I am so proud of my sisters and this album. They are up for a Grammy for children's music.This song is about an octopus names Esperanza and so fun. I hope you enjoy ev3n if you don't have children! If you do download and sing with them. What are you listening to????????

Hey everyone — here's what fall looks like around here. Thursdays: the Weekly Dose Every Thursday I am committed to posting. Sometimes it'll include a video, sometimes a video lands on another day — but Thursday is the anchor. Wednesday: Community Practice Last year I tried Mondays and it was hard to be consistent. I am committed to Wednesday 8:30 PST for a community practice. This will include guided centering or some other practice that serves us. Throughout the week: whatever's on my mind I'll be posting as I think and feel, so expect me to show up between the Thursdays too. The soundtrack is back I love sharing music and I love looking for it, so this one is as much for me as it is for all of you. Please share what you're listening to. A community is always better when the community takes ownership of it — and I know that might not happen overnight, so I'm committing to 1–3 posts a week from me either way. First song today! Learning opportunities in the works We're curating offerings that will be worth your time for self-discovery or CEUs. Some fully independent, some with live sessions. I'll announce them as they evolve. Book club starts September 15 The first one is here at 8:00 AM PST. I'm excited to talk about this research and what it means both for us individually and for the work we do. It really has my mind going and I want to dig in together. One ask Drop a message in the community. Say hi. Even just a "hi, I hear you" — I'd love to know you're still out there.

Rooted community 🌿 I’ve been holding something with me since Saturday, and it feels like time to share it here. Saturday was my 56th birthday. I spent it in deep practice and community at the Strozzi Institute — that particular kind of immersion where the body is organized through rhythm and repetition, where you arrive as one version of yourself and leave as something slightly different. Somewhere in the middle of feeling into my commitment and my dignity, something landed in my body that I’m still learning how to hold: My time has come to be an elder. Let me say what I don’t mean. I don’t mean old. I’m not stepping out of vitality, or aliveness, or the rising energy of spring. I’m not handing in my badge or going quiet. What landed wasn’t an ending — it was a role. A different way of holding the work, the tale, and all the wisdom that’s been gathered over decades of practice, mistakes, returns, and refinement. Elder isn’t a stage of life. It’s a posture. A way of standing in the body and in the world that says: I have something to offer, and I no longer need to prove it. What I’m noticing is a shift in the quality of my pursuit. For most of my life, I’ve been chasing — chasing more capacity, more clarity, more credibility, more enough. There’s been beauty in that chase. It’s what built this work. But somewhere on Saturday, in practice, my body offered a different invitation: You’re allowed to slow the pursuit. You’re allowed to feel enough. That doesn’t mean stopping. It means a shift in posture. From striving to sharing. From accumulating to offering. From leading every charge to holding steady so others can take the helm. The work doesn’t need me to push harder. It needs me to stand here with what I’ve gathered — the tale, the practice, the long arc of return — and offer it. Within the Neuro-Somatic Integration™ Framework, Rooting (formally regulation, more on that change to come!) is the capacity to synthesize internal sensations, emotions, and thoughts with external cues — to hold complexity without collapsing and while staying connected to ground. Elder energy, as I’m feeling into it, is rooting in its most mature form: the body’s capacity to hold the joy and the pain at the same time — to celebrate a birthday in a fractured world, to laugh fully in a season of grief, to keep speaking honestly to inhumanity while refusing to let go of our humanity.

No script just a random thought to share about spring, practice and the rhythm of excitement! Would love to hear what your thoughts are? Where are you at?

It’s been a minute. And honestly, that’s been intentional. I said I’d stop forcing a daily rhythm and instead write when something moves me—and today, something did. I posted yesterday what my mentor and coach, Wendy Haines, said that really got me reflecting. “Folks change only when there is a compelling enough reason to change.” Sit with that for a moment. Because it’s not saying people can’t change. It’s not saying they don’t want to. It’s saying something deeper: the knowing isn’t enough. It never has been. We live in a world that floods us with information—podcasts on nervous system health, books on trauma, Instagram posts about regulation. And most of us know what we should be doing. We know we should sleep more, move our bodies, have the hard conversation, put the phone down, step outside. We know. But knowing doesn’t move the body. A compelling reason does. Within the Neuro-Somatic Integration™ Framework, this is one of our foundational principles: practice before insight. Not because insight doesn’t matter—but because the nervous system doesn’t change through understanding. It changes through experience. Through felt, embodied, repeated moments that teach the body something new is possible. And here’s the piece that Wendy’s words illuminate: the body won’t move toward that new experience unless something—deep in the system—registers the reason as compelling. Not logically compelling. Somatically compelling. The kind of compelling that you feel in your chest, your gut, your bones. A compelling reason isn’t an argument you win with yourself. It’s a felt truth the body can no longer override. It’s when the cost of staying becomes heavier than the cost of moving. Sometimes that reason arrives as a crisis—a diagnosis, a loss, a relationship ending. But it doesn’t have to. Sometimes the compelling reason is quieter: a child’s face that reminds you what you’re modeling. A moment of stillness where you finally hear what your body has been whispering. A community that makes the next step feel possible instead of terrifying.