Magic happens when you share your story
“I wish I could describe the magic of the retreat,” I said to Duncan as we sipped miso soup at the sleepy neighborhood sushi bar we love as much for the mango caterpillar roll as for the six-minute walk from our house.
The retreat had ended just a couple of hours earlier. The last bit of sand had been swept out the front door. I wanted to come home from the beach and have dinner with my husband—but I also wanted to savor the feeling—so I took the longer way along the coastal road. With no guardrail between me and the Pacific Ocean, I slowed to an unusual pace, buzzing with gratitude and excitement.
When the full moon popped out as I drove along the ridge, my jaw dropped. Ram Dass was on repeat, and his line You’re exactly where you need to be landed on a cellular level. I gasped with delight.
Two days with extraordinary women had filled me in quiet, soul-deep ways. I watched each of them cross an invisible threshold—not in a woo-woo way (well, maybe a little), and not in anything I try to manufacture (alright, just a tad).
But this was my sixth overnight retreat, and I’ve seen it again and again: women arrive with one way of seeing themselves, and they leave more connected—to themselves, to what matters, and to what feels possible. The story-sharing work goes layers deep, and yet we tread lightly. We open up. We laugh. We cry. We see each other deeply.
And we get into our bodies. The somatic dimension heals a part of me I didn’t even know needed healing—every single time.
“Do you remember how I described the last retreat?” I asked with zero expectation. “I mean—I was breathing through what felt like turbulence during the energy work. But this time was different.”
He was rapid-fire eating the Philly roll now, reminding me of the first time—on our second date—I watched him shovel movie popcorn into his mouth. Growing up, one of my family mottos was He who eats the fastest gets the mostest. I had already fallen hard but that simple behavior sealed it. I knew we were meant to be. 🤣
“I’m telling you, babe, the moving mediation and sound experience on the beach freed a part of me deep inside,” I continued. “I realized everything is truly in reach, if we’re willing to let go.”
His blue eyes darted from me to the last piece of toro. As I tried to put words to the retreat, I wondered if he thought I was a little much. Or maybe he was just thrilled that I was less interested in the food than I usually am.
I reminded myself that what we think other people are thinking is often what we’re thinking about ourselves.
But Duncan was smiling. His eyes were with me—present and open.
I was tempted to call Stephanie, our server, over for a little cup of sake—but closed my mouth, breathed in through my nose, and smiled back. My proverbial cup was already full.
Instead, I grabbed the last piece of the dragon roll—the one with the shrimp tail—victory!
And in that moment, I realized I didn’t need to describe it. Sitting there, abundant and unguarded, I already had.