Love

Do it for the love

Do it for the love

Money, approval, association — those are each healthy components to pulling off good stuff, but only if they’re rooted in the true love of what you’re doing. First, integrity, then hustle.

No matter what you do in life, whether it’s truly noble or expedient BS, you’re going to sweat for it, you’re going to lose a few battles, get criticised, hit the wall.

There aren’t many shortcuts to greatness, so really, just #doitforthelove.

12 Things I know about real deal healers

12 Things I know about real deal healers

And by “necessary hard work” I do not mean: slogging on something you don’t really want to be doing in the first place. This is not about sucking it up or faking it.

By “necessary hard work” I mean: FIRST you commit to something that lights you up, pulls you forward, truly inspires you — the career, a relationship, a project (and YOU can be that improvement project, by the way.)

#TellThemNow. The intimacy of gratitude will blow your life wide open. (+ a Father’s Day video that will have you weeping)

#TellThemNow. The intimacy of gratitude will blow your life wide open. (+ a Father’s Day video that will have you weeping)

One of my least favourite behaviours of mine is withholding love. I’m hugely proud to say that it rarely happens. (If you’re going to boast about anything, let it be your capacity for loving.) But it still happens. It’s a reservedness that creeps over my usually boundless heart. I tell myself that staying quiet will give me shelter (from what?*), but it isn’t shelter at all.

Do you believe that life wants you to have what you truly want? Your relationship to prayer, to God, to desire.

Do you believe that life wants you to have what you truly want? Your relationship to prayer, to God, to desire.

I used to pray to sweat blood as a little girl. Dramatic, I know. I was a Catholic schoolgirl, an only child. We rented a small house in a small town, and my parents were young and hip and generally let me do anything I wanted to. The liberal headspace at home, acres of wheat fields to explore alone, and daily Jesus, Mary, ‘n’ Joseph at school made for the perfect environment for me to become the quietly intense mini holy roller that I was. At one point, I used the nooks of my bookcase to create a home for Barbie, and for the Virgin Mary. A leopard-print chaise and a rosary. Heavenly, really.

Kali’s fire, my life, my love.

Kali’s fire, my life, my love.

Kali came to me on a morning that felt like night. She said, “It gets dark so you can see the fire burn more clearly. Throw it all in. And by ‘all,’ I mean yourself.” Into the fire I put a habit of sadness I was married to. And so then I put in my own singular and true sadness, but not so it would be obliterated, rather transmuted, because I wanted to honour the utility of my delusions, the lies that made for density so that I could see the fire burn more clearly.