Twirling Leaf

I live among celebrities. I mean, I am always the last to recognize someone famous, but many times people tell me (after the fact) that so and so famous person was just in that store where I just was. But honestly, the influential people that I’d really like to see out in the wild are usually intellectuals. Who are typically dead. So a conversation with some of my celebrity crushes is not in the cards. But their ideas live on, and isn’t that what Beowulf was all about— achieving immortality by becoming a legend? Their ideas live on and inspire me, so in my world they’ve become immortal. 

And after that intro, my ADHD brain interjects once more to welcome you to another installment of: Twirling Leaf: Summer Edition—a derivative of regular Twirling Leaf. 

Twirling Leaf: Summer Edition is influenced by this busy season of trying to balance my own work, the summer schedule mayhem of juggling where non-driving teenagers need to be and when, and basic, regular life upkeep (menu planning, grocery shopping, pet care, house care, working out, maintaining basic hygiene, etc.). Here in the summer edition the topic hops around a lot, the grammar is imperfect, but I’m posting it anyway! I just read one of my favorite living author’s articles this morning (https://ninagroop.substack.com/) and she talked about knowing when to “kill your darlings” or not as a writer. Welp, all my darlings and a few hitchhikers make it into the Twirling Leaf: Summer Edition. 

One of my favorite *dead* authors I wish I could run into at Hidden Treasures (that’s our local curated consignment/funky collectibles store here in Topanga where celebrities sometimes appear) is Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. He was a positive psychologist who was the one credited for naming the concept of “flow” which is an optimum state of consciousness characterized by total absorption in an activity because the skill level the person possesses perfectly matches the level of challenge involved what they’re doing. 

In this optimum state of consciousness, one loses all sense of time, sense of self, and becomes one with this flow of life, creativity, or whatever you want to call it. The intrinsic motivation is self-perpetuating, and usually one can stay engaged in this state of flow for a very long time, objectively speaking. It’s basically the only way that I can experience what more neurotypical people can via mindfulness meditation. Cause, I’ve tried so hard, and meditation makes me want to die. Wait, maybe that’s the point? But either way, it doesn’t keep me coming back for more. But flow, on the other hand—I LIVE for flow. It is a state of rapture and absolute contentment for my soul. I achieve it while writing, hiking, having a really good, engaging conversation, baking—there are many activities that allow me to enter flow. Flow is the state where I find my fragmented, individuated self connect back to the oneness of all that is—that electric current of vitality that I’m always trying to tap into. 

Anyway, I could go on and on about flow, but what I really wanted to cite from Csikzentmihalyi’s work comes from his book, “The Evolving Self: A Psychology for the Third Millenium” (sidenote, one of my favorite books of all time). In this, he discusses the importance of any group to maintain a healthy balance of integration and differentiation. Complexity is achieved when individuals are highly specialized (differentiated) yet relate closely and harmoniously (integrated). Let’s think about that: diversity and unity. It’s really a simple concept, but so difficult to achieve in practice. I’ve been examining it lately in the context of families as a type of group. 

My family of origin (the DiNatales) scored very high in the differentiation category. What was great about that: we honored that each of us was very different and we all were allowed to express our individuality. We had a lot of privacy (our own bedrooms, locks on our doors), a lot of autonomy (freedom to pursue our own interests and talents), and self expression (we were all encouraged and allowed to express our feelings). What was challenging: we didn’t really have a lot of common interests or hobbies as a whole family. My mom and I were very active people, but my dad and my sisters love stillness. So, hiking or atheletic activities were out. My dad and I loved being out in nature, so we tried family camping once. My sisters aren’t really “roughing it” kind of gals, so that didn’t really take. If my memory serves me correctly, it was also hard because we camped at a Christian camp, but as we were newbs (at camping, not Christianity), the tent was particularly hard to set up. I remember my dad cursing and my mom being like, “Bob, that’s frowned upon here” and I may have watched too many Wes Anderson movies and written this last part in, but I kind of have an image of it all ending with my dad smoking a cigarette with a “Smoking Prohibited” sign posted on a nearby tree behind him. Anyway, I digress. Camping didn’t really take to the DiNatales and vice versa, is the bottom line. 

But, we ate dinner together every night, had lively conversations, laughed a lot, and would spontaneously break out into song (singing is one thing we actually all do have in common). Family vacations were about sight seeing and the journey itself (we went on two cross-country road trips two summers in a row). And we found ways to accommodate people’s differences and needs. For example, on road trip vacations, we started having the “Happy Car” and the “Grumpy Car.” Looking back, I see now that this was not very inclusive language (give me a break, though, I probably made it up when I was 7). The thought was there, though, to try to give people the space they needed for the psychological needs they had at the time.

Anyway, as I grew up and moved across the country, the transition has felt pretty smooth for me to stay close to my family. Because it was never about doing things together as much as it was about the the emotional closeness and the bonds between us that developed in light of our differences. 

Collin’s family of origin, on the other hand, was very much about shared common interests (integration). They all camped together, hiked together, fished together, etc., and had a high level of integration. “Palkovitz” was definitely like a brand. Still, when we go back east, people in that community who know their family will say “well, that’s a very Palkovitz thing to do.” This might involve some near-super-human feat being accomplished, or some exceptional DIY work being done (including building one’s own house), or something having to do with nature like rehabilitating baby squirrels from a dumpster or something. 

Even once Collin and I were adults and married, when we lived nearby the rest of the fam, that’s how we all stayed close: doing things together that were Palkovitz brand. We’d all go for hikes together, go camping, or have log-splitting parties (this last one is a perfect example of the Palkovitz brand). But the challenge of this family dynamic (high integration, not as much differentiation) also meant that when we moved 3,000 miles away, it took learning how to keep in touch and redefine closeness since we aren’t there to attend the get togethers, participate in the shared daily life activities, etc. I will say, though, that 1) we’re are still close and 2) the brand is evolving as new members have joined through marriage and birth. In fact, many of us found ourselves dancing on New Year’s Eve. That likely wouldn’t have happened before some of the original Palkovitzes tagged in some newbs (i.e., the daughters in law). It’s been heartwarming to see the evolution of the brand and the space they’ve made for differentiation.

Anyway, it’s been interesting for Collin and me to develop our own family culture, especially given how our families of origin were both outliers on the two, different ends of the differentiation/integration spectrum. Before Collin and I were parents (when everyone has parenting all figured out), we were pretty sure that our whole family was going to be summiting mountains with ice axes by the time our youngest was 6. I can hear the Universe laughing hysterically at me as I typed that last sentence. 

Juniper loathes the mere idea of hiking. We still go hiking semi-frequently because the rest of us enjoy it, and we usually end up having a good time. It takes a LOT of convincing and just kind of being like “we’re going hiking whether you want to or not.” Then there’s a lot of grumping on the car ride to the trail head. But then, approximately 1/4 mile in, Juniper entirely forgets to be grumpy and actually loves it. So, I don’t know what that’s all about. But when she’s in that pre-hike grumpy stage, I’m not inclined to hand her an ice axe and tell her she’s going on an expedition. 

There’s always the beach as a family day opportunity since it’s nearby and stretches for 75 miles of Los Angeles coastline. It seems like beach days would be an obvious go-to, but Senya has a strange relationship with the beach; the things that others find lovely—the sunshine, the ocean breeze, the sound of the waves, the sand underfoot—Senya finds overwhelming. Juniper adores the beach, however, so we bring Senya to the beach the way that we take Juniper hiking– basically it’s close to a hostage situation. And similarly, Senya usually forgets to be overwhelmed once they get in the water, or they bring a good book, or we are there with friends.

So, it’s been interesting to figure out how to have such a differentiated family but still try to find ways to spend time together. We eat dinners together most nights. We laugh a lot. Our conversations are free, lively, witty, and sometimes deep (though Juniper gets bored if the rest of us get too serious). We do spend a lot of time in nature (whether it’s alternating which kid is mildly grumpy hiking or at the beach) or all going camping of our own volition. We’ll get into a tv show all together and enjoy sharing that story together. We love live music or performances (plays, cirque du soleil, etc), or going to see movies in the theatre. But those types of fun things cost money, so we don’t do them too often since our baseline is already exorbitant since we live in Los Angeles.

More often than not, the closeness is found in embracing that we’re not always all going to enjoy the same things and that’s okay. Part of our family culture is learning how to be inclusive and considerate of each other’s differences while also still trying to create memorable (even if not always fun! Ha!) experiences. Part of the closeness is also just sharing every day life and not trying too hard to MAKE EVERY MOMENT COUNT (which is an energy I definitely err on the side of bringing with my intensity). We all live in very close quarters (Topanga real estate is steep—literally and figuratively—so our house in tiny), so we interact and relate a lot. I feel like we have a high degree of differentiation naturally, but we find ways to integrate. They’re also teenagers, though, so you know: they like their space a good amount too. 

One thing that helped me recently to make sense of our family’s differences and the balance of differentiation and integration was to learn the elements framework. The elements framework is an energetic system of understanding humans, plants, and illnesses by relating them to the natural elements of Earth, Fire, Air, and Water. Examples of other lenses would be Five Phase Theory (or Traditional Chinese Medicine), Ayurveda, and Humoral Theory. There are many more, but those are just some examples. Because Vitalism (which I wrote about a few posts ago) and the elements framework are complementary, I find them both very meaningful and helpful. 

So, now I will describe our little family to you in terms of the energetic system of the elements framework, so you can see what I mean. By the end of this, perhaps you will have a better understanding of which element you are. If you feel inclined, please share in the comments which element you feel is most dominant in your personality! We’re all truly a mix, but I find that each of us in my little family have a pretty dominant element.

ME:

I bring the fire in our family. I have always been the catalyst of changes both big and small. I am passionate and intense and I express my emotions freely–including anger. The upside of this is that I stand up and speak up for what I think is right. In fact, when there is a problem, I want to take action to solve it immediately. It is hard for me to wait or be patient. I have trouble with balance or finding moderation because I’m deathly afraid of apathy. This same intensity is also what makes me extremely nurturing and emotionally warm with the people I love. I love drawing friends together and creating reasons to gather. 

