ARE YOU WILLING TO GET WEIRD?

ARE YOU WILLING TO GET WEIRD?

Last night in my final hours in West Palm, I walked into a spot in town I’d never been to before around 8:30 pm and scanned the room to find my company for the evening. I found him in the far right corner with his feet up. His skin screams the name of the Sun and you could follow the ink from his wrist to the curve at the back of his tricep. I knew upon sitting down that I wanted to know what was going on under his shirt. I had a feeling I’d find out...

I’m in a season of my life where Sexuality and Intimacy are topics I’m exploring with some serious inquiry and intention. The patterns I’d been in for over a decade of sexual activity are being obliterated and new pathways of experiencing are being forged in real time. What I’ve decided is that I’m willing to be perceived as weird when someone hasn’t experienced the conversations I’m willing to guide us into, which feels for me like calling us higher and into actual presence instead of “going through the motions” - as we do.

TO HEAL THE WORLD

TO HEAL THE WORLD

The other day I had the profound gift of sitting with a human I treasure deeply here in my hometown. His name is Keith Case - as his newly changed Instagram handle @keithcase_ now reflects - and West Palm Beach is blessed to hold him and his family in the embrace of home. Keith is a lot of things to this town and I’d be inclined to label him as a “community leader” who is creating the conditions for people to lean into the homes inside themselves and to cleanse the muck of shame from their souls. One of the ways Keith stewards his gifts is as the founder and Pastor of Providencia WPB. I’ve sat with Keith many times now, and this particular sit was the first where we spoke in depth about scripture. If you assume that Keith was the initiator of that particular dialogue, you’d be sorely mistaken.

RISK

RISK

My dad used to use a particular phrase to describe my mom’s brother:

“Live fast. Die young. Have a good-looking corpse.”

He was - is - different from them. Real “rebel without a cause” type. I had stars in my eyes over him as a kid. I thought he was so cool. He didn’t give a shit and I loved that. I felt like I understood something in him. My perception of him was that he wasn’t afraid of anything. Wasn’t afraid to die. He took a lot of risks. I wanted to be a rebel just like him. I wanted to be a fucking badass.

I perceive him differently now.
I don’t want to be like him anymore.

A LETTER TO MY FUTURE LOVERS

A LETTER TO MY FUTURE LOVERS

Dear one(s), whoever you are,

There may be many of you.
There may be just one.
We might choose “for tonight”.
We might choose “forever”.
We might connect across a wide, wide spectrum of physical, mental, emotional and spiritual relating. Regardless of the specific makeup of our shared experience, I’d like to lovingly set some boundaries now so that we can come together in the most truthful, authentic, and joyful ways.

LESSONS FROM THE VOICE | PART ONE - ALLOW

LESSONS FROM THE VOICE | PART ONE - ALLOW

*Before you read this, allow me to introduce you to my dear friend Sarah. I met Sarah two years ago in Israel on Birthright. We shared ten of the most significant days of our lives, and then hardly spoke for two years. Not for a lack of fondness, just how our story unfolded. As road life took me out of Pittsburgh a few weeks ago, Sarah offered to host me in Charlottesville. Over the last three weeks, I have come home to one of the deepest bonds of my lifetime thus far. I have swum in Sarah’s beauty and softness and power and wisdom. Sarah is so many things, to limit her identity to a singular expression would be unjust and unholy. However, one of Sarah’s many, many gifts is her voice. As a classically trained Opera singer, something Sarah taught me just by sharing HER truth, was how we relate to ourselves, through our voice. I asked this precious spirit sister of mine to speak on this topic, and it is my immense honor to introduce you to the vast wellspring of love and glory that is Sarah Sherman.

WHEN I GOT "THE TALK"...

WHEN I GOT "THE TALK"...

DISCALIMER - Mom + Dad - if you read this here blog of mine, here’s your warning that you’re going to read some things here that are.…well…you’ll just read some things. Choose wisely.

Journey with me, dear reader, two decades into the past. A tiny, tanned, wondrous version of Stef - perhaps still pretty fresh out of the “bangs” phase of her life, never to return.

“Where do babies come from?” she asks from the backseat of her mom’s car, not knowing what the fuck she’d just done to herself.

I DID NOT GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO TOUCH ME

I DID NOT GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO TOUCH ME

This content could potentially be triggering for some people because of its discussion of sexual assault, so I’d like to offer that warning now and invite you to skip this if that doesn’t feel safe for you.

Other than that, I’m not really sure how to write this. After months of processing that still knocks me sideways sometimes in its active-ness, I’m not sure how to say “I want to talk about being a person who was sexually abused as a child and how that has impacted my life.”

11 More Days

11 More Days

Really it’s 12 more days, but it’s 10pm on October 19th and the day is basically over and by the time I share this it’ll be the 20th. So…11 more days.

I think when any significant change is rounding home base, there are particular moments that deliver you from “idea” to “reality”. When you’re taking all of your stuff off the walls and trying somehow to assign a dollar value to your most precious artifacts, suddenly “I’m leaving soon” becomes “Holy fuck. I’m really leaving." The shockwave of that awareness finally integrating is enough to reorganize the marrow in your bones.