Category Archives: Embracing Unknown

Connecting, Connection, Embracing Unknown, Life Experiences, writing

From Fracture to Fractal

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Us at The Haven

For me, Haven is where I learned how to be relational—and real. I was fractured.

It brought me back to love. To loving. To creating, exploring, playing, and growing.

Before Haven, I was conforming, restricting, editing myself. Judging, separating. 

I often felt like I didn’t fit in. 

At times, I thought I was better than others—at other times, worse. 

I believed I had to be right, professional, smart, thin, flashy—wise or brilliant. Either profound or spiritual. 

But I didn’t know love back then.

Haven gave me a path to show up as I truly am.

Through breathing, and sharing what was happening inside me—how I was putting my world together, mostly based on past experiences and survival. 

Old stories that scared me or made me angry. 

And slowly, I began to realize: those stories weren’t true. Maybe they were once—but who could say?

Truth became important, but I also discovered something else: 

If I didn’t have to be right or wrong, I could share my story like an artist shares a painting—expressing how I felt in relationship to the world around me. 

And in doing so, I’d often discover that others had similar stories, or their art could support mine.

That made the moment freer. 

It wasn’t about facts—it was about creating.

Through my inner world, I could choose what helped me grow—or what kept me defended—and share that too.

I learned that when I spoke from a defended place, I blocked out new information. 

Or if something did sneak through, I’d just file it into an old, familiar box. 

But when I was in a growth state, new ideas would shift my perspective. 

My inner world would weave and evolve—like mixing paints. 

And that was fun. It was play. It sparked new activity and possibility.

I also realized I needed to face my old stories, scars, and stuck emotions. 

Without attention, they festered—like emotional cancers—messy, painful, and toxic to relationships. 

So I kept going. The process is ongoing.

I’ve learned the best way to live is by developing my capacity to relate— 

To my inner world, 

To the present moment, 

To the people and the energy around me.

It starts with understanding how I construct my reality— 

How to loosen the rigid beliefs I cling to— 

How to stay open to new possibilities, beyond what my senses perceive.

It’s about making space for difference—for people who are different—for a world that is complex and ever-changing.

And the foundation of Haven is opening to that possibility.

As my Haven journey has unfolded, I’ve come to see that everyone takes their own path. 

At times, that’s been hard. 

I wanted to intern “right,” assist “right,” lead “right.” 

But, like life, it’s not that simple.

There is some structure. 

There are core values. 

But ultimately, it comes down to three things:

Being present. Being relational. Being self-responding.

Never fractured just living as fractals.

Connecting, Connection, Embracing Unknown, Faith

Maybe That’s God

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Religion is a fascinating thing.

There are over 10,000 religions in the world. Still, 77% of people align with one of the “big four”—Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, or Buddhism. Each of them offers something similar at the core: a belief in something greater, a sense of belonging, and a guide for how to live.

And yet, so many of the smaller, less visible religions—indigenous, tribal, local—carry just as much weight for the people who practice them. In those spaces, the divine may not be far away or up high, but instead right here—immanent, present in nature, in people, in the universe itself.

Religion is hard to define because it isn’t just about rituals or buildings or sacred texts. It’s about our relationship to what we call holy, sacred, divine. And that relationship has taken countless forms.

In the West, we’ve seen long periods where society shifted away from religion and spirituality altogether. Some believe that turn has left us more isolated, more self-centered, and more disconnected.

Then came the pandemic.

After COVID—after all the fear, separation, grief, and silence—it’s no surprise that people started returning to churches, fellowships, and spiritual communities. When the ground beneath you crumbles, you reach for something steady. Something ancient. Something you can believe in.

But here’s where I get stuck.

After COVID, I didn’t want “normal” back. I felt like the disruption was a call to change—deep, necessary change. But when I spoke with leaders, teams, and friends, I saw something else: a collective relief that we were returning to business as usual.

That crushed me.

It felt like all the grief we carried—individually and collectively—just got swept under the rug. We didn’t process it. We didn’t even really name it.

And then the world kept turning: 

The war in Ukraine. 

Gaza and Israel. 

Another U.S. election cycle that tore into what little unity we had left.

I don’t know how to fix any of this. 

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe we’re not meant to be “fixed.” 

Maybe we’re not broken—we’re just deeply divided, emotionally exhausted, and stuck in a culture of right/wrong, us/them, saved/damned.

We keep waiting for someone to save us. 

But no one is coming.

It’s not Trump’s fault. It’s not Biden’s. Not Musk’s. Not the GOP or the Democrats. 