When I’m out of balance emotionally, I can be too impulsive and make too big of a change too flippantly. I can also feel overwhelming to myself and others when my emotional intensity feels planetary in size. Interestingly, in the city (living adjacent to LA), my fire out of balance looks like anxiety (excess) and in the country life (when I lived in Vermont) my fire out of balance looked like depression (deficient). 

My health challenges tend to be all about excess. I can run myself into the ground by going at full speed in all the ways. I have an autoimmune disorder (my immune system is in overdrive and attacks healthy cells). This feels like it mirrors my personality because I’m not always great at taking a beat and choosing my battles selectively before jumping into action.

To balance my over-active fire, one thing that recently felt like a miracle was a cold plunge. I was having a panic attack, and I got in the cold plunge, and it really helped. Cooling my body helped also cool my emotional state. Prioritizing getting in bed early and letting myself wind down is helpful, too. Making sure to get adequate rest that offsets a healthy, ample amount of movement every day is also key. 

To balance deficiency, I need to find something that I can metaphorically consume, i.e., a new challenge, a new hobby, get lost in flow state, etc. Being with friends and having meaningful, engaging social relationships helps too.

HERBS: I’ve come to incorporate bitters and demulcents into my daily life. Some favorite bitters are Blessed Thistle, Angelica, and Chamomile. My favorite demulcent is Milky Oats (actually, I love all the oats) and to calm down I love Kava, Skullcap, Blue Vervain, and Valerian. I also find Linden and Damiana to offer some soothing effects as well.

COLLIN:

Collin embodies a lot of earth qualities. He is reliable, steadfast, strong, and kind. He’s generous and unselfish with his resources, and he is incredibly loyal. He is an amazing listener, and he is capable and good at holding what people are feeling and thinking without jumping in to solve or change it. When there is a problem or an idea, however, he is the logistics guy. When I have a dream–regardless of how impractical it is–he can figure out how to make it happen (and in a stable and sustainable way). 

He is physically very strong, and it is honestly hard to know when he’s sick or out of balance physically or emotionally because he doesn’t complain. He is a pretty reliably healthy person. Like his temperament, his immune system is like well-oiled machinery and consistently effective. His pace of life is also consistent and steady. This is because he is very detail oriented and intentional about what he does. He moves much more slowly than I do in terms of general life-pace. Everything gets done and well, but he always seems so non-urgent about it. So, I’ve learned to check in on him because he’s not going to be the squeaky wheel, and sometimes when he is sick I wouldn’t otherwise know because he just keeps going at his usual, reliable pace. When he is out of balance, it is from overwhelm and feeling bogged down with too much responsibility to carry. Going on an adventure helps him cast off some of that excess heaviness that can accumulate. He loves gardening and growing plants for food and friendship. He gets a lot of peace from being close to the earth. 

HERBS: He loves Rosemary and Ginkgo Biloba because they enliven him and help with cognitive acuity. He loves Valerian and Hops for sleep and relaxation. 

SENYA:

My tiny non-biney, Senya exhibits a lot of air qualities. They have always been extremely intellectually bright, and they were verbal very young. By age 2 we were having very lively and engaging conversations because they were curious about everything. They were always moving, too. They’d shimmy up rock faces like a little wisp. When I couldn’t find them in our yard, I’d look up because they were usually somewhere in the trees. Even now, they like to hike up in the mountains above the coastal fog or, on a sunny day, be in high natural places among the crows and ravens as they catch the air currents. However, when they were really tiny (under 4) wind was one of their greatest fears and sources of overwhelm. I think, now, I understand that it’s because that pushed them out of balance too much too quickly. As they grow up, I see them learning how to harness their airy nature.

They have a very active mind still, and sometimes this makes it a little hard for them to sleep at night. When they are out of balance, they can experience anxiety. They can overthink an issue ad nauseum. Sometimes their changeable nature reveals itself and they can lose interest in something they were passionate about mere weeks before. In friendships, they often have a lot of fun with their companions, but they sometimes long for more of a connection emotionally or intellectually than their peers are able to provide at this point. They don’t have a lot of love for hierarchy or authority, and they work much better in a more collaborative or mentor-based approach versus an authoritative structure with rigid rules. Truthfully, if they don’t respect a rule, it’s hard for them not to break it. They’re defiant with a cheerful attitude because they don’t see why they should have to abide by rigid, meaningless rules. 

When they are in balance, they are extremely up, friendly, very conversational, funny, and fun. People find them very entertaining and engaging when they are fully being their authentic self. They are artistic, intellectual, and whimsical. They have diffused their ideas and beliefs far and wide via art, zines, and conversations. For example, they’ve educated all their extended family members as well as their entire middle and high school body about gender identity and queerness in general. 

HERBS: They love lavender and mugwort. They burn a LOT of mugwort in their room, and they are always having incense going too. They love aromatics. Rose and Lavender help them calm down. Lemon and Rosemary help them feel uplifted. They eat a lot of oats, and they take valerian and passionflower for sleep. They drink kava tea for calm. 

JUNIPER:

Juniper, our surfer, swimmer, and incessant bath-taker, encompasses a lot of water traits. She is fathoms deep, but she is an internal processor. So sometimes it’s hard to know what’s going on under the surface. She is incredibly imaginative. She started writing stories before she could physically write. She’d dictate to me what to write, and her creativity was astounding. She’s also always been resilient and able to adapt to the changes our family has made through the years (relocating, different school situations, traveling, etc). She’s strong, solid, and confident physically and in terms of temperament. She’s drawn to the actual water, too. She feels very contained and at home in the water. She surfs, swims, and loves to be in the waves of the ocean. 

She’s deeply feeling, though she doesn’t always articulate this empathy with words. She is more likely to be a calming presence with someone while they are feeling a lot. She doesn’t get overwhelmed by big personalities, and in fact, is drawn to them. People are drawn to her, and she tends to make and keep friends through the years. She is good at relating to people whether they are similar to or different from her. 

When she is in balance, she’s intuitive, creative, imaginative, and channels these gifts into writing, drawing, and reading. She can be in a flow state for hours and even days at a time when she’s riding an intrinsic wave of motivation to engage in these imaginative activities that she loves. When she’s physically in balance, she is strong and active, physically capable of activities that require strength, agility, and endurance. When she’s out of balance, she tends to  get croupy coughs and a runny nose. She can also become stagnant and lethargic if she isn’t given structure and motivation. She does best when she’s inspired or intrinsically motivated to do things. When she was out of balance as a little kid, she’d have night terrors or her imagination would turn against her and she’d get really scared. Still to this day, she has a vaso-vagal response to hearing about sensitive health issues regarding the heart or brain or other vital organs. 

HERBS: She loves chamomile, lavender, and rose tea at bedtime. She loves taking baths with ylang ylang oil. For her croupy coughs, I give her elecampane, mullein, and peppermint. To soothe her throat or stop the coughing spasms, I give her an herbal syrup with licorice root, marshmallow root, honey, and cherry bark. 

I am grateful for the elements framework as it has been a helpful lens through which I can 1) appreciate the unique traits of each person and see the differentiation as rooted in our elemental personalities 2) more clearly recognize what being in and out of balance looks like as individuals and a whole family 3) implement herbal and behavioral supports to return to balance.

So, I invite you to share in the comments about one of these questions: What’s your family like in terms of differentiation or integration? What have you all found to do for fun? What element do you most strongly identify with? Do share if you feel so inclined. I love getting glimpses into your worlds.

For more on Vitalism and the Elements, check out this article:

https://radicalvitalism.wordpress.com/2020/02/01/you-are-nature-working-with-the-elements-for-change/

When I was in high school and college, I’d have a recurring dream that I was trying to run, but I was only able to move in slow motion due to an extreme weight of gravity acting upon my body. It was such a frustrating dream. At the time I had those dreams, in waking life, I was not an adept runner. Sometimes I would try to go for a jog where I lived in Delaware, and it felt kinda like that because it was just long, straight roads. I think a deeper layer of that dream was also about my pyschological and spiritual journey. Trying to overcome, prevail, change habits, make progress…and feeling my efforts didn’t yield commensurate results.

In my late twenties, however, when I lived in Pennsylvania, I accidentally became a runner. This was only because one January, in keeping my New Year’s resolution to work out a few times a week, I headed to the employee gym after work one day. The elliptical machine (the only piece of equipment at the gym that didn’t make me want to cry) was fully booked with a waitlist. Since this was only like January 3rd, and I’d already arrived at the gym in my workout clothes, I decided to begrudgingly get on the treadmill. I negotiated with myself that I would alternate jogging for a three minutes with walking for a 1 minute until I had done this for about 40 minutes. Surprisingly, I didn’t hate it. So, then the same scenario happened again, and then again. It seemed that 5:45 pm was a prime elliptical time slot, and I was just not able to get to the elliptical machine before all the other University of Delaware employees. 

After a couple weeks of my gentle jog-walks, I started seeing if I could extend the duration of my jogging time before intermittent walking times. I did this slowly and surely, and a few months later, I was jogging for the duration of my workout. I also gradually increased my speed so that I felt like I could refer to it as running. 

By that May, I was feeling pretty great when we left our home in Pennsylvania to go visit my sister and her family in Los Angeles. And there, I met California Kim. That’s what I named her because she looked like she was designed by Mattel for the Barbie doll line—but like she would have been Barbie’s friend, Kim, because she had auburn hair and green eyes (not blonde hair and blue eyes). So, I wanted her to have a name befitting a Barbie friend doll. 

Anyway, California Kim and I got to talking, and she was telling me about how she was training for a marathon. This sounded so inspiring and aspirational to me. So I was asking her how she got into that level of running. “Well,” she began, “I honestly just started by walking around my neighborhood every morning. I was walking about 3 miles a day, so I was going about 21 or so miles a week. And then, I just started to run some of it, and I made my goal to swap out my walking miles for running miles within a few months. And then I realized I had a solid baseline for running, and I decided to start slowly adding distance. Before too long, I was running long enough runs some days of the week that I realized I could probably start training for a marathon. And so I did!”

Now, California Kim was inspiring enough with this story, but then she went on to share something that Angelenos very rarely share—her age. Sidenote: this is because, they usually look at least 10 years younger than they actually are. “I’m 39” she confessed, “so I wanted to run a marathon by the time I was 40.” 

