Hope is a practice.

I envy the writers who can let their piece be focused on one thing.

Every time I sit down to write these days, I'm overwhelmed by how much I can't say in the space that I have to say it. I put so much pressure on this one batch of words that I end up abandoning the writing altogether.

I'm blocked by the inability to cover every single aspect of an idea in one go. Especially these days, when I have taken such a long hiatus from sharing the flow of consciousness in my brain. Include potential responses from others who hold different perspectives that either add to or contradict what I have written, and I am completely paralyzed. There is no way I can make this perfect. For the past few years, that has overpowered the sharing of any inspiration or meaningful thought.

I remember when I used to do this in other areas of my life. I would make the starting point so pressurized that it was impossible to convince myself it was worth the messy, rolling start. A prime example is how I shifted my mindset and approach to my physical well-being since my mom passed.

Her death was a clear split point in time. Before she died, I was striving to achieve standards and goals that did not consider me as a unique human at all. I would be all in or collapse to a complete halt. There was no in between. I wanted quick, immediate outcomes, and because I was so laser-focused on the unrealistic, I missed all the things that make striving worth it. All that pressure caused me to live in extremes, swinging back and forth between "good" and "bad." I learned over time that the process of change cannot be contained in a single word, such as "good" or "bad."

It is far richer and more complex than that. Often requiring seemingly opposing emotions or experiences simultaneously.

After my mom died, I didn't have the energy to reach for something that required so much inauthentic energy and focus. When I was stripped down to figuring out how to get out of bed, brush my teeth, and get dressed consistently, that is when my energy became most precious to me. I no longer freely gave in to the bullshit that all of a sudden made no logical sense.

It was then that I approached my movement and nourishment with less pressure and more intention. Little by little, my physical well-being goals became a practice and not a punishment. It became something I was proactive about, working with what I had to work with, rather than a reactive response to what I didn't.

Freeing lifting from goals related to thinness or body shape allowed me to experience the deep, intangible, and indescribable benefits of actually doing the thing in the moment. In the practice of moving my body, I found the power of connecting with my breath. I started to get lost in the details of my body in motion. That practice, over the next few years, would lay a foundation that would benefit me in many areas of my life.

In changing careers.

In becoming a mother.

In being a sister and a friend.

In being an empathetic community member.

This practice has created positive ripples in so many ways. Some are huge, like growing, birthing, and parenting a human. Others are small, quiet moments.

One of those quiet moments happened this week. I was driving to my sister's house to help her lift something into her car that was heavy (glad I am able to assist from the physical strength I've gained!). It was a last-minute request; the route I had to drive was an annoying stretch across town with construction and red lights galore. When I turned on the road that would lead me to turn onto hers, I was stuck behind a school bus. Crap. The bus made one stop to let some middle schoolers off. Ok, not too bad, we can keep moving. The bus made a second stop shortly after the first, and a few more kids hopped off and walked to their homes. I started to text my sister to say "UGHHHH I AM STUCK BEHIND A SCHOOL B-"

I stopped. Something in me clicked on. Gratitude. I told Siri to cancel my text, and instead I thought, 'I am so thankful we have school buses to make sure kids can get to school.' I thought of the parents we didn't see, who, without the bus, would not be able to make sure their kids get the education they need. Empathy showed up, too.

Gratitude immediately opened the door for empathy. This is a lesson that I learned in the years after my mom died. In those years, I learned to direct it toward others, I learned of having gratitude and empathy toward myself. I didn't know how to do that before. I had to give the person who was trying so hard to grow and change the acknowledgement that I was trying so that I could extend that to the world around me. That is one of the first times I understood what it meant to love and care for myself first. It meant giving myself empathy more than it meant giving myself a day off or a spa treatment (although those are nice perks from time to time).

And, I'm trying now in so many areas of life. Just writing these words down to share them with others is brave, kind, and necessary. We need to recognize those quiet moments that spark gratitude and empathy, because they lead to significant moments of hope, such as what happened around the country this week.

I know that my tiny act of gratitude and empathy (even if just in my own personal thoughts!!) was sparked by the power of humans banding together to support and care for one another.

I saw myself in so many across the country this week. Not because of what I looked like or the interests I have, but because of the values we share. There is little more powerful than feeling connected because of what you value. I saw people I had never met before experience the return of holding on to the practice of having gratitude, empathy, and hope in moments no one will ever see or know about.

It unleashed something in me. It poured into the quickly drying up well of energy and optimism, giving me a boost to share that with others. Here's to practicing hope in whatever ways you find joy. For me, it is writing and sharing stories of Moving Bravely in this precious and fleeting life, complete with the highs and lows of love and loss.

Wherever you are. Whatever you hope to accomplish. I hope that you see yourself for everything you have and what makes you unique. Being a caring and empathetic human is a superpower. We can draw inspiration from the burst of hope this week and keep Moving Bravely.