What’s Your Intention?
My son called the other day, his voice tight with frustration.
“They never wrote me back,” he said.
“Send me the email,” I told him.
When it landed in my inbox, I could see it. Polite words, thoughtful details, a closing line that sounded like a soft wave goodbye. But no arrow. No request that gave his boss something to respond to.
When I asked him what his intention was, he paused. “I didn’t want to sound pushy. I just…wanted them to respond.”
The Call to Climb
I interviewed James Robbins today on my podcast, My Love of Life Energy. Author of The Call to Climb.
I hadn’t met James before today. Yet when I glanced through his Instagram, I felt a warmth in my chest, the kind that says: yes, this will be good.
And it was.
From the moment he began, his words pulled me in. He calls himself “not a great writer.” But as I scrolled through the first three chapters of his book, I found myself leaning forward, hungry for more, clicking purchase without hesitation.
She Already Knew
Yesterday I met with a woman who found me through my website. She wanted to talk about her career.
Within minutes, I felt my yes to her — a harmonic match I could recognize instantly. I wanted to support her.
I asked if she knew what she wanted.
At first, she told me she had been a fashion stylist, even tried working at Neiman Marcus. The words landed flat, like stale bread. Everything about that job was what she didn’t want.
Then she said it.
She wanted to be a screenwriter.
“The Party, the Tattoos, and the Thank You I Wanted.”
My daughter turned 23 this weekend, and I gathered friends, family, delicious food, and beauty to celebrate her.
I bought the ingredients for Aperol spritzes, ordered arancini for an appetizer, decorated the house with helium balloons, sunflowers, and anemones, and made Stan’s famous coleslaw along with her favorite mac and cheese. I worked hard, and I was thrilled to give her an evening that was all hers.
The next day, around 4 p.m., she texted me a photo of her new tattoos: a salt and a pepper shaker, inked in honor of her late father, who had a salt-and-pepper mustache.
She asked if I liked them.
True Freedom: The Courage to Let Things Die
I met my client in the redwoods of the Oakland Hills. For our meetings, we hike together — moving through quiet trails, letting the rhythm of walking open the rhythm of conversation.
I’ve had the great honor of working with him off and on for over ten years. In that time, he’s left the tech world, built his own business, and grown into a leader who trusts himself completely.
Today, as we walked beneath the trees, he shared a story about negotiating a lease for a new store in a Santa Clara development. When the numbers didn’t align, he walked away.
The Sound That Wouldn’t Stop (and the Wisdom It Woke Up)
A couple of months ago, our dryer started making a terrible screeching sound. At first, I tried to ignore it. It was early summer—good drying weather. Besides, with just my partner and me at home now, we don’t go through that much laundry. I thought, why not use the sun?
So we did. We dried our towels outside. They came in stiff and scratchy—like sandpaper on skin. Not terrible, if that’s your thing. But I missed the soft warmth of a dryer.
I Don’t Know What’s Next: Loving the Questions
Five months ago, my daughter moved out. After 29 years of being a parent, this chapter has come to a close.
When I started taking selfies, I realized I was lost.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
My house stays clean. There’s barely any laundry. The fridge is full.
I’ve spent decades raising two children, caring for a sick husband, and an aging mother. Now my life is quiet. Still.
I have all this energy — and I don’t know where to direct it.
“I don’t know” is the black water I’m swimming in.
And then I heard these words
The Sharpest Tool in My Life
I love a great kitchen knife.
On Sundays in Montclair, Oakland, there’s a local farmers market. Sometimes, a woman sets up a small table just outside it. On that table are handmade knives from Japan.
One Sunday, I picked one up and instantly fell in love.
The balance. The weight. The beauty of it as a tool. I had to buy it.
That knife has become a reminder of my consciousness.
It cuts cleanly, effortlessly, with precision.
How Feeling My Disappointment Set Me Free
It was Sunday. My partner and I were on our way to Limantour Beach.
As usual, I brought my Gene Keys book. It’s a ritual for me — I sit quietly and ask the book to show me what it wants me to see. I open it to a random page, and I trust what comes.
That day it opened to the 55th Gene Key — the one that explores Victim Consciousness and Freedom.
As I began reading, a single line stopped me in my tracks:
“True freedom is not an effect. It is an ever-expanding consciousness that arises spontaneously inside you as you come to understand how deeply victimized you are by your own core beliefs.”
Leading Through a Quiet Season: What My Calendar—and the 18th Gene Key—Taught Me About Integrity
It’s been a slower season for me. Fewer client sessions. Less income. More space than I’m used to.