At this point in my life, 39 sounds like the beginning of actual adulthood. To my 27 year-old self from a small town where people got married by 21, that sounded near-geriatric. It left a big impression on me. “If California Kim can run a marathon, I certainly can!” 

So, when I returned back home, I I took my daily miles outside and applied them to the gently rolling hills of Pennsylvania. I made it my goal to go at least 20 miles of distance per week, but that was a combination of walking and running. Slowly, I converted my walking miles to running miles. Slowly I then decided to make my minium distance 4 miles at a time. Within a couple months, I was running 8 miles at a time, and then I reached double digits (that was a big moment). And eventually, 6 months after I started training, I ran a marathon! I even dragged Collin along 🙂 

That experience shifted so much for my psyche. I haven’t had that old dream about gravity preventing me from running since. 

I guess that story bubbled up from within me and onto this page because I’m studying and training to become an herbalist. Right now, the end goal feels pretty lofty. In my dreamiest dreams, I have a little shop. And in this lovely, little herbal shop there would be an elixir bar where people can order unique, made-to-order, tonic beverages that are colorful (because flavonoids) and healthy (because tonic herbs) and tasty (because we all want to enjoy our lives). There would also be lots of beautiful, dry herbs in jars all over shelves on the walls, and I’d be there to give consultations for people and help support them in their health goals. Whether it’s dealing with anxiety, depression, high blood pressure, or wanting to enhance their spiritual path with sacred herbs that promote dreams and visions, I’d be their go-to botanical gal. I could give them protocols and my number and send them back into their worlds with herbal allies—plant friends in the forms of teas, tinctures, salves, herbal smokes, or whatever was the most appropriate preparation given the person and their situation.

But who knows? I mean, this is a dream, but currently, I’m still trying to learn about Phytochemicals enough to make people tea that their doctors will actually allow them to drink. I made a tea for a family member recently, and I formulated the tea pretty well for what the condition was. But I missed the phytochemical details and how flavonoids would duplicate the blood thinning effect of the medication the person was already taking. Fortunately, I always tell people to check with their doctors before making a tea part of their regular, daily life. So the doctor flagged the redundancy of the herbs and the medication. But it was disheartening. Because it felt like gravity. 

Will I ever truly learn, for example, what caffeic acid (a phenolic acid) does in the body versus what thymol (a monoterpene) does in the body? They occur together in Thyme, for example, so will I know when to attribute an action to synergistic relationships of phytochemicals within a plant versus knowing when a specific constituent is responsible for a specific effect? And furthermore, will I be able to do this for thousands of phytochemicals? Or at least have a strong enough grasp on the broad categories that I know where and when to quick reference things? 

This past week I felt like that mistake applied gravity to my efforts toward my dream. It’s alright, it’s alright. Nobody needs to get out a violin for my injured spirit. I know that struggle produces growth, and plants have taught me this most of all. Without developing scar tissues through tiny injuries in the beginning of their lives, plants won’t have the core strength to grow taller and stronger commensurately. They can grow tall quickly without struggle, but then they collapse with one, strong breeze. So, they need to develop with struggle early on in the growth process. Gah. Such wisdom all around us if we look for it. 

I’ve made other mistakes along my herbalism journey too. Apropros to nothing I just wrote at all, did you know that mailing (a tiny bit of) cannabis across state lines to a friend is a federal crime?  And so is growing Papaver somniferum? Honestly, these seem like ridiculous things to make illegal. Especially considering some of the things that are backed by our federal government that should be illegal (ICE). But I try to be a law abiding citizen to the best of my abilities so that if their is a really unjust law, I can disobey it and it will make more of an impact. It’s a “choose your battles” sort of thing. I guess everyone has to set that dial where their own moral compass indicates. 

I will mention here that while the running dream never recurred, I did have a dream a couple years back that I was back on our old land in Vermont trying to fly on a broomstick. I’d be hovering a little bit off the ground for a few moments at a time saying, “I know I can fly this thing.” But after just a few moments, this extreme gravity would weigh me down. And I will say this, many who were burned as witches were herbalists. So, that’s something to ponder.

Well, that’s all for now, folks. If you were going to have a soundtrack for this post, I’d say please listen to three songs by Mother Mother in this order: “It’s Alright”, “Get Up”, and “I’ve Got Love.” And if you’re going to have a tea menu to those tunes, have chamomile, then peppermint, and then ideally you’d have a rose-cacao-damiana blend. Maybe one day you can get that last one in my shop 🙂

Hello friends! It’s been a while since I’ve written and shared with y’all what I’m learning (sidenote: I’m trying to embrace the gender-inclusive “y’all” plural pronoun, but growing up distinctly (but not far) ABOVE the Mason-Dixon Line really makes this feel unnatural). 

Anyway, my absence and pause in writing and posting has been due to all good things. I just concluded my 352 hour Herbal Apprenticeship program with the Ojai School of Herbal Studies. Here are some lovely pics from that: 

And I recently attend my annual, week-long herbalism intensive with my Family and Community Herbalist program through the Vermont Center for Integrative Herbalism (VCIH). Here are some pics from that: 

And I’ve been working my tuchus off completing assignments for VCIH because I really want to be a skilled, knowledgeable, and wise herbalist. The plan is to move on to the Clinical Herbalist program next year. In order to do so, however, I really need a strong baseline and foundational level of mastery in Plant Chemistry, Herbal Energetics, Anatomy and Physiology, Botany, Herbal Therapeutics, and the Foundations of Medicine Making. That’s all in addition to our Justice in Herbalism and Relational Culture classes which are also a lot. It’s been absolutely so fulfilling, and also entirely consuming! Which I love. 

AND, it’s summer! Which means we’re out of our normally scheduled programming of Sen and Junes being at their school (The Manzanita School, here in Topanga), so we’re finding our groove in that domain as well. When Sen isn’t painting or drawing fantastic creations of whimsy, they have been regularly hiking all over the mountains on their own. I’m happy to report that they inherited Collin’s penchant for navigation and not mine as evidenced by the fact that they can hike from here, go about 6 miles, and return home! Without any glitches, meltdowns, panic attacks, or confusion. I’m SO HAPPY. I feel like Forrest Gump when he asks Jenny if little Forrest got the cognitive processing speed of papa Forrest or Jenny…and much to his relief he finds out that little Forrest is like Jenny in that regard. It’s just nice to know when our kids don’t have all the struggles we have had to carry. Thank goodness for that good luck and grace in genetic combinations. Sen and I try to make time to have tea together and often collaborate on the one hike I know how to navigate 🙂 (I guess now they can start leading me!).

Juniper has been either lying in bed lost in novels, writing a book, or attending surf camp. On Monday nights we watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer together (just her and me). It’s the only show I watch where I enjoy a running commentary. We talk the whole time—yelling at the characters when they make bad choices, calling Xander out when he’s incredibly sexist, and cheering as Willow comes out of the closet a little more episode by episode. So, I feel pretty great about that too. On the days Juni has surf camp, I’ve been doing my schoolwork at the beach. That’s been wonderful as long as I remember to hydrate, apply sunscreen, and bring enough snacks. 

Collin has been working and and supporting us all in various ways (introducing Senya to new hiking routes, successfully running his company and thus financially making the cash money to fund school programs and camps), and in his spare time he’s been running in the mountains again, getting our house and outside space up to fire safety code, and planning our upcoming summer family vacation. He and I have also been trying to wake up early and go for a 5 mile hike together each morning while we don’t have school drop off. That has been really restorative.

Honestly, this is the first summer that I’m really busy with a lot of work outside of just our family context, and it’s going well. As everybody is getting older, it’s been bittersweet. As I’ve written in other posts, I have a lot of grief about the early phase of our family being done. Collin and I were talking the other day about how you don’t realize sometimes that your spending your life until one day you look back and realize it’s spent. We spent the kids’ childhood, and we spent our thirties, and I’m now spending my early forties, and it’s wild to wake up and realize we’re here already. I didn’t want to admit it was spent for a while, but I feel like my kids gave me the hint to move on and find a new path (when they not so subtly each were like, “You need to find your own path and stop being too invested in mine.”).

So, the young years are over, and yet this phase of life is beautiful. I LOVE who Sen and Juniper are right now. I love that they still want to hang out with us, that they still live here, that they are looking forward to our family summer vacation. I love seeing their own interests really develop and take shape in a more estabilshed and mature way at this point in their lives. I love that they have other mentors who trulyl cherish them, see their gifts, and foster their development. It’s wonderful to share these beautiful treasures with the world and see how appreciated they are. And it’s awesome to see them succeed without me running along side them telling them what to do at each step. They’re learning through successes and also struggles, and it’s all ultimately good for growth.

Col and I also continue to grow and evolve through it all. We have remained compatible and dynamic together while continuing to really transform, evolve, and realize our own potential as individuals.

Anyway, at some point, I’ll write more juicy, thought provoking pieces, but for now, this is my update just to let you all know that I’m here, I’m alive, and I’m still writing (just mostly for school). 

In fact, if anyone is interested, I’ll post the piece I wrote about the Elemental Framework for understanding constitutions and how I applied that to our family system.

I’ll post that next 🙂

When my kids were little, I knew I was nailing parenting. If I could’ve had a GPA it would’ve been about a 4.0—or even one of these new-fangled 5.0 GPAs (which seems a bit ridiculous and inflated, if I’m being for real). And while there is no parenting GPA, I did get regular, glowing reviews in the forms of hugs, giggles, cuddles, and the accumlation of many little treasures (rocks, flowers, sea shells, autumn leaves, etc) they’d give to me (with those chubby, little hands). I was also bestowed with many artistic masterpieces—often with “I love Mama” inscribed upon them. They’d profess their love for me in word and deed; they wanted to be with me whenever they could be, and they thought all my adventures, activities, and games were awesome. And after every full day, they’d go to bed reliably at 7:00 or 8:00 pm every night. I’d get time with Collin or by myself to restore and relax, and then we’d start it all over again the next day. 