It’s us. *We the people.*

Right now, people are turning back to religion as an answer. I understand that impulse. 

It can be a path out of separation. Out of loneliness. Out of despair.

But maybe we don’t need to return to an old religion. 

Maybe it’s time to create something new.

Something rooted in curiosity. 

In shared humanity. 

In a willingness to listen, rather than litigate.

What if we could ask each other: *What matters most to you?* 

And instead of debating or defending, we simply held space for each other’s answers?

What if we could agree—not on beliefs, but on behaviors that help us live together with dignity, empathy, and care?

Maybe we’ve been smart for a long time. 

But we’ve lost resilience. 

We’ve forgotten how to bend without breaking.

Maybe the path forward isn’t through politics or policy alone—but through people. 

Children could guide us. 

Nature could heal us. 

Elders could ground us.

What if we built something around that?

Something that didn’t require one definition of God—but honored the divine in many forms.

Maybe that’s what God is.

Communication, Connecting, Embracing Unknown, Voice, writing

Helpless and Held: Parasails, Politics & Paws: Day Three

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A swirl of moments—captured through free writes and Feldenkrais. This piece began with a reflection on the year: three events and some sensory explorations. I followed, unsure where it would lead.

Forty minutes later, I found a path—one that offered comfort and clarity in a time of deep chaos and pain.

The events: parasailing, Couples Alive II, and a crisis at home—threaded together by a political landscape spanning three countries. Two I call home. One I visit often.

It begins here:

I didn’t know if I’d be alone or with others. Just two Spanish-speaking men on a boat, a parasail, and me. No conversation—just gestures. A few motions to get me buckled and set. Sunscreen. Sunglasses. A nod. And then—release.

The rope pulled taut. The wind lifted me slowly, then all at once. Up. Up. Away. The boat shrank. The shore disappeared. The air held me like nothing else ever had.

I could sing up there. I could scream.
I did sing. I did scream.
Arms wide open. The wind caught me—tossed me, popped me forward and back.

In a plane, that would’ve terrified me.
But here, dangling from a sail—I felt free.

More than free. I felt possible.

There was a moment—I touched the clip. Thought about unhooking. Not out of fear, but out of desire.
A strange call to fly solo.
And also… a pull to stay.

Not for safety. But for the two men below.
I didn’t want to cause them trouble. That mattered.

That same push and pull—between rising and staying—echoes now.
Just weeks ago. Days before the election.
Up north with Couples.

The Haven. Safe. Then the call—ZuZu was hurt.
Far from home. But wrapped in something solid.
A circle of friends.
Steady eyes. Open arms.

My heart raced. My jaw clenched.
I tasted metal—but I wasn’t alone.
I felt helpless. But also held.

I watched CrisMarie pace the floor, phone to her ear.
The possibility of ZuZu gone.
Or our dogs separated.
The surgeon’s certainty: if she survives, they can’t be together.

Others spoke. Stories of dogs. Of grief. Of connection.
Pain, yes. But it was shared.
Held.

Helpless. And held.

While back home, ZuZu recovered.
Friends gathered. Held the fort.
Until we could return.

Now, I’m back in the U.S.
ZuZu curls in my lap. Rosie snug at my feet.
Everything back to normal.
Close. Safe. Cozy.

And yet—helplessness stirs again.

Not about the dogs this time.
It’s my country.
The headlines. The rage. The noise.

That same bitter taste in my mouth.
That same rising panic.

But no circle of friends here.
The Haven still exists—but distant now.
What surrounds me is the cluttered, chaotic hum of a nation at war with itself.

Still—I remember the parasail.
Mexico. The beach.

I remember the moment of lift.
Rising above the mess. Not to escape—but to see.

There is a way to be with terror without becoming it.
A way to hold chaos and not unclip.

I can scream. I can sing.
I can let go without falling.
I can remember the air. The sky.
The clarity that comes when I stop gripping so tight.

I don’t have to drown in the headlines.
Or disappear into helplessness.

There’s a space between it all.
A pause between breaths.
A widening above the noise.

I can carry that space with me.
Back down.

Because this is still home.
The weight of ZuZu. Rosie curled at my feet.

The dogs are here. My heart is here.
And maybe—if I remember the wind—
I don’t have to leave to feel free.

Communication, Connecting, Embracing Unknown, Leadership, Voice

Refusing To Hide: Finding Strength in MLK

How can I move forward and not hide.

I can—hide – because my life and liberty aren’t immediately threatened by today’s seizure of power.

But that doesn’t comfort me. It doesn’t erase the fear and pain my brothers and sisters are feeling.

