the finale of 37...

Here I am, y’all… the final moments of my 37th year on this earth and in this body that is mine—with all her story, all her struggle, all her glory, and all her grace.

I feel blessed to have made it this far. There were many moments in the being and becoming that led me here where I did not want to continue. I could not imagine another day, another step in the direction of my own light and life. And yet, here I am. And I now appreciate this gift of life in a whole new way.

So many don’t even make it to 37, let alone 38. My hope and wish for myself this next solar year is to do my absolute best to not take a single breath, pause, or moment for granted.

Before I close my eyes tonight, I knew I wanted to come on here and tell you—yes, you—thank you. Thank you for somehow, some way, being a part of the ever-changing journey that has been my life, especially this last year.

When I greeted my 37th year almost a year ago, I asked the Universe to show me what this trip around the sun would really be about. I pulled out my Wild Offering Oracle deck, let all 52 cards soak into the stirrings of my heart, and when I felt they had heard it all, I shuffled. It didn’t take long before one card came flying through: Spaciousness.

This card asked me to come face to face, soul to soul, truth to truth, with all that I no longer needed. It encouraged me to get clear and courageous in sorting through the people, places, things, dreams, ideas, and patterns that no longer served me—and to let them go. To make space. To invite in more joy, more enthusiasm, more life.

Be it will or be it the workings of the world and all her wonder, I truly allowed myself to receive this gift of giving myself more space to be. More time between the work I do and the emotional toll—the secondary trauma—that comes with bringing light into spaces where it is not always bright. I trusted the falling away of relationships that no longer supported me, and maybe even ones where I could no longer rise to the occasion of their expectations. And that was fine. That was freeing.

I trusted every sacrifice. Every no and not now. Every cancellation.

Where once I might have felt disappointment, maybe even defeat, this past year has given me a deeper knowing: prioritizing me—my health, my care, my very vitality—has been the conduit and conductor for experiencing life in ways I always knew I needed but wasn’t sure I could have or even deserved.

This 37th year has been the stepping stone into self-prioritization as both a practice and a pathway—toward embodying the very essence and energy I only hope to sow and share. Near or far. Indirectly or directly. In opening to this, I have witnessed and received miracles at an even more exponential rate.

I have experienced my life in a whole new way this last year. More tender. More truthful. More tenacious in both my being and becoming. And I feel it all laying the many, many ground floors of being that hold me in ways my soul and heart remember just how worthy I am of.

And here’s the thing, dear one: so are you.

We are each worthy of letting go.

We are each worthy of knowing what comes from the practice of detachment. And no—hell no, actually—it isn’t always easy. It isn’t always pleasant or neat or tidy or organized or even makes a damn bit of sense. But if and when we trust it—because we trust ourselves—shifts happen. New ways of seeing and being emerge. And all of it, even amidst the circumstances that make it feel impossible, even alongside the weight of the world as it is—all of it has blessed me, humbled me, and held me through turbulence, trauma, and all the trying of these times.

This last year was all about space.

And without space, how do we move? How do we flow? How do we know how much room we have to reach, to rise, to root—to trust in all the miraculous and Divine things we are here to do?

We deserve space.

And we need it to…

I know so many in this world will never experience the spaciousness I have been able to receive. That saddens me. That angers me. That ignites the fire in me that knows we all are deserving.

Old versions of me would have denied myself this space. Old versions of me would have filled it with unnecessary objects and objectives. But every time I tried to push away the very gift of spaciousness this last year, I was reminded of my mom—how she barely had a pause, barely had a day to simply be and breathe. I thought about my dad—how addiction and illness consumed him. I thought about my ancestors—how they probably never had these moments. Moments to sit on the earth and just breathe with the clouds. Moments to travel, to be, to witness life without urgency.

And yet here I am.

All the breaking of old chains, old cycles, old limiting beliefs led their baby girl here.

I call them into this spaciousness with me.

I receive and will continue to receive—not just for me, but for them too. For all the generations ahead. To show them what can be. To show them they too are worthy.

And just as I have called my ancestors into this spaciousness, I call you into it too.

For where are we without space?

Who are we without it?

And better yet,

Where can we go because of it?

Who can we become thanks to it?

I don’t know, y’all. I don’t know…

But I am so excited, eager, and absolutely humbled to be able to see.

So, before I close my eyes tonight and let this NyQuil and the deep gratitude I hold for all that is within me rock me gently to sleep, I wanted to say:

Thank you.

For you are here. Right here with me.

Even if my eyes are closed. Even if we are miles and moments apart.

Through all the release. Through all the realization. Through all the change.

You are here with me. And I am here with you.

The workings of this current world, the default of ego in our minds and culture, will not make the space we so deserve and need. So my wish, my will, my prayer, is that we grace ourselves and each other with the encouragement to make it, create it, share it, and ensure that all know its glory and gifts.

That is my wish.

That is my will.

And that is the greatest work this almost 38-year-old girl gets to do.

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