Of course there were the overtired fits, the sensory-overwhelm-induced tantrums, the sibling squabbles, and the constant exhaustion from working tirelessly. I rarely, if ever, lost my temper in those days. I never cursed around them. I filtered what media they consumed with discretion and care. We read great literature together by the fire every night, all winter long. I set boundaries, and always felt like I could contain their big feelings because it was so obvious it wasn’t personal. It was just a little kid expressing their raw emotions. It was demanding work to be sure, but it felt straightforward. It wasn’t complicated, and by showing up wholeheartedly each day, I got to be their magic maker, their story teller, their inventor of imaginary worlds and delicious snacks. I was very careful to preserve their innocence and to give them a very long and sweet childhood. This was an era where my trademark quality of intensity really shone beautifully. I made their childhood my masterpiece. 

But then, things evolved beyond that stage of life. They started differentiating from me. They needed more than just me, and they wanted to set themselves apart from me. 

They started to need and want more privacy. They started listening to their own music and reading their own books. Daily story time and nightly read alouds became things of the past. They swapped the StoryBots soundtrack for Sia and then they swapped Sia for Ashnikko. They began developing their own sense of style and picking out their own clothes. Then they got iPhones, and the endless struggle for boundary setting ensued. They started wanting to be with their friends as much as possible while at the same time becoming more discriminating about what they’d do with me or not. Gone were the days that letting them wear Heelys to Costco warranted their enthusiastic buy-in to come along. And while many Woodland Hills Costco customers may be relieved to not have two little speed demons Heelying around for free samples, I sure miss their company.

As they started to individuate, I did what so many former homeschooling primary care givers likely do: I tried to move them far away from society to a rural farm so they had to hang out with me more again. I just had to eliminate most of the competition (I mean, by moving away—nothing too sinister).  When that didn’t work, I cried and alternated between eating chocolate and running in the mountains, thus leaning into my existential crisis. Slowly, I started to find my own path in studying herbalism—first in my Ojai program based here in California and now also in my Vermont-based hybrid program. 

This differentiating process is natural and good, but sometimes it’s difficult. They see me make way more mistakes than they used to. That means I’m not perfect in their eyes anymore. They still love me, but they don’t adore me with that childhood innocence. As their wills have gotten stronger and different from mine, we’ve disagreed more often. This means I have hurt their feelings more and differently than when they challenged me less. They, too, have the power now to hurt my feelings. They aren’t little kids anymore, so it feels more calculated and deliberate when they say or do things that sting. That affects me more and this means that sometimes that quality of intensity—the same quality that allowed me to be the magical, creative, and mystical mama in their little years—can now be a liability in our relationship. 

To this last point, I’ve gotten some negative reviews about this, and that is where my growing edge is. There’s no more perfect GPA, and that is really difficult. In addition to the grief that comes with their growing up, there is also a separate grief that there’s no more “perfect” parenting persona. This is difficult for anyone, probably, but it feels like death by a thousand dull, rusty knives to a perfectionist. I hate having to reconcile my shadow work in this area. I want to erase my shadow and/or pretend it’s not there. And yet, I have a partner who is loyal and brave enough to reveal it to me. And I repeat, I am intense, so calling me out on how my intensity unchecked can be hurtful in our family is a bold move. It’s like picking up a can of liquid to douse a fire but not being able to know whether it’s water or gasoline until after you pour it on the fire. Sometimes it’s a 50-50 mix.

An example: 

We recently watched Young Sherlock as a family, and we all loved it. Young Sherlock was produced by Guy Ritchie, so it has a unique and fun style to the way it’s filmed and directed—there’s driving music, interesting cinematography, quick-witted humor, and fast-paced action scenes. So, last night we watched Snatch (a movie Guy Ritchie produced in 2000) at Collin’s behest. He remembered liking it. I was dubious because I remembered not loving it. As it turns out, post-viewing, I did not love it again. To be more accurate, I HATED it. To reiterate, I loathed it. If I could have unzipped my skin and taken my soul to a different plane of consciousness to request a new body that had never watched that dreadful movie, I would have. Furthermore, I wanted to dismantle the patriarchy, deconstruct every oppressive social construct that has led to the oppression of queer or female bodied people, and round that out by burning the world down and starting a new one. Maybe someone could have these feelings and be subtle about them, but that person has likely never born with the surname DiNatale. 

In other words, that movie hit a nerve. Watching it, I viscerally remembered how absolutely suffocating it felt to be a female in the 90s and early 2000s. I remembered how every movie and show I watched was written and produced by a bunch of cisgender, heterosexual, white males who weren’t even the good ones of that group but rather the future known “me too” offenders. These were the guys who only wrote female characters into the plots as accessories or objects—unless there was the occasional movie like the Matrix which, let’s face it, made Trinity a female version of a man. That is, she had zero femininity, so the thing that made her female was her body alone which I guess they really wanted to highlight because they put her in that skin tight leather pantsuit. That was designed by men for men. This was the era of “feminism” that was like, “welcome, females, to the male space. We’ll let you be peripheral second-tier participants if you embody and exhibit masculine traits. The degree of respect and acceptance you may earn is commensurate with the degree to which you are masculine. If you get too assertive, you’re out.” 

And so, here is the cyclical problem with that; that’s the world I grew up in. So the message I internalized was: don’t be weak. What is weak? Being soft is weak. Being sensitive is weak. Being empathic is weak. Being emotional is weak—unless it’s anger. Men run this operation. Men don’t respect weakness. So if you want to be respected, don’t be a candy-ass sissy.

This is the internal voice I still hear quite a lot. And yet, I have a lava flow of intensity coursing through my veins at any given moment. Because the only acceptable, respectable negative emotion seemed to be anger (definitely not sadness) that’s what my lava flow learned to become. Anger can be a real gift sometimes. But it’s not always the most appropriate or helpful emotion to express. Especially when you fall in love with a highly sensitive soul. 

Which is what I did. And he happens to be a male. And it has been quite the journey to learn how to grow together. We are basically the yin-yang of couples, and it works beautifully; to be compatible and continue to evolve as soul mates, though, we both have to develop the parts of our souls that don’t come as naturally. He’s working to become more direct, more clear, more assertive, and more resilient. I’m working to become more curious, more vulnerable, more sensitive, and more empathic. 

In other words, I’m trying to train my lava flow of emotion to become more than just anger. My training started this morning after I went on quite a colorful and emotive explanation of just how much and why I hated that movie. After I completed my graduate level dissertation on why that movie is the worst thing he ever could have suggested we watch, Collin decided to confront me about how the intensity with which I express my anger is sometimes hurtful to the people closest to me (namely Senya, Juniper, and him). We had an almost three hour conversation about it from before the sun was up until he had to start work. By the end of it, I was willing to consider his point of view.

Now, for a perfectionist, it’s hard to hear criticism. It’s hard for anyone, but for some of us, it’s crushing. I spend a good amount of time after getting criticism imagining scenarios where the person who criticized me is filled with regret and remorse for the pain and injury they caused my soul. After this intensity feedback from Collin, my imaginal world of self pity involved various scenarios where my family was longing for the days that I was too intense. In one, I had a terrible health diagnosis that left me ravished with illness. Guys, I was so weak and frail. We didn’t know if I was going to make it. Sure, I was so sweet what with my sunken-in cheek hollows barely supporting my brave smile— but I was so uncharacteristically docile that my family just LONGED for the days when I was “too intense.” Sometimes in these little self-indulgent and wound-tending imaginations, I’m in a coma. I can hear them crying by my bedside amidst the slow and steady beep of my pulse monitor, “Oh, please come back to us! We love your fire, your intensity, your bright, glowing spirit! Sorry we were such fragile, mere mortals who could not withstand your spirit of mythological proportion” they say. These mental vignettes play throughout the day, and sometimes they’re so powerful I feel a little trickle of tears running down my cheek. Eventually, I forgive them all. Against all odds, I survive.

And that is why, I’m willing to start training my inner lava flow, dragon fire, whatever you want to call it. I know my intensity isn’t the problem per se; it’s when I lose sight of holding love and empathy for the person who is the recipient of my intense feelings. When I unleash that fire, I need to put anyone nearby in a protective force field of love and empathy so I don’t confuse the thing that upset me with the person per se. That was the take-away from the three hour conversation. It’s valid. 

So, I’m learning to take criticism from Collin and also from my kids (who also have recently had the same criticism, so it’s pretty impossible to think they’re all wrong and I’m right). 

Now, listen, my parents made mistakes (they’ll be the first to admit this), but they did some things REALLY well. One of the things they really nailed was being humble and admitting when they made a mistake. They also take criticism really well. I have confronted my mom many times in my adult life, and she literally says, “Thank you so much for trusting me enough to tell me that. I will work really hard to do better. How can I do better?” That’s legendary parenting right there. It makes up for any of the mistakes they ever made. My dad’s responses to my criticism are usually more intense (from whence do you think this apple fell?) such as leaving me flowers with notes that read “I’d rather cut off my own arm than hurt you. I’m sorry.” Both of my parents have only gotten better with age—more loving, more curious, more humble. It’s inspirational and aspirational. 

So, here’s to becoming better. Here’s to growing beyond our egos. Here’s to acknowledging our shadows and showing up as a flawed, imperfect human in our relationships. Here’s to hearing when we’ve fallen short and ultimately deciding to apologize and keep trying. It takes courage to be human, to admit when we’ve failed, and to let others love us without delusions that we’re all good. It’s humbling to be loved with all our faults in plain sight. But, it’s worth it. 

As long as we live and breathe (both real and imaginary versions of ourselves), then in the words of the great Frank Turner, “we can get better…because we’re not dead yet.”

**Suggested soundtrack for this post: “Get Better” by Frank Turner (obviously) as well as “When I Was a Boy” by Dar Williams (to experience some art about how gender roles and expectations are hard for both males and females).

Ahhh, the 1980s. No one had central air conditioning, no one wore helmets, and—for the vast majority of the decade—there weren’t any Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRIs). I wrote a while back about the earliest memories in my life. If you read that, you may remember that my mom suffered from a severe post partum depression from when I was 8 months old until I was 3. This was in the early 1980s before prozac or any type of SSRIs were available. So my mom hung in there as best as she could, albeit chemically depleted, hanging on by sheer will and powered by the force of a mother’s love.