I feel bile rising in my throat as I read the news from DC —I can’t even imagine hearing it spoken aloud.

What have we done?

I’ve been meditating daily, working through A Course in Miracles and following Dr. Joe’s teachings. But none of it feels like enough to carry me through this moment.

I want to move. I want to run. But not to hide.

I could hide. I could pretend that the deportations and disenfranchisement happening now are for the “greater good.” I could lie to myself, imagining that God sides with power and privilege—that Christ would support this madness.

But that’s not the truth. That’s not who we are, and I can’t betray what I know to be right. I can’t hide because I care.

I care about my brother, born to parents who crossed borders to give him a chance at life but are now being told they don’t belong.

I care about my sister, who might one day need an abortion to save her life—and the laws won’t protect her.

I care about this fragile planet that needs us to unite to save it.

I understand we have problems. I know the concerns of people in middle America are often overlooked or dismissed.

But Trump isn’t fighting for us. Maybe for himself and his allies—but not for us.

I’ve listened to his words today. There’s no humility. No heart. Just fear and division.

I hope I’m wrong—I’ve hoped that many times before. But time and again, he’s proven me right.

Tearing families apart and throwing people into detention camps isn’t justice. It’s cruelty. Ignoring the Constitution and appointing cronies to positions of power isn’t leadership—it’s dangerous.

And yet, here I am, unsure how to respond. That’s his greatest weapon—forcing us to react, to lash out in anger and fear.

But I won’t give in. Today, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I will remember his legacy.

I’ll stay nonviolent. I’ll hold my anguish close but let it drive me to action where I can have an impact and touch hearts.

I know I can not change minds with fury and force. But I hope I can reach hearts and that we can find strength again together.

I’ll refuse to hide.

Connecting, Embracing Unknown, Family, Life Experiences

Soul Searching With My Sisters

Wow, it’s already mid-January—2025 is flying by! It’s funny how time feels so relative. Some moments rush by, like this month, while other parts of my day feel timeless. For instance, this morning, I didn’t even glance at the clock until noon and was shocked at how quickly time had slipped away.

Recently, I attended an Enneagram workshop called Know Your Soul. I’ve dabbled in the Enneagram before and found it intriguing, though I never seem to get the same result twice. But this workshop stood out from the start. It was my sister Penny who invited me, and when I found out on one of our regular sister calls that Melissa had signed up too, I decided to join. The workshop was held in person at St. Mark’s in Seattle, with a virtual option that made it easy for me to attend.

One unique aspect of this workshop was the pre-work. We were asked to retake the Enneagram test but answer the questions as we would have between the ages of 20 and 35. That twist sparked my curiosity. Adding to the fun, we were also asked to bring a photo of ourselves as 4-year-olds. My sisters and I had a great time sharing our childhood pictures during our sister call.

The workshop itself was rich, informative, and deeply meaningful for my current journey of leaning into the unknown. Answering the test questions as my younger self was eye-opening. While my memory of that time isn’t perfect, the results felt more aligned than ever before. For the first time, I could see a pattern—one type consistently appeared in my top three: Type 5. That felt significant.

What struck me most was how the Enneagram isn’t a static label. It’s fluid, dynamic, and tied to our growth. The workshop leader, who had decades of experience, shared his own challenges with identifying his type. He framed the test as an “ego personality test” because our ego solidifies in that 20-35 age range. But then he introduced the concept of the Soul Enneagram—how our deeper essence evolves as we grow in consciousness, beyond ego. That perspective resonated deeply.

I began to embrace my Type 5 in a new way. The idea of being a “hoarder” of knowledge hit home, as did the fear of emptiness that drives my thirst for understanding. I also learned how I disintegrate under stress into Type 7’s escapism but integrate into Type 8’s grounded leadership when I’m at my best. It all felt like pieces of a puzzle clicking together.

One of the most profound moments of the weekend was a meditation designed to reconnect us with our childhood selves. We were guided to draw our childhood homes, including the yard and surrounding environment. Sharing these drawings with my sisters afterward sparked deep, meaningful conversations. Despite our vastly different experiences of our shared past, we found new ways to connect.

This workshop wasn’t just about understanding myself—it also opened the door to reimagining my relationship with my sisters. The history between us has often felt dense and difficult to navigate, but through this experience, I’ve started to see it as a source of energy and wisdom that can evolve.

I’m still processing and integrating everything I learned, but one thing is clear: embracing the unknown doesn’t mean abandoning what’s known. Instead, it’s about allowing the known to surface in new ways, reshaping it, and using it to grow. This workshop was a powerful step in that journey, and I’m excited to see where it leads.