et al, Inspiration


This morning I got a letter from the Universe.  I get them every morning. But this morning it resonated with me.

It’s not the dazzling voice that makes a singer. Or clever stories that make a writer. And it’s not piles of money that make a tycoon. It’s having a dream and wanting to live it so greatly that one would rather move with it and “fail” than succeed in another realm. You so have what it takes.

For some reason, it reminded me of that saying ” you are the sum of the 5 people you spend the most time with.”  Sometimes we need to be reminded what we want to be, how we want to be it and who we want to do it with.


et al, Politics, Social Media

The Art of the Twitter Bio

I’ve had a little obsession with reading Twitter bio’s for quite a while now.  They are like a down-and-dirty amalgamation of your professional life a la LinkedIn and your dirty, rock-n-roll Myspace page 10 years ago minus the audio. They also lend some serious street cred to your humor, wit and online prowess.  But is it problematic when your Twitter and LinkedIn bio don’t jive? Example,

Terra has a combined 10 years experience in business transactions and contract negotiations in healthcare, pharmaceutical drug development and academic research. She is currently pursuing a Masters in Health Communication with a concentration in Environmental Health Policy. Admitted to practice law in New York (2003) and Vermont (2004).


Adirondack Native. Jersey Strong. Yoga + Wellness Junkie. Liberal Feminist + Tree-hugger with a propensity for politics, dirty chai and antiques.

The difference in story telling is glaringly obvious. In one I am power suit and pearls. In the other,  tye-dye and yoga pants sans bra.  Professional. Rebel. Employable. Good-time. Stuffy. free-spirited.  To be fair, my LinkedIn account is  dedicated to networking within my legal and academic worlds while Twitter is utilized for my blogging and often offensive political opinion(s) and commentary.  From a branding consistency pov, this distinction is NOT AWESOME. I am definitely not living my brand, which could cause confusion.  I could lose credibility in the healthcare industry as a lawyer who is a “yoga and wellness junkie” and any of my yoga students, health coaching clients or the political movements that I am active in would be appalled to learn that I have a background in pharmaceutical drug development.  It makes me feel a bit like the female Harvey Dent.


I have been trying to figure out how to reconcile  my two lives for a while now.  For the time being, I am ok with having one foot in one world and the other, in another. It is going to take time to weave the two together.  Besides, today Hilary Clinton started a Twitter account, of which she refers to herself as a pants suit aficionado and glass ceiling cracker. That’s pretty sassy for the next POTUS, don’t you think?

Is your Twitter profile brand consistent with your LinkedIn profile?

et al, Yoga


In 2010, I took a leap of faith. With a severance package and a dream, I created my own thriving holistic health coaching business and actually made a living as a health coach and yoga teacher. In 2011, I joined a yoga-centered t-shirt and printing business, founded a yoga studio and wellness program that served a corporate campus with over 4000 employees and developed a yoga training program.  I worked with 100s of yoga businesses, teachers and non-profit organizations. I learned first hand the dynamics of running a yoga studio, fostering relationships with teachers (and students), organizing events, retreats and workshops, paying bills, developing communications strategy and stifling drama all while maintaining an exterior image of peace and bliss.

On the inside, I was suffocating. I was running myself ragged with teaching, delivering t-shirts, conducting workshops, design consultations, developing web-content and copy, maintaining social media, writing a blog and managing its 10 contributors. I was running three different business models and giving too much of myself away in the process.  I loathed going to our show room to work. I was pissed the showroom remodel was my “wedding present” and  I hated driving to the printers even more. I became disconnected from my teaching and my practice, subbed out all of my classes and gained weight. I was miserable.

In under two years I went from blissful holistic entrepreneur to totally burnt out. 

