On a summer drive, I think about the true pulse of unbridled creative expression and how a country’s true reflection of free speech is reflected in the candid openness (or the effective silencing) of stand-up comedy.

An unpublished blog will give the present of an enriched perspective, and this will breathe awake memories of earth-magic, of resonance, and let me see the divine timing that orchestrates everything.

I trust the soil of my 32nd to be enriched with the life-giving nutrients from all my life’s holy human experiences. Here, including it all, including all aspects of me, is how I root and rise to bloom.

I cancel the appointment. This is my year of water rinsing me clean of obligations and shoulds so I can choose what truly nourishes the watery wisdom of my nervous system, of my embodied sovereignty.

Climbing trees and revisiting “Bridgerton” teaches this author about beauty, and how it’s an essential need for the spiritual fortitude of humanity.

On a personal quest to figure out my life’s purpose, I get redirected by a spirited healer to pause, drop down and feel my feet. The soles know the destiny direction for my soul. So a writing on consistency over urgency, trusting the timing our lives, and the inspiration that can be downloaded and received in fated Uber rides.

I enter a season of inner winter, and here, on the cusp of an emerging spring, healing tastes like honey.

Improv is not about being funny, it’s about being real. So this is a love letter to the Mother of Improv, Viola Spolin, whose spirit, life’s work and teachings are helping me to improvise, on and off stage, from my wholehearted humanity, trusting that then the funny will show up along the way.

May we see ourselves and the world through heart-shaped sunglasses.

I ride the wave of an unexpected sickness and pray for Ritz crackers as a form of tummy deliverance.