There is a time for leaving, yes. I have been there. I have felt the pull of the ocean and sailed away from everything, and everyone in my life. I have done this many times. And so it does not surprise me that I found myself again wishing for wind in my sails.

My life is full with many things, you see. All are things that I chose from a deep place aligned with my soul. All are things that I love with the hugeness of my heart. All are things that challenge my mind and my body in delicious ways. And yet, the past few weeks I have been exhausted by all of the doing. And I once again found myself resenting all of these beautiful things.

This past Wednesday, I attended my weekly 5Rythms dance class – a freestyle dance that I took on as a practice last fall, and that has allowed me to deepen my connection with my body, with energies flowing through me and others, and with spirit. I usually have little trouble sinking in to a place where I can let go and allow the music to move me. This past week I found myself feeling the same as I was everywhere in my life: frustrated, anxious and trying to get back to a place of peace and joy.

And then, about half way into the two hour class, I remembered something really important: that place doesn’t exist.

There is no there, my heart whispered. Only here, now.

Suddenly all of the emotion that I had been holding in as I ran from thing to thing over the past few weeks came roaring up and I sank to my knees. My eyes welled with tears and I felt the floor beneath my body, solid: holding me. I had a choice to make – I decided to let go. Trusting myself and the safe space held by this dance community I love, I curled up on the hardwood floor and let the tears flow, beats of the song and the patter of dancers’ feet reverberating my body and soul.

Here I am. I am here, now.

My circumstances have not changed: I am still a little tired; my life is still full. Yet, I am here now in it, fully. My heart expanded on that dance floor, and in the days that have followed. I am again more deeply allowing my own truth.

That place I was looking for had not gone anywhere; it had simply been right here, waiting, as it always does, for me to stop trying to be somewhere else.

And through this experience I am learning about another kind of dance that has eluded me many times: commitment.

I am learning that commitment is not a hard line. It is not black and white. It does not involve trying really hard. It does not require pretending or faking it until you make it. It does not need forcing. Those are all strategies I have employed in the past when trying to commit to people and places and careers. And they have each helped me in a way. They have gotten me far. But at some point each one of my strategies failed, and I left, or the thing I had committed to fell apart.

When it comes to the kind of commitment that is sustainable and fulfilling, these strategies simply will not do. Commitment, like life, is a wild dance that cannot be tamed. Discipline and performance will not be the things that keep me showing up and saying Yes! to being fully present and engaged in my life.

Rather it is the permission to feel what I feel in each moment. The permission to break down. The permission to be exhausted. The permission to doubt. The willingness to let go of the way it “should” look or the way it “has to” go. These are gifts of deep trust. These are the hands of love I will need to dance with. These are the tools of faith I will need to stay.

And so, I allow doubt amidst these times of love and joy. I accept that I will at times be exhausted and frustrated, and lonely and lost. I will not banish my fear. And I will surely continue to feel every emotion under the sun. It is here, in this deep allowance, that I find I do not need to leave. It’s okay to be me. It’s okay even to leave, and, somehow, I find, I deeply desire to stay.   

This is not the time of leaving. This is not the time of giving up on everything and everyone in search of a better more magical way. This is the time of finding a new way to live in an old world. This is the time to believe in dreams. This is the time to sink in to the uncertainty of each moment. This is the time to trust that my truth is what is needed to make magic today.

And so, I am here now, in this moment; embracing this heart-wrenching ride; this embodied expansion; this beautiful dance, of commitment.

xo,

Danielle

I can feel it. I am, once again, falling in love with this mad thing we call life. Tentatively, though. This time patience is required in equal measure to passion. 

I’m not used to doing things this way—slowly and gently. I have preferred to throw myself into frenzy and foray, and to just get things done.

I have been in love many times before in that fast and furious way, with people and places and things. That head-over-heels, living off ecstasy, making passionate-bordering-reckless decisions on the wild feelings in my heart. It was delicious. And not sustainable. Like skipping dinner for ice cream every single night.

I do like to be in love though. In fact, I love it. It is my favourite thing. I am not willing to give it up. But I know I must do it differently this time. And so I find myself in this long-drawn-out beginning: listening and moving slowly; choosing delicately and firmly; speaking with intention; adding in more time for play.

In response I feel a flutter: the wings of a great bird long dormant; stirring, waking, stretching; preparing for flight. This time, yes, this time, I know I can fly. My wings are mine to use on this new adventure.

And I now know how they work. I have gone on a few good test runs. I have hovered at the end of this runway, on the lip of this nest, on the edge of this canyon. I have flown little circles above it. Dipped a wing beyond it. 

There is peace and joy in this beginning, no doubt. Yet sometimes I feel frustrated with this inching; desperate for the thing that is not yet now. And I think, why don't I just jump? Dive in? Throw myself over the edge? Force myself to take flight?

Part of my hesitation is fear, I know. I fear that I will—like so many times before—be swept up into the vortex of some thing or someone and let it carry me away, only to wake in a pile of rubble. I have never been good at smooth landings. And past heartbreak always returns as a voice of reason, saying stop.  

I also know, at a deeper level this fear is necessary. It is keeping me safe until I realize that I already am.

And, I am learning a most beautiful and frustrating thing: patience.

Patience is hard because it requires trust. And trust is hard because I have to let go of control. And letting go of control is the scariest thing in life. But it also feels so damn good. That freedom. That finding of joy and love outside of searching, in the messy here-and-now.

