Meredith Grey

So, do it. Decide.
Is this the life
you want to live?
Is this the person
you want to love?
Is this the best you can be?
Can you be stronger?
Kinder? More compassionate?
Breathe in.
Breathe out
and decide.


Pierluigi Cappello

My eyes turned to salt in looking back,
my thoughts stood still in gestures,
in the silence of what’s been done;
I gathered the crumbs of another lunch
and shook them into the garden’s vitreous air
where the sun’s just cracked and spilled.
Here, even a flutter of blackbird beyond the hedge
stands still, as my words stand still, like ships in bottles.
Your language is mine but mine is not yours.
At home, I could feel myself thinking
while the television glowed in shadow
and a film score spread like smoke in a saloon.
I keep to myself what it means to tend a fire,
the thick scent of soaked wood, a match between my fingers,
the way a day resides in what’s to do, in another light
split by the clouds, a different sunset tied to the tallest trees
flush in the eyes of houses, on the poor man’s livestock;
a touch here, a touch there — the way loneliness comes,
today, a day like this, one day more alone.

No Matter the Noise

With the weather as nice as it is, I’ve spent most of my free time practicing yoga outdoors. It can feel so freeing to move and breathe in the face of a sun setting. But it can also be intimidating to practice something so intimate in full sight of others.

Tonight, a group of guys walked by me as I practiced at Edgewater Park, overlooking Lake Erie at dawn. Though I never saw any of them, I heard them snicker in my direction: “What is this?” I heard one ask. “GAAAY!” Another responded. They erupted in laughter.

As they cackled, I happened into eka pada koundinyasana (pictured), the part of my flow I’d be working up to with various hip openers and core strengtheners. I balanced there for a while, deeply inhaling and exhaling. By my third breath, their laughter fell completely silent.

“Oh, shit,” one guy said. “Damn,” replied another with a tone of incredulity.

I jumped back to a vinyasa, and by the time I’d finished my flow and had the chance to look around, they’d already walked away.

I used to feel embarrassed by my yoga practice, often the only man in the studio at any given time. Tonight, I felt no shame, only strength and freedom. And, maybe, just maybe, doing my own thing–no matter the noise–helped those guys feel a little freer to be themselves, too.


Morning Poem

Mary Oliver

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches—
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead—
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging—

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted—

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.


Perfectionism — the art of believing there’s something at least a *little wrong* with everything — has gotten the better of me this week.

To honor this and the many other things I need to work on (lol), I thought I’d share this epic photobomb. As you can see, what I’d hoped would be a “perfect” photo is, well, not? Or, maybe it is. Maybe it’s perfect just like this.

Kinda funny either way 🙂

Is there something you’re having trouble letting go of this week? How can you breathe into the discomfort of imperfection and create space for authenticity?



Shelly's Dinner

A colleague retired this week after 20+ years with the foundation where I work. Since our office is now down two staff, I have absorbed most of her portfolio, even though I still feel so new to the job. Predictably, my insecurities have swelled, and this whole week I’ve felt deficient:

“I don’t know what I’m doing!” I’ve said to myself. “There won’t be enough hours in the day! I can’t possibly do this!”

Today, with 16 grant proposals in tow and a long weekend to chip away at the mountain of work, I decided to shift the narrative of deficiency toward one of abundance: “I am enough.”

If you’ve ever felt deficient — at work, in your relationships, or even with your yoga practice — maybe this week you could try focusing on a sense of abundance.

You are enough, just the way you are.