When I listen deeply...
Gentle remembering
Hello dear one,
I am writing to you from a favorite cafe in Hoodriver, OR. The windows here are big and the sky is a bright blue backdrop to this crisp day winter day.
The beginning of this year has invited me to give up timelines and lean into trust. And while I haven’t always been so willing (the path paved in false control is just so familiar!), I am coming to realize how much I prefer a slow start to the usual rush of expectations for quick change, big goals, life changing resolutions, etc.
Two weeks into the year I was deep in the discomfort of the unknown. Less and less willing to force myself down the narrow path built by others, flanked by concrete walls made of shoulds and restrictions that cut like barbed wire, unable to push myself in a direction that no longer called me forward. And yet the alternate still felt so unfamiliar, still feels so unfamiliar, as I walk into the wild woods led by my own knowing.
Naturally, I felt the draw of the ocean. Could she feel me swimming in fear? Could she tell I needed reminding?
It was a Friday and despite the voices within that spat out warnings, “You’ve already taken too much time off! What are you doing?! You don’t deserve another break. This is foolish. Get to work!”, I booked a hotel for the following night, let Che know my plan, and then woke up on Saturday and drove to the sea.
The rain came down hard and the wind raged and I smiled so big and drove up and over the mountain pass and through the forest and straight to the waters edge.
I climbed a sand dune bluff and found myself on a thing strip of beach covered in black sand with not another human in sight. A Balled Eagle flew over and I leaned my head back and let out all that I’d been holding in. I screamed into the ocean and laughed into the wind and felt new, anchored, free, home.
My cloths were soaked through and my hair was drenched and I realized my rain jacket was no longer water proof and I couldn’t have been happier.
I spent the next twenty four hours alone with a novel, curled up on a couch with a view of the place where the Columbia river pours it’s self into the ocean.
That Sunday morning, at another favorite cafe in Astoria, OR, I wrote the following in response to one of the January prompts from the Your Daily Reminder calendar. I thought I’d share it with you here.
Sending you so much love and wishing all of us a year filled with moments of deep listening, expansive connection, and the feeling of being at home within ourselves.
With love,
Raina
Darling, you are safe, held, loved, and so deeply and unimaginably connected.
Sweet one, this discomfort you feel is the letting go. Shedding. Stepping out of old skin and taking on a new form, one that you will eventually experience as surprisingly familiar once you’ve had time to get to know this new, strong, magnetic, free form of being.
You are right on time and all the bits and pieces, logistics and unknowns, you’ve been worried about will fall effortlessly into place without the help or hindrance of any of your stress, worries, rushing, or attempts to control.
Put down that second arrow, my love. It’s okay to worry. It’s okay to feel stressed and to try so hard to control. Meet yourself where you are. Begin there. Let it be okay before you let it go.
Be gentle, my darling.
Take yourself to the edge of existence.
Hold hands with fear and look out at the fog that blends the heavens and the sea.
Watch how the ocean moves in and out without hesitation, without judgment, steadily ebbing and flowing, wave by powerful wave, shaping and transforming the seemingly solid earthen shore.
Remember, my love, your consistent ebb and flow moves in much the same way.
Your world takes shape breath by breath, moment by moment, choice by choice.
You are not meant to see beyond the cocoon of fog.
You are not meant to know the final form.
You are not meant to hold all the answers.
They will reveal themselves with time.
Your invitation is to lean back, my darling, into my embrace and let your whole being be held. Find your breath. Let the fog on the horizon reveal nothing but the one next step. You were never meant to see any further ahead.
Let the fog be a protective blanket, a guide bringing you back to this moment. Back to the place inside of you that knows the next right step.
They call it intuition, but it’s more than that. It’s stardust and magic, soil of the earth, moonbeams, love felt through grief, a quiet whispered knowing, heart aching longing, sun on your cheeks in the dead of winter.
Find that part of you, the one that knows in her bones how deeply and inherently connected she is, how truly divinely guided she is.
Let that part be your guide. Let her lead you step by step into the unknown of this new horizon you’re moving toward. This truer, freer, more radiant version of self that has always been there in the seed of your being.
Dear one, when fear and grief and discomfort arise, and it feels like they are trying to pull you into your depths, let them.
Start there, start close, lean into the fullness of feeling.
I’ll be waiting there with open arms in the deep place, the home within, where your heart breaks and your soul weeps and you are held with unconditional love, safe and sound.
I’ll be there ready to remind you of just how brilliant and loved and connected and precious you are.
Your Daily Reminder
A Mindful Calendar for 2025
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RECEIVE YOURS HERE
Holding close: Movie nights curled up with my little ones watching animated worlds that unfold in lush fields of brightly colored flowers, blue skies with puffy white clouds, music that transports you, adventures that delight, and a gentle way of being that holds space for joy and tenderness. We’ve discovered the world of Totoro, Ponyo, and Kiki and we may never return.
With gratitude: For all the ways in which my dear friend Kristina has impacted my life. I’ve had the true gift of being able to attend her retreat for the past three years. Each time I’ve taken the journey with her and the group of incredible women that she brings together, I’ve come away more alive, more full, more free, more connected to myself in all my forms. The experiences Kristina creates hold you gently exactly as you are, offering a nurturing and safe space to expand into the fullness of your being, power and softness, rage and joy, whole as you are. As of now I believe there are still two spots available for the 2025 Aether retreat. I hope you’ll give yourself the gift of this transformative experience.
One more thing: Another dear friend,
, is holding a free grief writing class on Thursday, February 13, 2025. I’ll be there and would love to write along side you! You can find out more about it here and sign up here.Finding Stillness Studio
INVITATIONS & OFFERINGS:Creative Support: If you know of anyone looking for creative support, branding, design, copywriting, etc. please share the Finding Stillness Studio with them. We are currently booking projects for the year ahead and would love to work you!
Integrative Coaching: I am in the creation process for a new integrative coaching offering and can hardly wait to share it with you! More soon, but for now I’ll just leave you with this: Building a Home Within
Stille Shop: 10% off orders over $50 through the end of January with code RENEWAL
Did you think of someone while reading this letter? Feel free to pass it along to them ♡
A note on imperfection & typos — Being blessed with the gift of dyslexia means typos often sneak in, sometimes comically. As I continue disentangling from perfectionism and sharing more freely, I’m spending less time editing and trusting it’s okay to show up just as I am. Please know that any typos you spot reflect my imperfect human nature, not a lack of care or devotion. (I know this needs no explanation, but openly acknowledging this part of myself is deeply healing, so thank you for witnessing.)
So nice to read your words and scroll to the very bottom to be gifted with a photo of your beauty, thank you for sharing my sweet friend 🤍
I love the nuances of unedited versions of self. I was also in Astoria recently. I tucked some gold-leaf-wrapped apricot pits in a glassine envelope and hung them on a bulletin board in a cafe before driving back to Port Townsend. I'll return to the Portland area in June, if not before!
Thinking of you and your beautiful words.