So I walked away. The time, the emotional investment, the equity. I gave it all up.  It wasn’t worth it anymore. The departure was ugly. I was angry and hurt. I disconnected from my network, revived my legal career  and went back to work. I easily slipped back into my old expertise and within 6 months was asked to present at a national convention in my industry. I am proud, but not satisfied. Being an expert in clinical trials was never my dream, it’s just something I am good at.  I feel lost without something of my own.  In January I decided embark on a Masters in Communication maybe even a Ph.D.  I flip-flopped between environmental, health and feminist communications, desperately trying to revitalize the legitimacy of the ecofeminist movement, but It doesn’t fit like a glove.

I began volunteering for the communications committee of a non-profit organization. I started out as a general volunteer and naturally fell into the role of brand consultant and blog developer. I am in the process of revitalizing their brand identity through color, font, rules and consistency of message, re-designing their blog and creating a content calendar.I spent hours of my free time working on it and loved every single second.  I presented it all to their board and executive leadership two weeks ago and blew them away.

I’ve finally realized, what I loved most about each of the businesses I ran wasn’t the product line or the services. It was the vision, the story and the identity.  The process of helping an organization identify it’s image and voice,  communicate its vision set me on fire. Passion that I had not felt in years was returning. I am in love with communication artistry, the rhetoric of vision, mission and passion.

That realization is the spark, the conception of something new.  

et al, Feminism

Drunk with Satisfaction, #FemFuture

I’ve had the desire to create change [work] for the greater good since I was a child. While in college, this need exploded. Boston has that effect on young impressionable students.  It’s a hot-bed of intellectual, liberal politics. I volunteered for political campaigns, for women’s organizations, environmental campaigns, Rosie’s Place and AIDS Action Committee. My greater good has taken many forms, most of which have been reflected at least once in this blog. It’s  women’s empowerment, environmentalism, health/wellness all rolled into one. It’s why I self describe as a tree-hugging, feminist yogini.

My father used to tell me I was born to work for nothing be a volunteer and “you can’t pay student loans working for nothing.” But to me, working for something always meant more than a paycheck.  Ultimately, it’s the reason I went to law school. I thought I could simply skip out on the “work for free, pay your dues” part of the feminist or environmental movements out there and jump right into a management paid position. Oh how naive I was. There is no such thing as skipping out on the work-for-free rung of the non-profit/social movement ladder. It’s imbedded in the hierarchy of social movement.

For what seems like the majority of my adult life I dreamed of creating an organization.  One dedicated to women’s empowerment, to educating and inspiring and transforming lives of women so they could in turn transform their communities.  My contribution to the world.  That dream is how I connected with my former business partner. We gave it a name, The Odonata Project.  And for one brief moment, it almost came to life.  Sadly, it was set aside due to finances. {You can’t work for free, Terra}  Reality dictates that you have to pay the bills before you can change the world. It’s self preservation. So while the dream now has a name, it still sleeps.

Odonata, the order of the dragonfly, representing transformation

Every so often I stumble upon a woman’s organization that I was not previously familiar with doing the work I think The Odonata Project is destine to do.  I dig a little deeper into their website, connect with their mission and values and realize this one is a little different. It’s not The Odonata Project with another name. {My dream still has hope} I join their mailing list and send them a $10 contribution. Over the years, I have joined too many mailing lists to count and contributed hundreds of dollars to missions centered somewhere in women’s empowerment.  All of them doing the same thing, just a little differently.  All of them struggling. Scraping, begging, fundraising for the dollars for next year’s budget. Dreaming of what they could do if they really had the money.

Last week I read #FemFuture: Online Revolution.  As I read it, I fell a little more in love with Vanessa and Courtney (co-editors of and the #FemFuture movement.   I am starting to get the idea that the Universe is gently coaxing me into the intersection of feminism and digital media.  While I want to blather on about the awesomesauce that is the #Femfuture report, feminism, digital media and my path, I’ll do it another day. Right now, I really need to highlight the the gem found on page 21: Debating the Non-Profit Model. And of course, they cited a recent Tedx Talk (everything brilliant is run through TedX these days). It’s an awesome talk, only 18 minutes long. Take a break and watch it!:

This resonates with me so deeply. It’s a really interesting piece to my puzzle (for which I am perpetually putting together). Before I left LBG, I was hell bent on making it a social enterprise. I was obsessed with the business models of Toms Shoes and Sevenly. I didn’t (and don’t) believe that business should only be there to make a profit (or simply pay back investors). There has to be a bigger picture.  {I’m a very bad capitalist, I know} We have a duty to give back to our community or to a cause that effects us in distinct, tangible ways. That belief is why I am so married to my NPO dream. It’s why LBG eventually (in hindsight) proved to be so very dissatisfying. Producing tees seemed trivial. To truly thrive, I need to make change. Before I stepped down,  I created a charitable program and forged relationships with three major women’s organizations to cross promote and fund-raise for their cause(s). It put a purpose behind just producing tees for me. (Unfortunately, The program wasn’t a priority for my business partner and since I left the program has not come to fruition).

My satisfaction requires the purpose.

In our culture, the idea that an NPO can make money or that a private corporation should {be required to} give  a certain amount away back is a little earth shattering. Dan Pallotta explained it perfectly in his talk (above) it’s the remnants of our puritan, Calvinist ways. I agree with Dan, we need to get the hell over it.  I am so grateful that I read every word in the #FemFuture Online Revolution white paper and found the tidbit on the NPO model and Dan Pallotta’s Ted Talk.   It has fired me up about my “non-profit” dream, or the evolution of whatever it may become again. Perhaps The Odonata Project  is the name for #FemFuture’s proposition of a strategic plan for the coalition of the feminist movement.

Planning, conspiring, mind-mapping, jamming on ideas to make something great these are the things that make me drunk with satisfaction.

Advocacy, et al, Politics

Question Authority

The hubs and I went for a wog (somewhere between walking and jogging) this morning and I am on my second cup of coffee. I normally only have one, so bare with me… my wheels are spinning.

I feel sick over the events that transpired this week. I’m emotionally traumatized over the wound that was inflicted on the city and people of Boston and disturbed by the reactions of our government and the media.  I am not ok with the imposition of martial law and the cheering in the streets over the capture of a 19 year old boy. It’s like premature ejaculation. Your media blitz foreplay didn’t do shit for me. I have questions and now I am left waiting for something more that I will never get.

We are NOT sheeple

I don’t want to be pegged as some crazy conspiracy theorist, but this is not an open and shut case. It’s just NOT.  I believe in a healthy dose of skepticism, especially when we are being spoon fed facts from the media. I don’t  have the answers, I am not even sure of all the questions to ask. I just know that something isn’t sitting right with me.  Wake up. As a nation we have now have a reliance on fallacious appeals to authority. It’s NOT ok. QUESTION AUTHORITY. There’s a reason that bumper sticker was so popular in the 70s.  Stop drinking the fluoridated kool-aid water.  That boy was tried and convicted in the media. We’ll never know the truth and to me, that is not ok. A little reminder from Bobby:

“It should be clear that, if one man’s rights are denied, the rights of all are in danger-that if one man is denied equal protection of the law, we cannot be sure that we will enjoy freedom of speech or any other of our fundamental rights.” ~Robert F. Kennedy

On a related note of frustration; apparently a significant number of Americans think the Czech Republic and Chechnya are the same place. So many in fact that the Czech Embassy had to issue a public statement. I’m sorry, but are you fucking kidding me?  This is mortifying.  Come on America, you’re better than this. Open a book. Learn something. Travel. OPEN YOUR EYES.

Educate yourself. Inspire others to do the same and we will Transform our community and world.

et al

Boston Pride

Wicked Boston Pride
Wicked Boston Pride

It has been one of those weeks where my emotions are in such turmoil that I simply can’t string together the right words.  I am from New York. I live on the Jersey Shore.  If there were ever a place I called home outside of the the Adirondack Coast, it’s Boston.  I spent a collective 10 years between Back Bay, Alston, Brighton and Southie.  I still say wicked. [So much so that it rubbed off on my mother- it totally makes me giggle when she says it].