I used to define this early 1980s era in my life by the trauma that I felt from feeling emotionally separate from my mom who was the only other person around most days. As I got older, I could easily trace some of my most intense complexes back to this time period. The word “complex” gets thrown around a lot these days, but in Jungian terms a complex is like a tangled knot of unconcious memories or pain that, when activated, goes off like a land mine. There was a time in my late teens when I’d lose my absolute shit (aka in psychological terms, “this complex was triggered”) if Collin didn’t sound happy when he answered my phone call or if he walked into the room and didn’t make eye contact and smile. I have done a LOT of inner work along the way, and also Collin got a bachelor’s degree in psychology (with a specialization in emotional knowledge) while (or maybe because) we were dating. 

BUT. As I’ve gotten older, and have become a parent myself, I’ve learned that we ALL get scarred to some degree. None of us get out of this life unscathed. We are all both the perpetrators and the victims of pain. The goal isn’t to avoid pain; the journey is about growing through what life throws at you—the good AND the bad. It’s really difficult to compost the trauma, but sometimes the forces at work in this life seem bent toward compelling us to do so. Both psychological and physical trauma have a way of emerging from the depths of our consciousness or bodies; in psychological terms, Jung calls this compensation. Compensation is when a motif comes into your dreams, your thoughts, or even your life. It’s when a dynamic or an issue bubbles up from your unconcious, presenting your conscious mind with the opportunity to integrate it. One of the basic drives of Life is towards health, whatever that means for a particular being.

And while it isn’t particularly fun to have your trauma emerging or complexes getting triggered, ultimately, it is helpful to understand our wounds to heal, to grow, to evolve, and to realize our identity. It takes courage to face the pain, but the pain guides us to the source of the wound; if we understand the root cause of the pain, we are more likely to understand how to formulate a sustainable support—possibly even a cure—rather than just reacting to the pain. 

The wound I incurred when I was little was that I felt deficient in terms of human connection; I’ve had to gain courage to work through this wound, and in some unconscious form of compensation, I was motivated to move to a mountain in Vermont. Deep in my unconscious, I knew I was going to have to confront this specific pain of feeling emotionally isolated. And yet, some strange force within me compelled me to go towards that path fully knowing it would bring up my trauma. Sometimes the only way to heal is to draw out the cause of the pain.

This happens with our physical bodies too.

I got a pretty bad splinter last week when I was loading up our fireplace with logs. I couldn’t even see that I had gotten a splinter, but I felt a surge of pain as I groggily tossed a log into the fireplace at 5:00 am. I inspected my finger, but there wasn’t anything visibly detectable. Over the course of the morning, my finger became swollen and red. By the end of the day, it hurt so badly that I couldn’t use it. Yet, I couldn’t see that there was anything in my finger causing this. If it hadn’t been for my symptoms, I wouldn’t have known there was a splinter in my finger. But the throbbing, swolen, red nature of my finger alerted me that there must be something deep under the surface. So, I applied some of my bite and sting poultice that I had made a few months ago. I left it on for a few hours, and when I washed it off, there was the faintest hint of a foreign object deep under the skin. I applied some more and repeated the process. After doing this three times, enough of the splinter emerged that I asked Collin to tweeze it out. After he nabbed it, there pinched between the tweezers was a 1/4 inch piece of wood. No wonder I was in pain! And yet, without the purging effects of the poultice, I never would have been able to see, let alone remove, the cause of the pain. 

My time living in Vermont was many things—beautiful, epic, cozy, extraordinary in every way—and the degree of solitude I experienced there served as a poultice for my trauma. During Covid, we spent 405 days without leaving the state of Vermont and barely leaving our land. By day 390ish, my pysche felt like a disorderly Mr. Potato head that a rascally kid assembled. An ear where my nose should be. A pair of lips on the side of my head. Or in more artistic terms, my inner world felt like a Picasso painting. The cumulative effects hit me hard all at once; I was eating a breakfast sandwich I had made—a darn, good one too—and suddenly I felt a physiological surge of panic and terror. It felt old, ancient. Like a Balrog. That was the offical beginning of my active journey working through those early years of trauma. 

Over the course of the following year, I took baby steps to recovering and healing. I focused on nutritive support (I later found out that I had been deficient in B12, and likely also Vitamin D). I stopped homeschooling, and enrolled my kids in the community school. This gave me time to hike 5 miles every morning with Collin while we talked and connected, run on my own a few times a week, write, and process the pain. I took baby steps rehabilitating my mental health; it was slow going at first because any small thing that triggered the feelings of unchosen isolation (feeling lost on a trail, driving somewhere unfamiliar without cell service) could lead to a full blown trauma response. I’m talking full-on, body shaking uncontrollably, can’t breathe, can’t think, trauma response. 

The journey back to Topanga and living here has been its own chapter in my healing. I’ve slowly by slowly worked up the courage to run on the trails by myself. By last spring, my anxiety was still bad, but I was dedicated to not letting it keep me from living a full life. We wanted to celebrate our 20th anniversary by taking a once-in-a-lifetime style trip to Switzerland this past summer. I wanted SO much to go, but I knew it was going to require me to confront some of my triggers. Tunnels, elevators, flying on two different planes for a total of 16 hours there and 16 more back. But this trip was my DREAM. We were retracing Tolkien’s steps of his journey that he took when he was 19—the journey that inspired him to create the world of Lord of the Rings. We had a book that told us all the hikes to take that he had traversed and which destinations correlated with beloved places in Middle Earth. This was going to require going WAY out of cell service to trek through Rivendell (the Lauterbrunnen Valley). This was going to require driving in tunnels (there are SO many tunnels in Switzerland!!) as we crossed through the Alps as well as driving the harrowing albeit gorgeous Grimsel Pass. And then, there was Mordor (aka Zermatt). Getting on the sky train to Zermatt was a whole ordeal. My first attempt boarding the train was unsuccesssful. They closed the doors and announced there was a problem with the train. Full blown trauma response. Incidentally this happened while some friendly folks from San Diego were trying to chat with us. I was like, “sorry but I can’t be normal right now” and started shaking and hyperventilating. We got off that train before it left the station.

Second attempt: I stayed on a little longer, but was still like: NOPE. 

Then the train operator—noticing that we kept hopping on and then off again with all our luggage—came up and talked to me very kindly. He was confused but curious as to why I kept exiting the train before it left the station. I explained, like a little kid, that I was scared. Rather than ridicule me or shame me, he was so patient. He explained how the train worked, how they’d solve any problem that could potentially arise, told me EXACTLY how many minutes the train ride would be (gotta love the Swiss precision) and told me it was fine to wait until I was ready. Collin, too, was so incredibly patient and kind. I mean, he could’ve gotten annoyed or been embarrassed. But he just sat on the bench there with me, letting me wait until I was ready. I eventually got on the train, put on my headphones and my music, and set my timer for 12 minutes. Like Max from Stranger Things, as long as I just let the music fill my thoughts, I was okay. And then we got off the train. That was a breakthrough moment for me. It was kind of like immersion therapy. Just what every partner wants their signicant other to say about their anniversary trip, haha. It was an extraordinary, romantic, and dreamy trip in every way. AND I was able to work through a lot of trauma. I specifically wanted to hike up the Matterhorn (Tolkien’s Mount Doom) because I wanted to symbolically leave my trauma there. I channelled my inner Frodo, climbed to about 10,000 ft elevation, and cast the source of my pain in the fires of Mordor. Okay, there were no fires. But I climbed really high, and I really did feel a shift after that day.

As I have worked through the trauma, and now that I’ve been on the other side of the worst of it, I have been able to discover the gift of that era that I used to define as primarily traumatic. 

With the source of the pain withdrawn like that splinter, I now see that the gift of that time was that Nature nurtured me. This earth is my Mother, too, after all. My earliest memories are of my days spent outside, naked as the day I was born, deeply entrenched in the natural world. That little backyard and all that was in it (the plants, the trees, the water, the light, the dirt, the rocks, the sticks, the berries, etc) became my non-human kin. Deep in my cells, I experienced a oneness with the natural world. These relationships sustained me and gave me a sense of belonging with and to them.

I named all my plant friends because no one was around to tell me any of their other names. There was “Ink Berry” who was such good friend to me, and I’d use her ink as paint for my body, my drawings, and any potions I was making. It wasn’t until just this past year during my apprenticeship at Earth Island Medicinal Herb Garden that I learned Ink Berry is known as Poke (Phytolacca americana), and she is one of the more formidable and powerful herbs in the garden. Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) was my Wishing Plant, and her seeds were “wishes.” I believed that if you set an intention or made a wish on the seed, that wish would come true if the seed floated away (rather than fell to the ground).  Stories like this go on and on about my casual, feral relationship with my non-human friends. This Venn diagram of overlapping space between my imaginal universe and the natural world is where I spent enough time that it comprises my memories from those first three years. Now that I have worked through so much of the trauma, I am able to remember the beauty, my mom’s sweet face watching me as I made my potions and mud pies, the feel of the sun on my skin, the morning dew on my bare toes.

This is my origin story—being nurtured by the natural world and my imagination.

It’s funny how now, looking back, I can see the thread guiding my life. I’m reading a book for my Herbal Energetics course, and the author of that book, Kat Maier, introduced me to William Stafford’s poem, The Way It is. This poem beautifully describes an unchanging thread of our heart’s journey that we follow. Life evolves and circumstances change, but somehow, if we hold onto it, we never get lost. I’ve always known that I’ve been guided by the Polaris of Love, but now I am beginning to see that there’s also been a thread that’s been there all along. In the tradition of Western Herbalism it is called the Vital Force. This Vital Force has many names across cultures and traditions. Ancient Greeks called this force vitality. It’s called Gi in Korean frameworks, Ki in Japanese concepts, Qi in Traditional Chinese Medicine, Prana in India’s Ayurveda tradition, and the Iroquois nation calls it Orenda. It’s known as Ruach in Hebrew/Biblical understanding, and among the Yoruba people of West Africa, it is called Aṣẹ. Just to name a few. 

All these names refer to the essence of vitality itself; it’s numinous, and it’s difficult to wrap a word around it. And yet, as it was with my plant friends and I, regardless of what you call it, it is what it is. Or as Shakespeare more elegantly put it via Juliet, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” 

Whether or not you want to believe in this concept spiritually, it’s observationally true in a practical sense that all living systems have an inherent drive towards life, growth, complexity, and health. 

