea, my friend. That’s just it. By listening to YOUR heart, by finding and accepting YOUR risks and challenges, you will walk closer each day to crafting YOUR best life. Uniquely yours. It doesn’t magically happen, you can’t wish it upon a star. It takes conscious choice upon conscious choice of looking within and stepping forward to be seen, to be heard, to be fully alive.
And it’s definitely not always easy.
This spring, I said goodbye to a job that I thought I would be in for a much longer time. A job I loved. Yet my heart was telling me that I had started a business for a reason. That connecting people to yoga and the outdoors, helping them connect to themselves, was not a side gig to be pursued with spare time. It was a calling that I needed to follow, to grasp with both hands + go all in on. And so, I leapt.
In June, I led my very first weekend retreat, a dream I’ve had since I completed my teacher training in early 2017. As the date crept closer, the registration list grew longer, and my trepidation showed up louder and louder. Who was I to be leading this group? What if everyone knew more than me? What if they hated it? What if it poured all weekend? Let me tell you, our inner critic knows when to show up and play ball. Finally, the day came. I was stressed - trying to fit meals into coolers and load kayaks into truck beds - missing paddles and lacking space. When I left my house, I cried. What if….
I pulled into the campsite a few hours before guests were to arrive, and got to work. Luckily, I had an amazing support team there to help me. I settled. I looked around this space and knew it would be okay. And guess what? It was more than okay. It was one of the most amazing weekends of my life. This group of women, who began the weekend not knowing each other at all, quickly became a tribe of friends exploring the woods and their inner selves. It was beautiful. One participant even commented “this weekend re-awakened my soul”. Wow. On Sunday morning, the tents were packed up, the fire put out, and the cars rolled home. I sat, alone at the campsite we had shared. I settled. When I looked around, I cried. What if…..I had said no? What if…..I had let those negative voices control my experience? And so, I learned.
In July, my husband and I planned a camping trip along the North Shore of Lake Superior, a few hours from our home. We packed up our gear, our two puppies, and our two motorcycles, and hit the road. On the first day, we scouted some trails for my second weekend retreat to be held later in the summer. Day two took us further up-shore to the town of Two Harbors, where we parked the truck and rolled out the bikes for an afternoon of exploring along Highway 61, the North Shore Scenic Drive. Our goal was Grand Marais, a small but popular tourist town just 40 miles from the Canadian border. The ride up was beautiful, the weather calm, the traffic light. We stopped at a roadside waterfall before winding our way to our destination. We slowed as we approached downtown, the bustle of visitors apparent. It happened as it always does, when you least expect it. It wasn’t while leaning tight around a curve or while on a dirt road with heavy animal traffic. I can’t exactly tell you the order of events that happened, things like this tend to get fuzzy - but I can tell you that bright orange pedestrian flags are just a bad idea. Luckily, I was probably only going about 15 miles an hour when the car in front of us slammed on their brakes as someone stepped out right in front of them. Yes, I know pedestrians have the right away, but this group did not even pause before walking into the road. I panicked and grabbed my front brake - oops. My back tire slid out from under me. Apparently it was loud, I don’t recall. I was on the ground. Pain shot through my hand and scorched through my left leg. My bike was laying in the middle of the road - traffic stopped. The pedestrians, well, they kept walking. I stood up to assess the damage on my body. Phew, I could stand. A scraped hand, badly cut knee, and ripped jeans. I was lucky. My husband and another man on a motorcycle not far behind us got my bike to the side of the road. Assessment - a scraped brake handle, a broken windshield clip, and ripped saddlebags. I was lucky. Many say that riding a motorcycle is dangerous, or irresponsible. Yes, it’s a risk. It’s one I will gladly take every day for the sense of freedom, empowerment, and connection to self that I feel when I am riding with the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, and the world flying by me. Scraped knees and all. Now, my husband was raised on tough love, and while I obviously had two options here, he only presented one. Get back on the bike, we can’t stay on the side of the road. Deep breath. I had fallen off a bike before, albeit a self-propelled mountain bike, and I knew the same principle applied. If I didn’t get on now, I wouldn’t. So I got on, got a well-deserved beer (just one), and I rode the 80 miles back to our campsite. While I rode, I settled. I cried. I made it back, and my bike did too. And so, I conquered.
In August, I set out for my second weekend retreat. This time, we would be in an area with no cell service and spread out in several campsites tucked next to each other. My guests arrived with a sense of adventure and excitement - the main activity for this retreat would be whitewater rafting on the St. Croix River the following day. I had asked a photographer friend to join our journey and capture our adventure, and she was set to arrive early Saturday morning. We rose with the sun and began our morning sit spot meditation. She must be running late, I thought. We sat down for breakfast. Something must have happened, I thought. With no connection to the outside world, I began to worry. Luckily, when leaving on a group hike, I found a spot of internet near the ranger station. Her daughter was really sick and had been up all night - she wouldn’t make it. Relief. Mixed with frustration. I had told everyone to keep their phones away because there was a photographer coming! The inner voices. They’ll be mad. They’ll all be on their phones now. They’ll want money back. Deep breath. I approached the group and let them know the situation. “Okay”, they responded simply, and we went on our way.
My personality lends itself to planning and control of a situation. In this moment, it was out of my control. I had a choice to remain in frustration or move forward with the day. I may have been the leader for the weekend, but in this moment, I had to follow the lead of my group. It’s okay. We eventually landed at our lunch spot and enjoyed a break from the trail. The small cliffs along the river provided a nice vista, as well as a nice spot to jump in. Having seen others jump here before, I knew while not necessarily recommended, it was fairly safe. Scary - but pretty safe. I expected a few others to follow me into the water, and they did. I did NOT expect my sister to follow, but she did. Holy shit, I thought as she jumped. My sister is an amazing human, but we are different in many ways. My sister does not jump off cliffs. She was scared as hell that day, but she did it. Not for me, not for anyone else standing by. She did it for herself, and I was so proud. We all like to think we have control, right? That we can fully anticipate and prepare for an exact outcome we seek. Whether that be safety, success, love, etc. But sometimes, we need to just lean in to what is presented, to the things life throws at us. We continued that lesson as we paddled along the river that night, working as a team to lean in to the rapids and power up to flow past them. Despite anxiety and fears, we all made it down the river that night. And so, I let go, and flowed.
My experiences this summer all held an element of fear within them, but I didn’t let that fear guide me. I chose, each and every time, to take fear by the hand and say “it’s okay, we can do this”. Through the recognition of fear as the boundary of my comfort zone, I learned not to step over it, or kick it to the side, but to gently guide it forward, expanding my boundaries step by step. I leapt, I learned, I conquered, I let go. I settled. Not into a life of comfort - but of settling into the discomfort required when looking within and stepping forward to be seen, to be heard, to be fully alive.
Are you ready to step into your most wild + beautiful life?
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