There have been moments where I’ve looked at my calendar and felt that familiar flicker of panic—What’s wrong? Why isn’t anything moving? And then the stories start: You should be doing more. Maybe you're not needed right now. Maybe you're failing.
But lately, I’ve been sitting with something from the 18th Gene Key that’s cracked me open in the best way:
“The secret of this Shadow is the gradual realization that your outer life is your greater body.”
What if nothing is wrong?
What if this pause is my body speaking?
Call Off the Search: Ending a 35-Year Quest
I’ve spent most of my adult life seeking, trying to improve myself, trying to find “the truth.” I studied with masters like Fernando Flores, Toby Hecht, Richard Strozzi-Heckler, Wendy Palmer, Pema Chödrön, Tony Robbins, Donny Epstein, and the late Sydney Banks. I explored somatic work, breathwork, and psychedelics. I was committed to my growth.
Energy Never Lies
✧ The Truth Beneath Our Words
It was 7:00 AM.
I was in line at the checkout, holding nothing more than tampons and Advil.
When it was my turn, the clerk smiled and asked,
“How are you?”
With my best smile, I replied,
“I’m fine.”
She looked me straight in the eye and said,
“You’re a liar.”
3 A.M. Club: Leaders Who Overthink in the Dark
It’s 3:00 a.m.
You’re awake. Again.
Not because you want to be, but because your mind is spinning. Replaying the meeting. Rewriting the conversation. Running through worst-case scenarios.
I hear this all the time from the leaders I coach.
And I understand it deeply—because it still happens to me too.
Just the other night, I woke at 1:30 a.m., my mind racing about something that had happened earlier that day. I was triggered. I felt tight, activated, and restless.
Fresh Eyes
When we think we know someone at work—who they are, how they act, what they’ll do—we stop actually seeing them.
We freeze them in our minds:
She’s always like this.
He never follows through.
They don’t get it.
And just like that, the relationship hardens. The space between us gets smaller.
Even when the story we’ve written about them is a positive one, we’re still holding onto the past. And that past doesn’t leave much room for anything new to emerge.
Wonder and curiosity are the doorways to connection.
When I Left My Heart (and Found My Way Back)
Last Thursday morning, I asked my partner if he’d like to walk the Lafayette Reservoir with me.
He said he’d love to.
I love walking there early. The birds swoop through the willows.
Morning light shimmers on the water.
Hawks call out their presence across the open sky.
But as we walked, I could tell my partner was in a low mood.
Soon I began to regret inviting him.
Every time I said something, he shot back a snarky comment.
My agitation rose. I started blaming him—for ruining the peace I’d wanted.
And then I caught it.
Empty Space
✧ The Fallow Season: When Letting Go Makes Room for More
We as humans naturally resist letting go.
We fight with everything we have to avoid loss, to hold on just a little longer.
But what if loss wasn't the end?
What if underneath the barrenness, there was something profound and new waiting to take root?
As a coach, I have the rare privilege of witnessing transformation up close.
In the intimacy of this work, something sacred unfolds—
Trust deepens, breakthroughs arrive, and hearts open.
And then, the natural ending comes.
The work completes.
The season changes.
And I’m left with the quiet ache of goodbye.
When I Stopped Fixing My Mindset and Started Listening
We often discuss mindset—how to shift it, improve it, or upgrade it.
But recently, in a circle of interior designers and creative women, we tried something else:
We stopped trying to fix our thoughts and started listening to them instead.
Before the session, I had a panic attack.
It came out of nowhere—just a typical morning, walking my dog, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. My heart was racing. A wave of dread moved through me, and I didn’t even know why. I had just read an email.
My first instinct was to push it away, to figure it out, to get out of it. But instead, I remembered what I would soon be guiding others to do.
So I stopped.
And I stayed with it.
Not to analyze it. Not to fix it. To be with the sensation.
And slowly… it shifted. Not because I changed my thoughts.
But because I was willing to feel what was there, without judgment.
That’s the space we created in the session.
We asked:
What thought do you wish would go away?
What emotion do you avoid?
What if you stopped the battle with it, and just let it be?
Love your Work
What do you love to do?
What do you do that, when you're doing it, you lose track of time?
What activity brings a sense of peace, presence, and joy, not because of the outcome, but because of how it feels in the moment?
We often think it’s the thing we’re doing that makes us feel this way. But what if it’s something deeper? What if that sense of peace comes because we’ve stopped thinking? The mind quiets, and in that space, love shows up. Yes, I said it: Love appears when there is no thinking.
Not Knowing as an Ally
There was a time when “not knowing” would send me into a panic. I’d spin like a top, looking for certainty, calling people, reaching for reassurance. But lately, I’ve been learning to stand still in the swirl—to let not knowing walk beside me.