Creating Space

This is my second attempt at conveying a thought that has been constantly circling my mind: creating space. In the first draft, all of the thoughts I had been trying to make sense of began pouring out. Some beautiful images and analogies about growth and getting unstuck. But at the end of it all, I realized I still didn't have the answer to the question I had been ruminating over — how do we create space in our lives? The meaningful kind. The kind that pulls us out of the ruts or patterns we have either dug ourselves into, or been tossed into without permission — the way that life sometimes does. The kind that creates real change.

It all began when I repotted my echinacea plant.

It is one of my favorite summer blooms, making a yearly appearance on my little terrace garden for the last four or five years. Over time, the blooms went from a mighty few down to a measly one or two. Still, I let it be — appreciating what showed up and noting that perhaps next year I would see what could be done. Well, this spring, I finally got around to buying the bigger pot. Fresh soil, optimal sunlight, and then I sat back to see what might happen.

This year the blooms are countless. Abundant. Radiant.

And I have been quietly watching the show, taking notes. Because it feels like such a lesson — in the way that Mother Nature has a habit of offering them — in order to grow, you need to create the conditions in which to do so. You need to expand the container in which you reside. And that can mean many things: a daily routine, the physical space in which you lay your head each night, the people you spend time with, the way you make a living. The tangible and the not so tangible. Which can be most frustrating when you realize the container itself is the source of your stunted growth.

But maybe it isn't the container. Maybe that container feels spacious and inspiring — maybe it's the environment within it. Your source of sustenance. Perhaps you are overworked, or not eating and resting in ways that support your energy. Maybe you have too many commitments, too many people depending on you. Maybe the pace of your life has outrun your capacity to maintain it. Or perhaps you are simply living a life you have outgrown.

What makes a good life — and how do you know if yours is in good standing?

For me, even though I have known for quite some time that a shift needed to happen, and have done the work to identify where my growth has been stunted, I have struggled to understand exactly how to create the space I desire. As someone who relishes in the details — I loved being a dance captain on Broadway for just that reason — I am able to follow many different threads at once until they form a fully realized tapestry. But when trying to observe the entirety of the shape and form of my own life? I get lost. I cannot see the bigger picture. I am so busy tending to each individual tree that I cannot see the forest.

But what I am learning is that perhaps both can be true.

Perhaps the secret begins simply in the noticing. The slowing down. Becoming quiet enough to see where and what needs tending. Pour fresh soil when needed. Find the sunny spots. Trust and listen. Pull back to take it all in. Adjust where necessary — and perhaps, in time, look up to find yourself surrounded by everything that was so lovingly worked toward. The sum of all those parts, beginning to bloom.

Perhaps in ways both familiar and unexpected. And this is the tricky part for someone like me, who finds comfort in familiarity and routine — allowing a complete rooting out of what was, in pursuit of something fresh and true. But that pursuit is what happens when everything else has been outgrown. When you look around and notice that what was once vibrant no longer serves you. When your blooms are half full and your inspiration empty. There comes a time when we grow sick enough of our current conditions that we have no choice but to act.

My own goals are simple: peaceful living, truth in actions and words, passion in work and play, and connection with others. In what ways, big and small, do these combine to form the forest of my life? Perhaps that is where to begin. Notice how I live. And if something feels amiss — how do I shift, adjust, root out the source of dis-ease?

Perhaps creating space is simply seeing clearly what is already before us. Accepting what is working. And clearing the way for what might come by releasing what isn't.

Like the echinacea on my terrace — not a single repotting, but a life's work of tending and maintaining. A dedication to participating fully. To blooming — year after year — magnificently and brilliantly.

I am co-leading a workshop this month with my dear friend Andrew at Fyra Yoga NYC — The Inner Season: Yoga, Story & Presence. We'll explore these very ideas of creating space through the yogic lens of Santosha and the story of Lakshmi, whose name derives from Sanskrit meaning "knowing the goal and understanding the objective." We'll ask together: where does contentment truly lie? Where does gratitude exist? And how can you be still long enough to allow for real growth and abundance?

If you are in the city and curious about your own inner life, I would love to have you with us. This series will be a seasonal offering, culminating in our Summer Immersion in Portugal this June. I'd love to go on the journey with you.