My husband is finding it hard to understand the depth of my emotion over the Marathon Day bombings.  He understands the tragedy of the event, the lives lost, the pain endured and the heroes made.  But he just doesn’t get it. Not like I get it. It doesn’t hurt him the way it has hurt me.  I am not diminishing his ability to empathize. But for those of us that came of age in Boston and no longer live there, you know. Anyone that left their youth in Boston understands where I am coming from.

Hand Me Down Night
Hand Me Down Night

I am not usually one that gets nostalgic.  I don’t yearn for the past. I am always about the next adventure.  But right now, I miss my early Boston days. When the city was my oyster. I miss Emerson College and everyone and everything about it. Right now I want to sit at ‘the wall’ chain smoking camel lights, with my sisters talking politics and film.  I want to run up the stairs to Crossroads to play darts with the Phi Alpha boys. I want to got to an RDO party on Friday and follow it up with Theta on Saturday. I want Taco Bell delivery. I want to dress up and go to Hand-me-Down Night.  I want to roller blade home from work, through Copley Square and Back Bay at 2am. I want to wait in line to get tickets to Spike & Mike’s Sick & Twisted Cartoon Festival. I want to catch a show at the Middle East. I want to use a fake ID to get into Bill’s Bar. I want bleacher seats for $7. And I want to end my night with a Guinness Float.  I want everything that makes me feel closer to Boston.

It’s sad that it takes tragedy to remind you of the things you learned, appreciated and loved.  We can’t let these reminders just dissipate when the last news truck pulls away down the Mass Pike.  It’s time to reach out, tell people you love them. Let them know how they touched your life. The time is always now.  We must rise above this anger and violence. Spread gratitude. Teach compassion. Move away from conflict, towards peace. We are in this life together.  Remember that you love and are loved. The only way we can ever move forward is through love.

Marathon Day will always be my favorite day of the year, that’s never going to change. No bomber can or will take that away from me. One day, I’ll bring my husband back to Boston in April for Marathon Day. We’ll have tickets to the game and when the Sox win, we’ll bar crawl our way from Kenmore to Copley…ending at the Parish with some elephant’s walking on eggs.

et al

Three Years….

Three years ago today, I lost my best friend.  Not a day has passed that I don’t think about her. Not a month has gone by without my heart aching and eyes welling with tears because she’s no longer here.  Those of you that aren’t dog owners will never understand. To the ones that are, I don’t need to explain the love I felt for my dog or the soul connection that we shared.

Today I am simply reblogging, remembering and still missing my Cheybees.


Friday, February 19, 2010

Woman’s Best Friend….


This is a really hard blog to write and I suppose it’s not entirely appropriate for the 3 Healthy Chicks Blog about living fresh and local but I think for any blog to actually reach people, it needs to be authentic. Personal experience lends itself to authenticity and it is also therapeutic for with that in mind I am going to try to actually finish this entry… I’ve been working on it for almost 10 days now.

First of all, let me apologize for my lack of updates over the past 2 weeks. It has been a rough one…..on Monday, February 8th I had to put down my 11 1/2 year old Great Dane, Cheyenne. It was the most challenging, heartbreaking and inevitably selfless decision I have ever made. I am still in the midst of the grieving process and as much as I know it was the right decision I continue to fight the guilt over choosing to euthanize my best friend.

On February 6th, Stephen and I came home after dinner and Cheybees howled, jumped in circles and brought us her huge doggie bone with a silly smile on her face. We walked her and then settled in for bed. When I woke up the next morning, Chey wasn’t in her dog bed, but was laying lethargically at the foot of our bed. I tried to get her up, but she wanted no part of it. I figured she was just being lazy, as she is definitely not a morning dog. I let her sleep for another hour and then got her up.

