Hi hi Reader,

Happy Solstice.

Today I want to offer an invitation.

An invitation to lean into the darkest day.
The shortest time.
Those getting-things-done windows that always feel they're like closing.

An invitation to step into the quiet and let it envelop you.
To turn away from the noise and feel the stillness—unhurried. Just as it is.

An invitation to lean into those feelings you don't want to feel. (You know: the fear, the longing, the jealousy, the judgement, the attachment to the way you think things need to feel GOSHDARNIT.)

An invitation to stop resisting.
To start listening.
Even when you don't really want to hear what they have to say.

An invitation to let yourself NOT know the answer.

To not know the right next steps or the how or what it will look like.

But instead to say, "I'm not sure, I'm figuring it out" and to trust that you are rather than forcing the answers.

This is an invitation to surrender to what is, even as you ponder and dream of what could be.

An invitation to pause your doing. Even just for a minute.

To breathe deeply and just be.​
To witness others breathing and being, too.

This is an invitation to live in a space where so many things can be true at the same time.

Even if they don’t make sense.
Even if others don’t understand.
Even when you barely understand.

Even then.
Even then.
Even then.

An invitation to get quiet. To turn away from all the noise and appreciate the darkness. The emptiness. The void. The blank space that may someday (soon?) get filled with creativity or insight and curiosity.

This is an invitation to honor what already is.​
To appreciate what you've already built and created and to let the beauty be beautiful rather than moving full speed ahead toward fixing what's missing.

An ivitation to find joy in the right now.

Even if things aren't perfect.
Even if chaos abounds.
Even if you're unsettled or unsure or on shaky ground.

Find the joy. Even then. And let it be an anchor that you celebrate and return to.

This is an invitation to let the darkness hold you.
To remember that every pause is sacred. That the stillness has something to say. And that sometimes all we need to do is show up and be willing to listen.

This is an invitation. May you take what you need and leave the rest.