Welcome.
I'm so glad you're here.
Let's begin by settling into this moment,
Inviting your shoulders to soften,
Inviting your jaw to loosen,
Inviting the breath to move in a little more gently and out a little more slowly.
Has anyone ever told you that you're too sensitive?
Maybe it came out like a warning.
Maybe it was laced with concern.
Or maybe it was tossed off as a quiet insult.
Something meant to shrink you.
I used to believe them.
I thought my sensitivity was a weakness,
Something to get over,
Something to tuck away or tidy up.
But not anymore.
Letting your body settle here as I share a story.
The other day,
I hopped on my bike and rode to the lake,
Something I do often,
Not just for the movement,
But for the mountains.
I can't quite live without them,
I've realized.
It's not just their presence,
But how they hold the light.
That morning,
I was moving toward one of the tallest peaks,
And I found myself in that slim,
Pulsing line where light and shadow shake hands.
The sun was just rising.
And then it was gone.
Just like that.
One moment,
It lit the sky.
And six seconds later,
It disappeared behind the mountain's shoulder.
I stood still.
And I cried.
Not from sadness,
But from noticing.
Inviting you now to tune into something you've recently noticed.
Something that didn't require a fanfare or drama,
But that stayed with you.
A look,
A sound,
A shift in the light.
Letting that memory rise.
Not forcing,
Just allowing.
So many of us are wired to explain away our feelings,
To silence our inner waves,
To rationalize or get over it.
But what if we allowed the emotion to stretch itself across our body,
To take up space,
Even just for a minute or two?
I believe that our emotional waves aren't always anchored in dramatic events.
They curl into the folds of daily life.
They rise in the ordinary.
And when we let them,
They write for us.
They write through us.
I was asked recently,
How do I avoid emotionally flat writing?
And I'll tell you what I told them.
Emotional texture comes from two things.
Trust and noticing.
Trusting yourself enough to let your emotions rise without naming them too quickly.
Letting them live in the body,
Letting them breathe.
And then noticing.
Really noticing.
What others miss,
What happens just before the moment shifts,
That blink of an eye gesture,
That slight change in tone,
That instinct that says,
Something just moved.
What are you noticing today?
Check in here.
Checking in here,
Scanning your body,
Sensing what's alive in you right now.
The soft ache,
The flutter,
The warmth,
The pull.
Can we allow ourselves to feel all of it?
Joy,
Calm,
Frustration,
Delight,
Irritation,
Longing.
Because if we carry it,
We can write from it.
Not from theory,
Not from outline,
But from lived,
Tender truth.
I once wrote about a dying tree.
It refused to drop its leaves on one side.
That was me,
Still holding on even though it was time to let go.
That tree didn't need a metaphor.
It was the metaphor.
Because I noticed it.
Because I was ready to see in myself.
I was ready to look.
And so I'll ask you,
What have you seen lately that mirrors back something true about who you are?
What visual,
What moment,
What blink of life felt like a message just for you?
Letting something surface.
Staying with it.
Letting your breath cradle it for a few seconds.
I keep a folder of photos on my bike rides.
A photo here or there.
Blue background.
Green encroaching.
I keep this folder of photos from my bike rides on my desktop.
Small snapshots of what moved me.
To remind myself how much lives in the ordinary.
And now,
When I don't feel like riding,
My inner voice nudges me.
It makes a little suggestion.
It makes a comment.
Oh,
So you don't feel like creating today.
Because riding is creating.
Noticing is creation.
Feeling fully is the beginning of riding.
Sensitivity isn't a flaw.
It's a guide.
It's the part of us that doesn't just observe the world,
But feels it rise through the body.
And that's not too much.
That's art.
That's care.
That's what makes you a writer,
A creative,
A feeler,
A seer.
So today,
I'm inviting you to keep noticing.
Noticing when the light shifts.
Noticing when your body says yes or no.
Noticing what moves you without judgment.
And maybe gently capturing it.
Writing a few words.
Snapping a photo.
Sitting with it just a few moments longer.
Letting that moment shape you.
Because when we live fully,
We write fully.
We connect more honestly.
We care more deeply.
And we create from that place.
Here's a reflective question for your journal.
What's something you noticed this week that moved you?
And how did your body respond?