Right now, collectively, there’s a lot of trauma coming up for our nation. It’s being triggered and playing out in ways that are offering us the opportunity to confront the source of the pain. The things that happened in the past have been there all along, causing pain and ill health, but they were undetectable for some of us who had the privileged ability to ignore or not notice it. This nation was built on the genocide of and broken treaties with the Indigenous nations that were here before European contact. When we throw our arms up incredulously in disbelief that this current administration is not honoring due process for immigrants—maybe we aren’t aware that this echoes the legally sanctioned U.S. Fugitive Slave Acts of 1793 and 1850, which employed people to track down, apprehend, and return self-emancipated people to slavery. When we are indignant that Trump is not honoring the laws, not honoring the word of the constitution—we are forgetting, perhaps, that this is the exact behavior that founded America and “claimed” the land and the resources therein for itself. The 1868 Treaty of Fort Laramie declared that the Black Hills of Dakota were to be repatriated to the Sioux. When gold was discovered there in 1874, the US broke this treaty, allowed miners to extract gold on Sioux land, and redrew the boundaries. That’s one of many examples of broken treaties. These are not new problems. The systemic causes of ill social health such as racism, white supremacy, patriarchy, and unchecked capitalism have been active forces at play here since European contact. Our nation had some great intentions, but there was also a lot of systemic injustice baked into it. These injustices have been here under the surface causing ill health all along. Now, as if a poultice has been applied with the appointment of this administration, the source of the pain is emerging. Will we have the courage to face the collective trauma? Will we be able to integrate these truths into our consciousness and confront the dominant narratives that have gotten us here?

We’d all like to project and “other” people who are overtly causing harm, making these individuals villains. And yes, I do hope that this administration and all the perpetrators of harm are held accountable. But the truth is, when we totally outsource the blame, we avoid taking responsibility. We ignore the shadow within ourselves. We ignore the work we need to do to dismantle these systems of injustice within us. And just like that kind train operator, trauma diffuses with empathy. The way through this mess is to activate empathy for one another—yes, even the people who scorn and ridicule empathy. Empathy requires that we notice something in ourselves that connects with what we see in another person’s struggle. That’s why some of us don’t enjoy practicing empathy. It requires us to self reflect on really difficult things. Then, hopefully, we can find the gift in this wound. When we integrate and face the pain and the trauma of the origins of our nation, we will be able to also find what has been good. And there’s a LOT of good. I love this land, the ideals of this nation, and what we could be if we choose to follow the pain to the source of the wounds. The vital force is urging us towards growth and towards healing. Those of us who have descended from white colonizers are not to blame for the wrongs of our ancestors, but we do have the responsibility to do what we can to bring healing. 

So yes, of course it is healthy to get angry in the face of injustice. Yes, hold this administration accountable. But also, let’s do our own work so that we come out of this era a more healed nation—not just a nation that swings back and forth between ultra conservative and ultra liberal. Let’s integrate the good and the bad and own our national origin story. Like I said, none of us get out of here unscathed or without pain. Let’s do the work collectively. Because in the words of the legendary James Baldwin,

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

At some point between childhood and now, I woke up one morning (and this was honestly only a few years ago, if I’m being honest) and had the realization, “Oh, wow. I guess I’m not going to be a child star that gets discovered at the mall.”

See, my childhood was split between the 80’s and 90’s, so I was 10 in 1991 when Kris Kros was discovered at the Greenbriar mall in Atlanta, Georgia by record producer and rapper, Jermaine Dupris. Legend had it that Dupris spotted Chris Kelly and Chris Smith (aka the Mac Daddy and the Daddy Mac, respectively) while they were just out and about because they had a unique look—most notably, they wore their clothes backwards. Dupris just knew from seeing them that they would be stars under his tutelage. A year later their hit song “Jump” topped the Billboard for 8 weeks straight. 

From that point on, every shopping trip became a potential moment of discovery for my future stardom. The fact that I lived in the corn fields of Delaware and said shopping trips were usually to the nearby Acme—hundreds of miles from any known record producer— did not dampen my spirits. I would sing and dance down the aisles whilst collecting groceries from various parts of the grocery store, hopeful that just around the end cap (hosting the potato chip display) there was a talent scout just waiting to sweep me up and help me realize my potential. Fortunately, I also grew up in the era where kidnapper vans and after school specials about creepers loomed large in every kid’s psyche. So I was simultaneously unrealistically hopeful yet ready to turn my jazz hands into a left hook and right uppercut combo if necessary. 

So, that morning not too long ago when I woke up and had the “RIP child-star dream” moment, I also started realizing an imaginary graveyard of other dreams gone by. I sat there in bed thinking, “ I guess I’m also never going to get my Ph.D by 35 and be a tenured professor by 40. Guess I’m not going to be a parachute journalist covering high-stress stories in high conflict zones. Guess I’m not going to be a young, twenty-something travel-show host on the travel channel immersed in the beautiful chaos of a busy market in some very different culture from mine, eating interesting food with never before tasted spices while dressed in local attire as the sounds of music in a different scale mixes with the crowing of roosters. That last one is very specific because it left a very real and lasting impression on the 16 year old version of me when I saw an episode of a Lonely Planet travel show where that exact scene unfolded. I remember it because I happened upon that show during the era when I was homeschooled and alone with my cat most days eating a steady diet of generic “frosty flakes” throughout each day mostly due to boredom. It was at that moment that I realized some people live extraordinary lives, and I wanted to be one of those people. 

Now, some people in this world are more pragmatic people than I; they’re more tethered to reality. These people probably don’t wake up when they’re 40 and suddenly realize this graveyard of career dreams gone by because they made practical career decisions all along. They have aspirations and inspirations, sure, but they also set SMART goals. Specific, Measurable, Attainable and I’m too lazy to look up the R and the T. I’m thinking of my former co-worker and friend who obtained her BA in English and became an editor right out of undergrad. She is still, to this day, an editor—some twenty years after getting her degree. I’m thinking also of my sister in law who obtained her BS in nursing, became a nurse, stayed home with her very young children, then when they went back to school became a nurse practioner. And true to the name of the profession, she IS a practioner meaning she practices her expertise and medical skills. These two are prime examples of people who studied something they intended to use as a career to make money. That is THREE levels deep of planning and pragmatism that I utterly lacked at every step of my life’s journey. 

I have always had this belief that if I follow my intuition and keep my inner compass pointed toward Love, it will all work out. I’ve started to realize how much I staked on this belief. Identifying my soul mate at 17 (he made my heart throb and yet I felt more myself with him than anyone else). Choosing my major in undergrad (I wanted to experiences other cultures). Getting married at 21 (Spend my lifetime with my soul mate? Sign me up ASAP!). Career choices (a salaried job that gives me 5 weeks of paid vacation for backpacking every summer? Yes, please!). Growing two, whole humans in my body (reading too much about it made me queasy, so I just trusted my body had it covered). Raising them (Again, nary a book in sight. Isn’t this just relationship? Comes naturally to me!). Educating them (isn’t human curiosity innate? If I just include them in everything I’m doing all day and/or give them materials that support that curiosity, isn’t that enough?). Decisions to turn down doctoral offers (really digging my kids more than I thought I would…maybe I’ll do that later), turning down job offers (my kids are really digging me—don’t want to waste that precious window of opportunity!), and deciding to remain the primary care giver while homeschooling for the years that most people build a career (see past few parenthetical comments). Moving across the country again, and again, and again (each time it seemed like the right thing to do). 

That desire to live an extraordinary life has been fulfilled with every era as we have definitely charted our own course through many unconventional and plot-twisty life chapters. I never found that extraordinary outlet in a career like my 10 or 16 year old self thought I would. But, I also never planned to camp with lions right outside our backpacking tent, but we did. I never planned to get not lost (we weren’t on a trail but Collin assured me he knew generally where we were) in Patagonia, but we did. We saw a rainbow sunrise and watched and heard avalanches falling from nearby mountainsides on Collin’s 25th birthday. I never planned to ice climb to the top of Sahale mountain in the North Cascades or encounter a Grizzly Bear eating an elk in Banff while being three days’ of hiking from any town. Who would have thought once we had Sen and Junes we’d live in Arkansas on a lake for while they were little? Who would have thought it would be such a beautiful and wonderful place to be for exactly that era? Who would have thought we’d move to Topanga three, separate times—each time lured by both the beauty of natural landscape and the ease with which we fit socially here. Unbrushed hair for your two year old? Normal. Androgynous-looking little half-dressed humans? Normal. A blend of love and light and leave me the eff alone when I’m hiking in the mountains? Normal. Who would have thought we’d leave Topanga to live on a 64 acre parcel of pristine forest with a pond and homestead smack in the middle? Who would have thought the kids would meet their lifelong childhood friend there in those woods? Who knew that a little over a year after we moved there, the three of them would run freely and happily together day in and out during a global pandemic while the outside world devolved into chaos? Who would have thought that our little family would travel to Thailand—three times for Col and me, two of which were with Sen and Junes—each time for 5 weeks minimum. Who would have thought we’d go on safari in Uganda with the aforementioned pragmatic (yet still bad ass and adventurous too) nurse practioner sister in law and fam because they were living in Uganda at the time? We never planned our impulsive, used-RV purchase and subletting of our rental house two, different summers in a row, but those were full of one core memory after another. Through Banff, Glacier, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Petrified Forest, Saguaro, the Grasslands, the Badlands, and then up to Vermont (where we found our land) and on to Acadia. And all the places in between. All these adventures and more were largely unforeseen until we got right up to the moment where we decided, “This is the right path. Let’s take it.”

I’ve lived my life like I’m rafting a meandering, glacial river with sporadic class 5 rapids from time to time. And while it’s been absolutely the level of extraordinary that I desired, this “listen to your intuition and keep the compass on Love” approach sets one up to wonder where the heck one is from time to time. And where one is headed. And just how one got there. And sometimes the river adventure might take you to an abrupt and unforeseen shallow, rocky stretch. And perhaps it’s in these figurative moments—when you are trying to carry your raft across the jagged rocks to find deeper water—that you wonder why you chose this as your destination. And perhaps you’re barefoot so these rocks really hurt, and your raft is also heavy and cumbersome because rafts are meant to be flotation devices not things you carry whilst walking on slippery, jagged rocks. And it is at this moment that it is helpful to remember that this wasn’t your destination. You didn’t choose to organize your life around ending up in the jagged rocks. You chose to go on the adventure. And sometimes the adventure has rough patches. But in moments like this, it’s important for me to remember that my intuition and compass set to Love has never ultimately steered me wrong. I just need to hold on and carry that raft just a little further because I don’t know what’s just around the next bend in the river. 

