As a close human observer for many decades, I've watched people (and thus, families) collapse on themselves in a myriad of ways, and for every good reason. I've also witnessed incredible recovery, resilience, and regeneration. I am an absolute fan of life's design, which naturally orients toward well-being when needs are being met. So then, in a society of suffering, what do we need?
Each of us must answer that question for ourselves. Anything a person deeply believes in can be an agent for positive change. Maybe you love to sing, and it helps lift the mood during times of stress. Maybe you cook nourishing food for the bellies you adore, and it fills you with purpose. Maybe you start gardening, and it plugs you back into the rhythm of the seasons. Maybe you place faith, like a precious mineral, into the hands of a benevolent force. Whatever has the capacity to connect you to the living moment, which is to say, whatever invites your entire being (mind-body-spirit-microbes) out to play, is the thing to do on a regular basis. Happy people take better care of each other.
Over the years, I found saving grace in direct connection with nature, journaling, free-form dance, social and educational activism, poetry, and warm hugs. But my number-one lifesaver, the thing that opens the trap doors so fear, grief, trauma, and the-exhaustion-of-holding-it-all can ooze out of my cells like honey? The handpan drum.
2018: It was love at first touch. I had been deep in the wellness industry for more than a decade--teaching yoga and meditation, designing programs, writing content, and helping to launch everything from local farms and community projects to an award-winning student wellness center at UCSD. Now I was mother to young children in a single-family dwelling. Partner rarely home. Constantly overwhelmed. Imagine trying to get yourself plus a nursing baby and a toddler out the door, precisely on time, lunches packed, five days a week, just to teach a yoga class, just to keep a little sanity. In the midst of it all, I managed to attend a jam session in which several handpan drums were sitting around. I sat down in front of one: a beautiful metallic blue disc that looked like it came from another planet.
Something about the tones of the handpan resonated in my nervous system and brought me peace, no pressure. I started drumming every day. I also kept writing, and published a poetry workbook called Motherhood Express: 40 Questions for Newborn Moms. Tuning inward on a regular basis helped me steer from my gut, which seemed to be saying, "Live as though all life depends on it."
COVID was the exit ramp I had been waiting for. I consolidated my belongings and left the city, settling with my kids (aged 3 and 5, at the time) into a tent on a remote mountain farm. Continuing to drum, I re-calibrated myself to the wilderness, worked in the garden, walked in the woods, cared for goats and chickens, and picked up rocks. I published another book, Willing to Work Forward: a collection of poetry and prose. I contemplated: how many of our increasing ailments--from the mental health crisis, to addiction of every kind, to chronic disease--emerge not from any individual failure to thrive, but from a systems-wide disconnect? We are designed for life on earth. We are designed to drum and dance and sing our way, together, through time. Music, movement, rhythm. The sound of our collective voices. Doing what matters most for everyone involved, while fully-expressed in all personal dimensions.
After more than a year off-grid, I returned to San Diego, ready to build a new kind of nest for my family.
In addition to freelance content writing, website development, and creative literacy workshops, I offer handpan sound and vocal elements for private sessions, events and ceremonies. I have a particular interest in the portals of birth and death, and a preference for word of mouth.
Each of us must answer that question for ourselves. Anything a person deeply believes in can be an agent for positive change. Maybe you love to sing, and it helps lift the mood during times of stress. Maybe you cook nourishing food for the bellies you adore, and it fills you with purpose. Maybe you start gardening, and it plugs you back into the rhythm of the seasons. Maybe you place faith, like a precious mineral, into the hands of a benevolent force. Whatever has the capacity to connect you to the living moment, which is to say, whatever invites your entire being (mind-body-spirit-microbes) out to play, is the thing to do on a regular basis. Happy people take better care of each other.
Over the years, I found saving grace in direct connection with nature, journaling, free-form dance, social and educational activism, poetry, and warm hugs. But my number-one lifesaver, the thing that opens the trap doors so fear, grief, trauma, and the-exhaustion-of-holding-it-all can ooze out of my cells like honey? The handpan drum.
2018: It was love at first touch. I had been deep in the wellness industry for more than a decade--teaching yoga and meditation, designing programs, writing content, and helping to launch everything from local farms and community projects to an award-winning student wellness center at UCSD. Now I was mother to young children in a single-family dwelling. Partner rarely home. Constantly overwhelmed. Imagine trying to get yourself plus a nursing baby and a toddler out the door, precisely on time, lunches packed, five days a week, just to teach a yoga class, just to keep a little sanity. In the midst of it all, I managed to attend a jam session in which several handpan drums were sitting around. I sat down in front of one: a beautiful metallic blue disc that looked like it came from another planet.
Something about the tones of the handpan resonated in my nervous system and brought me peace, no pressure. I started drumming every day. I also kept writing, and published a poetry workbook called Motherhood Express: 40 Questions for Newborn Moms. Tuning inward on a regular basis helped me steer from my gut, which seemed to be saying, "Live as though all life depends on it."
COVID was the exit ramp I had been waiting for. I consolidated my belongings and left the city, settling with my kids (aged 3 and 5, at the time) into a tent on a remote mountain farm. Continuing to drum, I re-calibrated myself to the wilderness, worked in the garden, walked in the woods, cared for goats and chickens, and picked up rocks. I published another book, Willing to Work Forward: a collection of poetry and prose. I contemplated: how many of our increasing ailments--from the mental health crisis, to addiction of every kind, to chronic disease--emerge not from any individual failure to thrive, but from a systems-wide disconnect? We are designed for life on earth. We are designed to drum and dance and sing our way, together, through time. Music, movement, rhythm. The sound of our collective voices. Doing what matters most for everyone involved, while fully-expressed in all personal dimensions.
After more than a year off-grid, I returned to San Diego, ready to build a new kind of nest for my family.
In addition to freelance content writing, website development, and creative literacy workshops, I offer handpan sound and vocal elements for private sessions, events and ceremonies. I have a particular interest in the portals of birth and death, and a preference for word of mouth.