I struggled to get all 112 pounds of her moving and outside. She’s a geriatric dog and sometimes has rough mornings with her arthritic hips, but could barely walk. I wanted to ignore what was happening. In my heart I knew something was very wrong. We brought her to Red Bank Veterinary Hospital. Ex-rays revealed she had bone cancer in her right hind leg. The vet explained, this form of cancer is one of the most aggressive and painful. I could choose to amputate the leg and follow up with chemotherapy or simply administer pain medication for her comfort and let nature take it’s course.

Given Cheyenne was well past her life expectancy, I chose to take her home and make her as comfortable as possible. Stephen and I took her home and carried her into the bedroom. I gave her additional pain medication and she drifted to sleep. I spent the day in bed with her stroking her velvety soft ears thinking about the past 11 years of our lives together. I remembered bringing her home to New Orleans from Belle Chase, LA during hurricane Georges and how tiny she was at 10 weeks old.

Baby Cheybees

She used to sleep on my head when she was that young. And might I offer a bit of advice to new puppy owners…allowing your new bundle of joy to sleep on your pillow on your head is not the best idea. On the third night of this sleeping arrangement, Chey woke up to make her way off the bed and onto the puppy pads but didn’t quite make it and promptly peed on my face.

I loved her anyway.

This beautiful, gentle, loyal, loving and kind being brought so many riches to my life, one blog post can’t even begin to do our friendship and connection justice. She taught me how to be a parent. She taught me patience. And I can honestly say, she taught me how to love with no holds barred. I will cherish every single memory of the time we spent together. Hiking Adirondack peaks, chasing seaweed monsters in Ocean Beach, San Francisco, body surfing in Cape Cod and eating roasted cauliflower with vegan cheese. Who knew a Great Dane could do such things!??

After spending 9 hours in bed on Sunday without moving more than her head to reach up to give me one of her nose kisses, I knew as much as I loved her, I had to let her go. I called my father and asked him to drive down to Jersey from the Adirondacks. By Monday morning she still hadn’t moved from the cozy spot on my bed and I could tell that her pain was increasing and the medication was no longer helping. She looked beautiful, loving…and so very tired cuddling her favorite moo cow toy.

Cheyenne’s last hours…

At noon, I called the hospital and told them it needed to be done soon. At 2pm my father arrived. At 3pm Stephen and my dear friend Tatum came home early from work. The four of us spent the remaining 3 hours on the bed with her loving her up and treating her to a Reeses Peanutbutter Cup. Chey kept picking her head up to look at Stephen. I think she was making sure he was there, to take care of me when she was gone. At 6:30pm my housemate and veterinarian Danee came home. I laid behind Cheyenne in our favorite spooning position stroking her head telling her how much I loved her. She was surrounded by the most important people in her life. At 6:45pm she looked up once more to Stephen, sighed and was gone. I have never felt such emptiness and pain.

I suppose that with each day that passes it gets easier, but the hurt is still so fresh. When I work from home, the spot on the couch next to me is empty. There are no paw prints in the snow in the back yard. There’s no booty swirls or nose kisses. And I don’t know how long it will be before I am able to make roasted cauliflower with vegan parmesan, regardless of nutritional content.

I just miss my best friend.


I STILL miss my best friend.

It took me over 2 years to make roasted cauliflower again.

et al, Politics

Getting Real about Dirty Jersey

During the heart of election season a battle broke out between the North and the South on my facebook page. The catalyst of the conversation was my status update over my disappointment  in the North Carolina Amendment 1 vote.  I am happy to say there was no battle amongst my friends over the terribly disappointing outcome of Amendment 1 (my (vocal) friends are overwhelmingly pro-gay marriage), it was a battle between the self proclaimed “Yankee snobbery” and the “backwards” south.  Somehow the conversation turned to everyone drinking the Jersey haterade.