Sometimes just around that bend—there’s a beautiful stretch of deep, fast moving water where you can rest upon your raft as the journey continues in the way that you hoped it would. The trick is to not give up. To not despair. To not look at your bloody feet when you’re on the rocks and think “things must be ALL wrong. These bloody feet are a sign that things have gone terribly off course!” Also, it’s helpful to avoid thoughts like “it’s all my fault. I’ve made bad choices and they led me here.” 

You haven’t. And this difficult set of circumstances isn’t a sign that things have gone terribly wrong. Bloody feet on jagged rocks are part of the journey. It’s all part of the adventure. It’s not the selling point for any adventure; that’s for sure. But it’s kind of in the fine print for living life wholeheartedly. Even the pragmatic people have those moments. Because anytime we are taking a step out in courage to live boldly, to live authentically, to truly LIVE—we take the risk that we will fail. But failure means that you are living courageously. Failure means that you are stepping out of your comfort zone and into the area where growth happens. If you’re not failing or at least struggling often in life, then you’re probably not growing.

And why do I have this confidence? From whence does this optimism flow? 

Here are some things I’ve learned to be true:

1) Life is full of struggle. This isn’t an opinion; it’s fact. To grow, one must struggle. It’s part of being alive whether you are a plant, an animal, or a fungi. To be alive means to struggle. Congratulations, bloody foot friend! That is confirmation that you are a living, breathing participant of this universe!

2) Life is resilient. It is one of the qualities of vitality. To continue to be alive, life must be resilient. How does life become resilient? Resilience is gained through struggle. 

Lather, rinse, repeat. 

You struggle, you’re resilient. You struggle, you’re resilient. 

The point of life isn’t to eliminate struggle. The only way to do that is to die. And then, you disintegrate and decompose and go back into matter to become part of some other life form’s building blocks. And they struggle and become resilient and so on and so forth. And of the spirit/soul/psyche, who knows? I’ve got my theories, hopes, and dreams, but there’s only one way to really find out. And I’m really not ready for that particular adventure yet.

So, I’m not a child star. I’m not a parachute journalist. I’m not famous. But the journey I’ve had has been extraordinary. And right now, I’ve got to say—things feel a bit bloody footed on the jagged rocks. We’ve got some unknowns right now. We’ve got some challenges we’re facing. “We” meaning our little fam and also “We” meaning the United States. It’s not our destination. This is not where the story ends. This is not where our river adventure becomes a leaking cess pool quagmire and we decide to just set up camp there. Nope. I refuse. Until there is no more breath in my body, I will struggle. Another word would be resist—especially when what you’re struggling against is an oppressive force trying to stop vitality. Because that is the essence of Life. That’s my intuition. That’s where my compass is pointing, and it’s still set on Love.

Things are pretty terrible right now in the United States. I’m not going to try to sugar coat that. This is not the destination. This is part of the journey. And here’s the thing: unfortunately, this is what a lot of people have experienced for quite a long time. People of color. People who aren’t able to blend or mask to stay safe. People who dared to come out of the closet in less progressive eras. This fight is not a new one; it’s just heating up to the point that a lot of us who haven’t had to face it can’t ignore it anymore. And that, is ultimately, an important part of the adventure. We all have bloody feet now. So, let’s all pick up our share of this heavy-ass raft and keep going.

Do not despair, my friends. This is not the end. This is not the destination. Let’s give this raft the old heave-ho and keep going. Because that’s what Life does. That’s what Love does. And the two of those are one in the same for my whole, beating heart. 

Ahhh, rain in the canyon. It’s one of the most peaceful experiences I can imagine—especially since I made my peace with mudslides. I’ve come to learn that mudslides are my friend. Mudslides close the boulevard for months at a time, and they allow the canyon to become an isolated little village, cut off from the rest of the world. Hence, all the through-traffic ceases and the sounds of revving, racing Lamborghini’s and crotch rockets are replaced by the sounds of crickets and frogs. I’ll take it. Of course, it’s not great for the small businesses here if that lasts too long, so I always hope they clear it before too many months pass. 

I love living somewhere where nature can still flex in a way that affects a population of 20 million people. That’s pretty magnificent. And I don’t just mean a rainy day. Although, sidenote: Collin is becoming more Californian than I expected. He thanked me for running errands in the “crazy weather” today. And I was like…”ummm, it’s just raining.” But I think we all know that here a little rain can also become an atmospheric river. And that a dry, windy day can become a raging fire. So, I get it.  

Nature has tried to tell us in no uncertain terms that she (I’m not sure nature has a gender, but I guess because she’s often referred to as “Mother Nature” we’ll go with ‘she’”) is at her breaking point in terms of population capacity here. Our water is sourced largely from Northern California, so it’s not sustainable to live here in that regard. Our food comes from not too far away (much of it is grown in the central valley not too far away), but compared to local farms in Vermont, it’s not nearly as hyper local of a food culture.

Some of these environmental concerns were what caused me to want to move back to Vermont. But, try as I did, Mother Nature herself seemed to want me to stay. She sent two mudslides and a raging, massive wildfire both years that I tried to sell my house. Whether you want to spiritualize that or just see it for what it is: nature is the reason I couldn’t move. But a whole lot of other people did move out of Topanga. Which makes me think that she’s shaking out the people who aren’t willing to live in awe of her intense, numinous qualities. 

I find this comforting. And so, as I’ve been moving through my grief about leaving our beloved land in Vermont, I’ve been able to lean into this sense that I belong here. Per nature’s will. For now, at least. We found out (through the super sleuthing of one of my dear friends I made while living in Vermont) that the people who bought our former homestead/land never plan on selling it. Or at least, they do not plan to sell in any foreseeable timeline. That was a real heartbreaker to find out. I am a delusional optimist (I’ve covered that in other posts), so I was oddly convinced for a while that they’d move in a few years and that we’d buy it back. Apparently, my imaginal plan for them is not manifesting. 

So, I’ve had to embrace that. We’ve all felt that boundary that life serves us sometimes, right? We get handed that rigid set of parameters for “what is” regardless of what we want. Good god, it’s so frustrating when you’re someone with an internal locus of control like I am. I feel like Life had to put me in a padded, locked room to handle the disappointment. I’ve been raging against the reality that we sold our land for a few years now. I’m getting tired of punching the padded walls. I think I’m ready accept it now. 

Acceptance is a weird thing. Acceptance is that calm resolve that’s past where feelings dwell. Usually, I have had to feel all the feelings first, though. I cry, I rage, and I exhaust myself out of feelings. By the time, I reach acceptance, it’s not so much a feeling as it is stance. It’s a posture of the heart and the mind. 

Now that I’ve accepted that I’m not moving back to our land, I am more open to seeing and feeling my actual life as it’s happening. I’m thinking about planting our native plants before the rain instead of looking on Zillow for new homes. I’ve deleted Zillow from my phone, actually. Big step for me. Instead of shopping for different lives in different places, I’m helping Juniper pursue her areas of interest this year: acting, singing, surfing, guitar (well, that one is on Collin, but I do nag them to practice) and language learning (that creepy, passive-aggressive Duolingo Owl does all the nagging for that). And instead of trying to convince Senya that they will be fine changing lives mid-highschool, I’m witnessing their flourishing as their roots go deeper and deeper into their school community and friend groups. Without the fear of imminent change, they’ve been able to really connect and thrive here.

With both of my kids also becoming more independent, that’s left me a lot of time to explore my own path. At times, I’ve had to be put back in the padded room (metaphorically, guys. Nothing alarming is happening here). Raging, non-acceptance for my kids’ growing up, existential crises that the best is over and it’s all downhill from here, etc etc. After a while, I tired myself out again, and I’ve accepted the fact that my kids are indeed growing up, and it is what it is. Such a trite statement that people use: “it is what it is.” But that little hackneyed expression is quite profound. It’s a declaration of acceptance. It’s the acquiescence of the soul and mind to reality. It’s letting go of illusion and being present with what is. It is what it is. 

As I’ve embraced reality and been present with what is, I’ve also had my eyes opened and my heart more available to experience all that I love that is special here.

I love that the woods here are comprised of old growth trees; these oaks have been alive for hundreds of years. And they have rights. No one is allowed to cut them down—even when they’re young. I love living somewhere where trees are our elders and they have rights. I love that there are so many native plants and chaparral that grows all throughout the mountains. I love that so much of the land is undeveloped and will remain so.

Topanga is like an oasis in the urban jungle. But the land is wild. No one can or will tame her. And I love that. I respect this land. I bow to it. It is not mine, and there’s a history of colonization that is hard to hold. This land belonged to the Tongva and the Chumash for thousands of years. By rights, I shouldn’t be here. But like so many of my fellow Americans, this continent is the only home I’ve ever known. I came into this story at a point so far down the line, that the best I can do is acknowledge the past by learning about it from an Indigenous perspective and live with reverence and respect going forward. So, I walk with humility, with gratitude, and with a resolve to care for and cherish this land. With reciprocity, as Robin Wall Kimmerer explains in her books. With love.

No more alternate life shopping for me. Instead, I’ve been composting again. I’ve been diving deeper into my herbalism. My new, Vermont-based program (it’s a hybrid program with weekly classes that are live-online and week-long intensives in Vermont once a year) starts officially in February, but I’ve been doing the self-guided pre-requisite coursework. There are two classes I’m completing on my own before February: Relational Culture and Justice in Herbalism. They’re both super academic and sociological. The Vermonters are definitely bringing the serious side of herbalism, and I love it. My Californian program is much more relational and spiritual. I love the balance of both, actually. One inspires me to dismantle the patriarchy and deconstruct my white privilege and the other has me exploring herbal aphrodisiacs and making Jungian-inspired dream cordials. They’re both great. 

