The spiral of connection

Every morning I wake up, do a breathing exercise, meditate, smudge, pray, journal, eat, walk, have tea, take a turn about the garden, wash, brush, and then sit down at my computer to respond to my soul’s calling.

Every morning in my dream, idealized life that is.

Every morning in my real, actual life on this earth looks wildly different depending on how connected or disconnected I am from myself, my people, the land, and Creator.

I have, more than once, eaten flaming hot cheetos for breakfast under my white duvet. I have woken up next to people I don’t know or like, still in my halloween costume. I have woken up at 4am and 1pm. I have woken up in train stations, strangers’ cars, $6 hostels, cross-continent buses, and monasteries in villages whose names I don’t know.

Every Sunday I believe – wholeheartedly – that I will have a perfect morning routine everyday next week. Every Sunday I am wrong.

One thing I am right about, though, is that the disconnection that causes mayhem in my mornings is a spiral.

Let’s set the scene: I wake up with 9 minutes before my first meeting, so I check my inbox and see an email I’ve been waiting for. My system floods with cortisol, but I bypass it to read the email. That cortisol stays swirling and twirling in my system throughout the meeting and beyond. By lunch, I am so anxious that I eat Goodles and no greens. I skip my walk. I stay sitting until dusk, ticking off imaginary tasks on an imaginary list. My hips hurt. My jaw clicks. I am panic hungry so I eat smatterings of what is around. I don’t act on my intention to call my best friend from high school. I don’t pick up my phone to make a plan for Sunday – even though it is going to be sunny. I send short replies to my partner. It is dark out, so I don’t greet the garden or notice that my resident groundhog is lounging on his favorite rock. It doesn’t really make sense to shower since I didn’t do anything. I crawl into bed with my computer and find something to fall asleep to. End scene.

Another thing that I am right about is that the connection that soothes mayhem in my life is also a spiral.

I present you with another scenario: I wake up with the sun, write a little, meditate, pray in a cloud of smudge smoke, and take a walk. I remember to spray my face with that rose water that I like, and I notice a mallard taking a morning bath as I round the bend home. I flirt with the garden and attune to the trees. Ah yes, beans in my breakfast tacos and a recipe chosen for dinner. I pick up my Godforsaken phone and see an email I’ve been waiting for. My system floods with cortisol and I close my eyes and trace sensations through my body. I ask “what would you have me know?” By lunch, I remember I have the ingredients for my favorite dish. I take my herbs. Remember to turn my phone on Do Not Disturb. I take another walk, have an idea, and see that my resident groundhog is digging a new entrance to his bachelor pad. I facilitate meetings, make flyers, respond to inquiries and send just the right GIF to my team chat. I remember it is my aunt’s birthday so I call her, and I ask a group of beloveds to gather at the reservoir on Sunday. It is going to be sunny, after all. I turn my voice memo into a poem for my partner. I read in the hammock while dinner simmers. Decide on a bath instead of a shower. I crawl into bed and zonk the fuck out.

Let’s set another scene. Your scene. Take some time to map out what you want to happen all of the time and what happens most times and everything in between.

Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re done.

I’ll be here to say that the quality of our lives depends on the quality of our connections. You know that, of course you do. We are told to orient our days to self care and productivity. Instead, we can set off a spiral of connection. Spirals of connection ask us to take the first few steps. Then, we are along for the ride. Connection sticks to connection. If we choose it twice, it will be chosen for us many more times. Spirals of disconnection work in the same and opposite way. Just twirling in another direction. Unlike biohacking, it doesn’t take 24 hours of vigilance and vitals to spiral into gooey, delicious connection. A spiral in or out can be interrupted and reoriented at any point in a day.

I set some landmarks that help me notice my orientation. Skipped breakfast, no walks. Email hypervigilance. Dread. Trying to buy things to fix problems that things can’t fix. These are flashing red lights, asking me to look toward connection.

Remembering to take herbs, intimacy with my spending, quippy group chat responses, eating greens picked from the roadside and knowing their names. Being called upon by community. These connections signal that I am spiraling toward home.

My partner and I went to a storytelling event yesterday that was focused on stories of mystery and magic. As we drove off, we reflected on how interwoven the experience became. One story prompted another from someone else. We were all reminded of the unexplainable, yet palpable nature of being entangled with each other in our witnessing. We spiraled together toward that thing we all crave most, and arrived with a sigh, thinking “this must be the place.”

Upcoming Event Alert

My dear friend Nkechi Njaka and I are hosting a virtual workshop titled Together, Still: Community Care Amidst Chaos on June 24th at 6pm ET.

You can get tickets here.

This co-hosted, co-facilitated workshop experience will explore the delicate balance between our need for connection and the boundaries required for self-resourcing and reflection. Rooted in mindfulness, and somatic awareness, this session is designed to help participants cultivate a deeper understanding of belonging—both in the context of their own bodies, with our environments and within a shared community. Through lecture, meditation, grounding into the four elements, dyadic inquiry, and group reflection, participants will be invited to explore the elemental nature of connection while honoring the grief, vulnerability, and courage that often accompanies it.