Jersey haterade is nothing new. People have parties over how much Jersey sucks all the time.  I have to be honest, I hosted a few of them while I was living in law school living in Delaware.  When all of my classmates sat for the NJ Bar I said, “what was the point?  I’ll never live there.”  (I have eaten my words on more than one occasion in my life). Yet here I sit, Jersey plates on my car, living in the heart of Red Bank, gorgeous view of the Navesink River, and just a hop, skip or 5 mile bike ride to the shore….and guess what, I don’t hate it. I started a graduate program, we’re buying a house….I am willing to make a 5-6 year commitment to Jersey. Just enough time to plot our next move.

This is where I get real about Jersey.

I don’t hate Jersey. I’m not passionate about it. I don’t love it with every fiber of my being. Not the way I love the Adirondacks.  But I don’t hate Jersey. I like it for right now. I respect Jersey.  It’s not all that MTV’s The Jersey Shore cracks it up to be.  Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of that, but they’re mostly from Bergen, Essex and NY (out of town for us shore peeps).

People from Jersey are proud. They won’t back down for anything. And once you’re in, they definitely have your back.  People from Jersey like stuff. And they like to keep their stuff looking shiny and new, even if they did purchase it in 1989. They wash their cars weekly and have “manicured” lawns.

Jersey is called the Garden State for a reason. Did you know Jersey grows the most cranberries in the US, second only to MA?  Did you know

that Jersey is one of the top producers (outside of GA) of peaches?  There’s even a considerable number of wineries! We have amazing farmland. Exceptional Farmer’s Markets and produce in the summer.

Vintage Bruce

Jersey has great music. I know haters gonna hate on Jon Bon Jovi and on Bruce Springsteen but it’s just those two. Ricky Nelson, Blues Traveler, Queen Latifah,  even Trey and Page are from Jersey! Too many to list. Wikipedia that shit up! The music scene is fabulous. It’s what brought me to Jersey in the first place.  The boardwalk is a whole other animal. You don’t know what a boardwalk is until you come to Jersey.  In Jersey the beach comes with roller coasters, cotton candy, funnel cake and skee ball. At least it did before Sandy.

The food is exceptional. Exceptionally delicious and exceptionally unhealthy. No where else in the world is it acceptable to have a pork roll egg and cheese on a kaiser bun for breakfast, a Max’s hot dog for lunch and a slice of pie (pizza) for dinner. This is why I am 30lbs heavier than when I moved here almost 5 years ago!

There really are a lot of things I love about Jersey, but when you get down to it…I’m a little like Sesame Street when it comes to me and Jersey…one of these things is not like the other… I don’t get my nails done. I hate the mall and would never in a zillion years think of putting makeup on just because I have to go to the mall!  I get my car washed maybe once every 4-5 months. I prefer fresh water lakes to the ocean and as much as I appreciate it, I am not a fan of the boardwalk.  If I have to be in salt water, give me a quiet beach and a cooler. No rides necessary.

Jersey has taught me a lot.  It’s home to people I love dearly (and I few I am trying to forget).  It’s where I met my husband and where we’re buying our first house.  I am committed to her for another chunk of time and I will appreciate her.  Meanwhile, I am stealthily planning our breakup. It’s scheduled for 2018 or so. 🙂

et al

Totally Normal


I hope everyone had a fabulous Thanksgiving! Hubby and I headed to my mother’s house in Vermont for a few days. The food was yummy. The dogs barked a lot. We shopped. We ate. We laughed. I got to see BOTH my parents. Over all it was a good holiday trip.

Of course we stopped at JK Adams on the drive to VT.   Few things make my heart flutter more than a good antique shop, JK Adams is one of those few things. It has the smell of my grandpa’s wood shop, kitchen gadgets, linens and stoneware, cook books, Vermont artisan cheeses and foods and a seconds section to die for.  It even has an amazing indoors farmers market on Sundays in the wood shop! I really couldn’t ask for more. We left with no less than 8 cutting boards for Christmas gifts (and a 2 for our home) and I got a fabulous new double boiler.  I never thought I would be the type of woman to get excited over a double boiler, but it’s going to make my Christmas peanut butter balls so much easier!  No more faking the double boiler and creating a huge mess on the stove.