I’ve also had to confront the underlying causes that make me want to move. I’m still untangling them, and I’m sure I’ll write a coherent post about it someday. But for now, rather than architecting a new life, I’m recognizing the impulse to move when it arises, and I’m getting curious about why that’s my go-to. 

Anyway, that’s my latest update, and these are my current reflections. I took the rainy day today to eat gluten (gasp! That’s almost illegal here), run some errands (despite the sky falling), and rest and recover. I have a touch of bursitis which I keep thinking is actually called burstitis (which sounds like the diagnosis for an injured Care Bear. So I might keep calling it that). But it’s far less exciting than my made up name for it. It’s like a bit of inflammation from overuse in my hip. I love running, and historically I’ve had a hard time resting. But…it is what it is. And sometimes being present with what is looks like eating a homemade bagel and drinking a cup of hot chocolate while I read my herbalism journal articles on my sofa by the crackling fire. Right here. In this little cabiny house by the newly flooded creek. In this quirky town I love. That’s nestled in these wild mountains I revere. 

In other words, at home. 

During my time living in Vermont, I was always looking for ways to meaningfully contribute. I would look around at my neighbors who were teachers, farmers, welders, homesteaders, and —ers of all kinds. I didn’t really have (m)any practical skills of which to speak. This phenomena was a real challenge to my sense of belonging and purpose there. I would often say to Collin that I felt like I was a unicorn on a farm. In this metaphor, all the other animals on a farm are there for at least one functional and pragmatic reason, yet I lacked one. I’d imagine the farmer coming into the barn looking through the stalls. He’d tend to the pigs, chickens, cows, draft horses, and then he’d see me and be like…what’s this colorful frivolity? “What do you do?” He’d wonder. I’d probably prattle on about dreams and magic and happiness. He’d move along while wondering aloud if unicorn burgers are a thing.

I desperately wanted to find my —er so I could contribute. And if I couldn’t become an —er, then at least I’d be the best, most contributing unicorn I could be.

So, imagine my interest and delight when in January of 2021 I stumbled upon a piece of news in the Vermont Digger that announced that select boards (town governments) would be voting on whether to legalize the sale of cannabis for recreational use in their town in the upcoming weeks—but—this vote would only happen in towns where the residents had put it on the agenda. Usually, getting an item on the agenda required a minimum of 50 signatures, but due to covid restrictions, they were waiving this prerequisite. So, all it took was a written request and someone willing to make a case for the agenda item to the select board at their monthly meeting. Finally, I could do something useful for my community!

Like many of my great ideas, I thought, this is a perfect thing for Collin to do. So, I wrote to the select board and requested that the item be added so that Collin could present on the many benefits of cannabis and the benefits of voting to legalize selling it for recreational use. Collin was like, “wait, what?” But like many of my great ideas, I was like, “what could possibly go wrong?”

“All my neighbors will be so happy!” I thought. It was already legal to use it for recreational use, but it wasn’t yet legal to sell it for recreational use. So, think of all the economic opportunities that the farmers will have with the legalization of growing and selling cannabis for recreational use. I saw all silver linings.

But then, it occurred to us: maybe we should actually have tried weed at least once before we present a case for this. You know, just to be authentic about it. So, we purchased some from a local grower, and we made a very responsible plan to have only one of us try it at a time on different days.

I went first one night after the kids went to bed. I went outside under the clear, winter sky which was brilliantly studded with stars. There under the glory of the Milky Way, I smoked a little joint of Indica, the variety of cannabis that is calming. It made me very relaxed and extremely spacey. I’m very used to having mental acuity and always being at the helm of my own thoughts. It was a bizarre experience for me to have my mind so relaxed that thoughts were happening more passively and without urgency. I took a hot bubble bath and my mind told me a whole story about two immortal souls who were in love in an eternal dimension. They lived freely and happily as two ethereal spirits in what was essentially paradise. The physical world—earth as we know it—was beginning to lose hope that love was real, so these beings were sent to earth to see if they could find each other throughout many different lifetimes and many different reincarnations and still love each other in the imperfect world. In one reincarnation they were just the hardware on the bathtub. That was when I realized I was high and probably needed to just go to sleep.

The next day, I woke up feeling entirely normal and refreshed after a deep, restorative sleep. This was the day that Collin was going to try smoking weed. “I’ve got lots of projects I want to get done around the property, so I’m going to try the Sativa variety.” This is the variety that is more energizing rather than calming. So, I got the kids settled into the rec room of our guest house, and Collin decided to smoke a little bit before beginning his projects for the day. I came back over to the main house, and from upstairs I heard a loud thud. “Col, are you okay?” I called up the stairs. “THIS IS NOT FUNNY!!” he yelled. I later learned he was trying to say, “This is not FUN” but couldn’t quite get the right words out. I came running up the stairs and opened the doors. He yelled the same statement again, and I was in total agreement that this situation was not funny (or fun). He flipped over the solid, oak coffee table like it was a cardboard box. Apparently, as it turns out, Collin turns into the Incredible Hulk when he smokes weed. That’s what we found out that day. Long story shortened into a slightly abridged version: turns out he had a bit of an allergic reaction/psychotic break when he ingested the THC. As we later learned, there is a rare gene in males of Austrian descent that creates this effect.

The rest of the story goes: he eventually passed out and was in a catatonic state for 6 hours, during which time I was scared for him. So I called 911 to ask for an ambulance. Because I mentioned that he flipped over the coffee table, they sent a police officer ahead of the ambulance. The ambulance got stuck in the snow on our mile-long, dirt, mountain road leading to the house. The police car, unfortunately, made it. I told him it wasn’t really necessary for him to be there, and he told me he had to make sure the situation was safe before allowing the ambulance medics to come inside. That was when I noticed the gun in his holster, and my stomach dropped. I was afraid that Collin was going to get agitated again and realized that this could end very badly with a gun in the mix. “Listen, I don’t really think you need that; and also he’s a really kind and gentle person who is just having a bad reaction to weed.” He told me, “well, if he starts swinging at me, I’m not going to just stand there.” Suddenly my bright idea did not seem so lined with silver. My unicorn mission was failing. I can’t even be a functional unicorn. Fortunately I kept this thought to myself, as I’m pretty sure this police officer already thought we were nuts.

I ran up ahead of the cop (after asking him if I could go tell Collin that the cop was there before he just went into the room where he was) to try to communicate with my catatonic pal and let him know the lay of the land.

“Soooo, bad news” I whispered. “They sent a cop, and he’s not very nice.” Immediately after hours of being nonresponsive, Collin blinked, turned his head and said, “Oh, nooooo.”

“Listen, just be cool; don’t freak out.”

I went back downstairs to tell the cop that he could come upstairs, and we headed up the stair to where Collin was. I took a deep breath and opened the door; to my great relief there was quite a transformation from mere minutes before. I mean, like Grandpa Joe from the original Willy Wonka movie upon Charlie finding the golden ticket level transformation. He was standing up and alert and probably seemed normal(ish) to someone who didn’t know him. I could tell he was high as a kite, but he held it together. He wasn’t psychotic any more, so that was definitely a tally in the points column for team Hulk and Unicorn.

Then the medics finally arrived, so I went downstairs to let them inside. They were so kind and very sympathetic. They showed me pictures of their dogs on their phones shortly after arriving and meeting my dog. And then they broke the hard news, “We will have to admit him to the pysch ward based on what you’re saying happened unless he can sign a waiver indicating that he denied care.”

Oh, brother. How did my plan go so awry? I just wanted to do a good thing for the community and now Collin is going to the pysch ward? Could Grandpa Joe handle reading a legal waiver and signing it? We would see. Again, I ran upstairs and tried to explain the situation to him ahead of time, and he was extremely motivated to not get admitted to the psych ward. So he did his best to walk down the stairs and greet the medics. Then he sat down on the sofa and tried his best to focus his eyes and look normal. The medics handed him the waiver, and he looked at me and asked for one last confirmation, “should I sign this?” I encouraged him to do so, and within 5 minutes from that point the cop drove back down the mountain with the ambulance full of medics following.

Well, that was a real doozy of an experience, but we are not quitters. I mean, Collin definitely quit ever trying weed again. But we weren’t going to quit on our first political foray. So, a couple days later, Collin still attended the select board zoom meeting (with mild and well-concealed PTSD from the experience). He presented his powerpoint on the many merits of legalizing the recreational sale of cannabis. And it passed! I don’t know if this ended up making a positive difference for anyone, but I hope so. I do know that the following summer the smell of weed growing in all the fields was so strong that I would get a little spacey just driving from our house to town, so someone gave it a shot I guess.

4 years later, I live 3,000 miles away from our old mountain homestead in a different climate, culture, and phase of life. And here I am again faced with a variation of the unicorn feeling—more now than ever since I stopped homeschooling. The —ers here are a bit different—many are writers, actors, creators, performers…and teachers still (everyone everywhere needs teachers). I find myself again feeling superfluous and without a functional contribution or purpose. I still try to use my magic to make the best unicorn experiences—hosting potlucks, bringing people together for crazy ideas like designing bike-powered parade floats, volunteering at the kids’ school as the friendly room rep, writing this blog, even. But at the end of the day, I know I need more. I tried to be a farmer, remember? That was supposed to be my new path once the kids were in school.

When my farmer dreams were dashed, I decided I still wanted to do something with plants. So, when our plans to return to Vermont failed, I enrolled in an herbalism program. It’s been an amazing beginning, but it is more of an experiential introduction to herbalism. I’m ready to really dive into a more rigorous program—one that prepares me academically so I gain a mastery of knowledge but also one that will allow me to graduate with a skill set. So, in August, I applied to another herbalism program based in Vermont (it’s hybrid-remote), and I’ll hear back whether I’m accepted in the upcoming weeks. That program is a three year family and clinical program that educates, trains, and equips students to become herbalist clinicians; practitioners of herbal medicine. This is the first program (even though I have a BA in social and cultural anthropology and a MS in Health Promotion) that will end with me having plant medicine skills (which would have been helpful on that fateful January day back on the mountain). But it’s also one that allows for a lot of self-expression and a personal flare.

So, if all goes according to plan, in three years I’ll finally have earned an —er as a practitioner of herbalism.

But I also hope to still give magical unicorn vibes as well.