June 26, 2021

“I did not buy my courage online.”


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A favorite client of mine replied to one of my stories, “I wish I had your courage.”

As if she was not capable of holding such an attainable part of the human spectrum.

The root of the word courage is cor—the Latin word for heart.
Courage originally meant:
“To speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.”
Over time, this definition has changed, and today, courage is more synonymous with being heroic.

I did not buy my courage online,
Nor did I obtain it overnight.
I am not a trust fund, baby;
I have never had mummy or daddy’s money;
I didn’t get my courage from my nine to five job in the costume store—nor did I get it waking up at 4 a.m. to deejay to zombies at after-parties.

I got my courage in rock bottom,
By being hopelessly broke,
And I mean stealing-toilet-paper-from-McDonald’s kind of broke.

I look at the words I wrote during that time, and sometimes I envy that version of myself,
Because down there in rock bottom,
Magic happens.
It is the very foundation on which I rebuilt myself.
Words were all I had.

And I am so f*cking grateful
Because this is where I meet people in my container,
Because I wish more than anything I had a courageous heart sitting across from me on Zoom saying, “I know where you are; I know the way out!”
Now let me guide you.

It is now my “why” to propel others out of the darkness.
To teach you how to jump off cliffs and back into the safety of yourself.
To take your own f*cking breath away.

Let me tell you a little story about synchronicity.
I called this one “Manifestation squared.”

Back in March, I was going through one of my greatest deaths to date.
Turkey kept popping up everywhere I turned.
The signs began to punch me in the face so hard I couldn’t take it anymore; I threw my hands in the air and said, “For f*ck’s sake, universe. I’m listening.”
I fired up my laptop and checked the flights from Bali: €222

I booked a one-way ticket and another flight to Cappadocia to tick off “horse riding through the balloons at sunrise” off my manifestation list—something I thought I would do with my “partner” one day.
A day later, Chloé contacted me on Facebook,
“I see you’re coming to Cappadocia! Would love to meet you and have wine, and by the way, if you’re into horses, I have a farm and can take you at sunrise through the balloons.”


In April, my loneliness in Bali was beginning to debilitate me.
I sat in my alter imagining my soul family and the kinds of conversations I wanted to have with them, the snorting laughter, the silliness.
The snow globe of my patterns and pain had been shaken up on the island of gods and mirrors, and I spent 10 days alone inside until I hit a breaking point.
So much so I nearly cancelled my client that afternoon, but I pushed on through.
At the end of her plant ceremony, we sat down for integration and an hour later, after much snorting laughter, we were soul sisters.
She was the missing puzzle piece, and from that, a wave of beautiful humans erupted into my life.

Weeks later, we realized we were going to Turkey at similar times, and now we’ve been on this magical, mystical adventure for five days, snort-laughing at all the synchronicities and similarities.
The world is our playground.

All of these manifestations hit me this morning like one big crescendo as I galloped through the mountains with the balloons above me and my manifestations behind me.

I am on this bucket list trip because I followed that burning desire in my heart.
I opened up a “Turkey and Italy” savings jar on TransferWise and put bits of €11, €22, and €111 in there every time money came through.

I jumped on a plane with no expectations and no plans and let the universe blow wind on my wings.

We get one life.
Just one.
Why aren’t we running around like we’re on fire, following our deepest desires?



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