When the Body Speaks, We Listen

"If the path before you is clear, you're probably on someone else's." Joseph Campbell

This past week felt like a pivot point. Not the kind that arrives with fireworks or certainty, but the quieter kind. The kind that asks you to slow down long enough to hear yourself clearly. Early one morning, I went for a walk with my dog and baby boy. The ground was wet, the birds were singing wildly and everything felt alive. Then suddenly, there he was, an owl sitting low on a log, staring directly at us. Still. Calm. Unmoving. It felt symbolic in a way I can't fully explain.

Later, I found myself reflecting on the timing of it all. The shoulder injury, again. This time during yoga class. The thing that once felt healing suddenly feeling like a message instead of a coincidence. And maybe that's the thing about life... eventually the whispers become impossible to ignore. For years, I've worn many hats: teacher, coach, leader, entrepreneur, space holder, event organizer, community builder. And while I'm deeply grateful for every piece of the path that brought me here, I'm beginning to realize that not every season is meant to be carried forever. Some roles are bridges. Some versions of ourselves are sacred because they got us here, not because we're meant to stay there forever.

Lately, I've been feeling a strong pull toward transition: less weekly classes, more workshops, more meaningful community engagement, more room for creativity, conversation, nature, motherhood, and building something bigger than myself through the WOW community. Maybe a podcast, maybe deeper gatherings, maybe the beginning steps toward creating an outdoor school someday. That dream feels both exciting and terrifying. The kind of dream that stretches your nervous system a little just by saying it out loud. But motherhood has changed the way I see the future.

With Eli here, I no longer want to build a life that only survives. I want to build one that breathes. One rooted in connection, curiosity, movement, nature, emotional intelligence and community. A life where children are allowed to stay close to wonder for a little longer. And the truth is... I can feel how heavy the "too many hats" lifestyle has become. I've carried a lot on my shoulders for a long time. Ironically, my body has been telling me this long before my mind was ready to listen.

This season feels like an invitation to simplify. To create more spaciousness. To trust that slowing down is not the same thing as falling behind. The new moon arriving this week feels symbolic too, a reminder that beginnings often happen quietly underground before anything visible blooms. There's grief in letting go of identities that once felt important. There's fear in changing direction. There's uncertainty in trusting that if you create space, something aligned will meet you there.

But, I keep coming back to this belief: Where attention goes, energy flows. And where energy flow, abundance follows. Not always instantly. Not always financially at first. But energetically, spiritually, emotionally... yes. Right now, I'm allowing myself to dream differently. To explore new ways of serving. To create from alignment instead of obligation. To trust that the path forward may not look like the one behind me.

The owl didn't say anything that morning. He just sat there watching us quietly, as if to remind me that stillness can also be wisdom. And maybe that's the lesson I'm finally learning: not every next step has to be forced. Some are simply waiting for us to become quiet enough to see them.