Being Pulled Out of Myself (and Finding Something Clearer There)

The move to Denver continues to unfold in ways that feel both steady and surprising. Every week something new roots itself — a rhythm, a relationship, a moment of clarity — and this week brought all three.

I’ve had the chance to meet and train two new clients, each with their own stories, limitations, and unexpected challenges. I love this part of the work. Whether I’m teaching a squat, guiding breath in yoga, or shaping a moment in a scene, working with others pulls me out of the echo chamber of my own insecurities. And yes, I have plenty of them. If I sit with them too long, especially in the emotional climate we’re all living in, things can get heavy fast.

But when I’m focused on someone else’s growth, my mind shifts from feeling to action. From spiraling to presence. From “What’s wrong with me?” to “How can I help this person move safely, breathe fully, or find their next choice?” It’s grounding in the best way.

Another unexpected gift this week: I was offered a position teaching yoga at 12th House Yoga, a beautiful, intimate studio just a short walk from our condo. I’ll be joining a community of teachers and healers whose work I deeply respect. More details soon — but for now, it feels like another piece of this Denver chapter clicking into place.

And then there was the theatre — my oldest teacher, my first love, and still one of the clearest mirrors I know.

We saw Next to Normal, a raw, aching dive into mental health and the quiet wreckage it leaves in families. The performances were so honest that I found myself unable to applaud right away. My heart needed a moment to catch up.

A few nights later, Romeo and Juliet reminded me why we keep returning to old stories: because new artists keep finding new truths inside them. The director introduced a same‑sex relationship between Benvolio and Mercutio that felt so natural no one questioned it. And then came a moment I can’t shake: after Mercutio and Tybalt were killed, the scene ended with the two of them standing, facing each other, bathed in light and blood. Not fighting. Not acting. Just looking.

Was it a final confrontation? Or a shared recognition of consequences? Either way, it landed with a weight that stayed with me long after the lights shifted.

And woven through the production was one of the most striking choices of the night: two traditionally long scenes — scenes that often slow the momentum — were cut together cinematically into a single, urgent sequence. Suddenly the familiar story felt dangerous again. The spiral toward tragedy felt sharper, faster, more inevitable. It was a reminder that when we look at something familiar through a new lens, the entire meaning can shift. Sometimes the story isn’t different — we are.

By the end of the week, I realized something simple but important: When I’m engaged with other people — clients, friends, performers, students — my mind clears. My focus sharpens. My insecurities shrink.

Connection is the antidote. Observation is the practice. Presence is the reward.

So here’s a small exercise in personal awareness, inspired by this week:

🧭 A Practice in Observation (for anyone feeling stuck)

Today, choose one moment to observe without judgment. It could be:

• the way someone moves when they’re concentrating
• the breath pattern of a friend telling a story
• the emotional shift in a performer’s eyes
• the posture of a stranger waiting at a crosswalk
• the way you react to something beautiful, difficult, or unexpected

Just notice. Don’t fix. Don’t interpret. Don’t analyze. Let the moment teach you something about being human.

Sometimes the smallest observation is enough to pull us out of ourselves — and return us to ourselves — in the same breath.