Speaking of Christmas, now that I have more time on my hands, I have a few projects lined up for the holidays. I am excited to have the time to dig into them. I will try to be good about taking pictures and posting along the way. So far on the agenda I plan on Christmas Ball Wreaths, lotion bars, homemade vanilla and I think I am going to play with some burlap, pinecone, lace garland variations. I see it perfectly in my minds eye, lets hope I birth it beautifully and it doesn’t come out a mess of hot glue and glitter.

I downloaded Barbara Sher’s book, Refuse to Choose. It totally and absolutely confirms that I am a  Scanner:

Scanners love to read and write, to fix and invent things, to design projects and businesses, to cook and sing, and to create the perfect dinner party. (You’ll notice I didn’t use the word “or,” because Scanners don’t love to do one thing or the other; they love them all.) 

To Scanners the world is like a big candy store full of fascinating opportunities, and all they want is to reach out and stuff their pockets. It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? The problem is, Scanners are starving in the candy store. They believe they’re allowed to pursue only one path. But they want them all. If they force themselves to make a choice, they are forever discontented.”

A huge weight has been taken from my shoulders. Finally someone telling me it’s ok that I don’t want to do just one thing. It’s ok that I want to be a communication strategist, party planner, yoga teacher, marketing director, interior designer, writer, antique shop  juice bar owner  who repurposes  and designs furniture on the side. TOTALLY NORMAL.

Perhaps, not normal for everyone, but positively passé  for a Scanner. Oh sweet relief!

Advocacy, et al, Feminism

Seduction of the unknown

Today is the first week, in over 8 years that the only responsibility I have (outside my home and husband) is to go to work from 8:30am – 5:00pm. There’s no class to teach or training to go to. No homework to complete. No clients to meet with.  No website to update. No  shirts to sell.  There’s no multitasking. No conference call. Doing one thing, in one place for an extended period of time is new, and oddly uncomfortable.

My entire life I craved challenge of change and was fed, even fueled by the seduction of the unknown and unpredictable.  In my 20’s I satiated this desire by moving every 1-2 years. Not just moving from apartment to apartment, within the confines of a city limit, but big, vast moves that required new jobs, new space and new friends.  From Boston to Portland (almost) to Albany to New Orleans to El Paso to New Orleans to the burbs of Philadelphia to San Francisco to Philadelphia (almost) to Vermont and back to Boston.  Each time I began to feel itchy, uncomfortable stagnation, I moved.

Once I hit 30 I started testing the settling down waters. Perhaps it was the ticking of some internal clock or maybe the Virgo in me was finally surfacing and demanding stability.  I stayed in Boston for 4 years and while keeping the same job, transferred to the Jersey Shore.  But geography doesn’t necessarily equate stability. I satiated my wanderlust with a different variety of unknown and unpredictable, education and entrepreneurship. I volunteered for my national sorority as an International Standards Board Member and Chapter Key Advisor. I went to yoga school, I went to nutrition school.  I became a doula and even contemplated midwifery school.  I became certified in Hoop-Dance Fusion, Mayan Abdominal Massage and became a Reiki Master and Life Coach. I birthed two thriving businesses and joined as partner in a third.

Each time I started something new, I let the previous fall from the spotlight a bit like the Velveteen Rabbit. My need  for the exhilaration of the unknown has an unparalleled list of casualties; 30+ hula hoops in storage, no less than 15 yoga mats and a library filled with yogic philosophy, 4 half completed websites, 3 blogs and about $500 in inventory of semi-precious stones and unmade fertility malas. I even closed my thriving health coaching practice with a waiting list of doula clients for the excitement of something new.  My latest casualty? A closet filled with organic tee shirts and the aftertaste of disappointment and regret. When I sit back and think of all I have accomplished and things I have tried, it’s dizzying. My curiosity and wanderlust is a bewitching mistress. It’s an energy within me that I haven’t figured out how to tame. And quite frankly, I don’t want to tame it, I just need to harness it.

It’s obviously time to pause and contemplate.