So I am trusting. I am trusting this slow opening. I am trusting that life can be easy; that I do not need to push and strive and drive so hard every day. I am trusting I can just be. I am trusting I can receive. I am allowing the magic and joy in this half-way-flight.

And patience does not mean I do not challenge my fears. Every day I do. Patience simply means being kind to myself and my fears and honouring where I am at in the process of taking flight. If today I feel anxious and retreat, that’s okay.

It is as a result of this permission, this allowance, this honouring of my human experience, that my rationally calculated fears begin to appear less rational. More and more I can hear the stronger quiet voice deep inside. The one that knows that the only thing more terrifying than crash-landing-heart-breaking-starting-again, is retreating to a safe place where life and love can no longer find me. 

One day I will soar freely over my canyon like the condors in Peru; diving out from my home in the cliff-face and arcing my full-wingspan into the roaring wind; trusting that no matter how far, no matter how high, no matter how long I engage in my dance with the sun, I will find my way home to the cliffs and the streams and the trees. And I will land safely, too; talons sinking into cool earth like the roots of an old tree, wings ready for tomorrow’s new feat.

That day is coming soon, I can feel it; I am growing into it, or it into me, I cannot tell. I am simply trusting this gradual expansion of my heart. I wake each new day a little stronger, a little brighter; wings tugging at my imagination, calling that part of me that was born to fly to rise into the wind and play.

xo,
Danielle 

It is spring. The time of green shoots and blooming. When nature asks us to let go of the cold and the fear, and present ourselves, raw, in our newness and our vulnerability. No expectations. No demands. Only the slow beauty of a petal emerging from a tightly woven bulb.

To me it feels like an invitation to be more honest, to be more present. To be here now. In this moment. I have noticed it for some time now. Whispers in the wind, a quiet voice deep inside, asking me to trust that I am safe, that I am fully rooted; and to breathe new life into this opening in fertile ground. And I have been listening, allowing that voice to guide me more and more. Though there are moments of fear, this growth somehow feels easy. And refreshing. Like freedom.

Everything I seek is now. This is the deep truth I am learning to live.

There is no arrival when it comes to the elusive destinations of freedom and peace, and love. They flow in the ecstasy and the laughter and the lovemaking, yes. But they are also mixed in the mundane: in the hours of the workweek; in the buying of groceries and the making of meals. They are the hands holding heartbreak and anxiety and depression. Hidden in resistance and procrastination. Buried in busyness. Flowing in the moment lonely eyes meet the glance of a stranger. Shouting in the quiet hours of a sleepless night.

There is no arrival. No destination. Simply a letting go; an allowance; a permission. An ownership of who I am, and of now.

After years of running and striving, I can say this: you will not love life more if it turns out as you imagined, as you dearly wished, as you sought and strived for it to be. Upon arrival you will only seek and wish and strive for it to be some other, greater, version.

No, the thing we seek is not seekable; it is not reachable, by trying.

A certain amount of effort is required to find love and freedom and peace, but this effort is more accurately described as the courage to let go, the willingness to listen to our own truth, and the permission to be okay in this moment, with all of its imperfections.

There is no other now. Only now. Here. Nothing more.

I do still desire things I do not have in this moment. Some fiercely. I still want to go places. I have dreams and goals. I keep my vision in my heart and my eyes on the horizon. I am committed. And I work hard. I am not stagnant. I am in massive amounts of action. I am doing and experiencing and creating and living and loving, fully, and powerfully, with a fierce forward momentum.

And, yet, I am not waiting to get there, or anywhere. I am no longer holding out for some future moment to be fully alive. I live now. Here. In this moment.

This is it: this devotion, this intimate dance with life. This is the peace. This is the freedom. This is the love I have been waiting for, my entire life.

xo,
Danielle

We are asked to expand. This is Life. An invitation to grow larger in all ways. To create space in small rooms, and tear down the walls.

We are capable of holding so much more than we realize; more than we dare to even imagine. The joy, exquisite and raw. The love, fulsome and feverish. The grief; the sorrowful nights. Bright hot anger. Venomous envy and rage. Indulgent escapes. Passionate affairs. Fog-filled wandering. Tumbling lost and peaceful in the wild. Ecstasy.

Every moment is a bite to be savoured. An opportunity to rise for, and to sink into. The adventure is always calling; inviting us to say yes! to being alive. Here and now. In the rough. We cannot avoid these calloused edges if we want to peek at the gleaming diamond within.

Fill potholes with wonder. Be curious in your despair. Ask questions of simplicity. You will find magic here. In the heroic mundane. 

Smile. Breathe. Love. Sit. Here on a bench. On this busy street. And see only the slow movement of a caterpillar as it inches past your toes.

Life is full of moments. One million simplicities entwined in a dance; a symphony of minutes streaming into hours and days.

Life becomes a masterpiece not in a single rain, but in the pooling of dew drops over centuries. In wet trickling off lily pads, snaking streams into raging rivers, melding unrecognizable and blasting open at the foot of the Gods. In the long high note reverberating in the waves. In the tears rising from the depths of the ocean into cloud conversations, landing early one morning, the first drop on the tip of the nose of a child dancing for rain: a tiny hand reaches out; a smile breaks wide; a dusty village celebrates.

A thousand years caught in a moment in time.

Joy; holding it all.

xo,

Danielle