For teaching me to sit
for knocking me off my ass
for relentlessly pushing me
for gently holding me
for showing me how to fail
for cheering me on to success
for urging me to be fierce and big and brave
for calling me to be humble
for never giving me the answers
for revealing possibilities
for honoring tradition
for delighting in creativity
for bearing witness to how I wobble without ever trying to fix me
for trusting me to stand up and wobble less
for never losing faith in me
for imploring me to trust my intuition
for forcing me to back it up with theory
for standing in awe with me
for making it clear
for allowing it to be muddy
for declaring me to be a beginner
for acknowledging my mistakes as learning
for welcoming me as colleague with wide open arms.

A deep bow. My heart swells with gratitude. My life has been blessed by yours.

Thank you.

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Three years and two weeks ago I took a leap and jumped, following a dream, following an illogical and improbable yearning to be a healer (of the ancient sort), following something old inside me. At the time it felt like the end of a fantastic story, about finding the way home, making something happen despite all odds, about feeling the fear and doing it anyway. Girl follows dream. Ta da. The end!

The day that I started school I walked into a space I knew well but still felt foreign and a little bit intimidating. For years I had come to the school to see my doctor who rented space there, then for my own acupuncture treatments, to visit the book store and once even to take a workshop. The school enthralled me. It seemed a place of magic and deep wisdom. And as deeply as I loved it, it always seemed a little closed off and mysterious and strange. Despite those many years of entering and exiting, despite all the ways I had been tended inside her walls, the place did not feel quite like mine. When I passed the classrooms, the student kitchen, the back doorway to the garden, the chairs in the student lounge I felt like I was trespassing in someone else’s church. I had the sense that I was walking through someone else’s sacred ground.

Yet, that morning, when I arrived as a student that building transformed for me, instantly opening up and welcoming me home. For the next three years every time I walked through those doors, I walked into an adventure. Within those walls I broke down, forgot everything I knew, got confused, lapped up knowledge, fell apart, put myself back together, railed and sputtered in frustration, discovered something new, opened my heart, printed out homework, took a risk, took a breath, sobbed, started over, waited for exam results, paced, laughed, giggled, danced, hugged, tried again, made tea, had deep and soulful conversations, had silly and outrageous conversations, got quiet, heated up my lunch, read poetry, prayed like crazy, fell apart, put myself back together, grabbed food from the fridge, bought a soup, sat at a picnic table, traded notes, held a hand, told a joke, laid down on the ground, got up, got fascinated, tried and failed and tried again, laughed, learned, pushed myself, pushed someone else, held the space, held someone else, fell apart and put myself back together…and somewhere along the way I began to learn the beautiful mysterious art of Chinese Medicine.

Through it all, from the very first day three years ago, the kitchen, the hallways, the classrooms with the moving tables, and the piles of chairs, the front desk and the bookstore, the couches in the front, the picnic tables, the garden, the library, my locker, the yellow walls with purple trim, even the stairwell, it all became mine, deeply fiercely mine–as familiar to me as my own bones, skin, hair. The landscape of transformation. My safe and sacred space. My nest. I unfurled there. I blossomed. I loved it there, lingering as long as I could when the day would end. I could never imagine leaving.

Two weeks ago, as I was walked into school on a weekend to see my acupuncturist I noticed something. The yellow and mustard walls in the stairwell, the purple banister, it suddenly felt strange–even alien. Like I was walking through someone else’s church, welcoming–but not quite mine. This space had held me through a lifetime of transformation already but something had changed. I knew then it was time. I had been dreading leaving but the space now belonged to others again. My transformation would continue elsewhere. So I scheduled my check out.

Three years ago when I had lunch with my then new friends (now soul sisters) Rebecca and Malgosia I told them, “I fully believe that I won’t finish, I can’t imagine how I will complete this crazy program but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try. So here I am…”

Here I am.

There were many days when the only thing that kept me going was that I loved to be there.

Today I treated my last patient in the student clinic. I handed over my files. I filled out way too much paperwork, said how I wanted my name on my diploma and requested my transcripts be sent to the licensing boards. I smiled alot and held back tears. “Congratulations” they all said. “You are ready” they said. “We will miss you” they said.

Tonight, I walked out of that beautiful and strange space, the one that no longer feels like home, but still feels sacred and magical and special. As I walked down the stairs in the yellow and mustard stairwell, I leaned on the purple railing and slowed. “Thank you” I whispered with each step down. “Thank you for holding me.”

I paused then and turned to the woman in the lobby. “Good night” I yelled. “Good bye” I whispered.

And then, I opened the door to a new beginning.

I know of course that the very personal sacredness of this place was created for me by the magic of a group of 30 amazing healers — the ones who started with me on that day 3 years ago–the ones who held my hand and held the space and kicked my butt and dried my tears and shared their notes and shared their lives. I know now that the reason the space never felt quite right before was because they weren’t there yet. I love you guys. This is for you.

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Its 4:45 am. I am sitting at a pool watching you swim laps with your friends. Last night I said, “Its your birthday….Its OK if you skip practice.” But you turned to me with a smile on your face and said, “I love to swim and l love being with my friends…I can’t imagine where else I would be on my birthday.” This says it all kid. You go all in, you joyfully rise to the challenge, you do whatever it takes. You show up and do your work. You attack life.

I am so inspired by you. This is the year you decided you wanted to make it to Zones and then proceeded to put over 650 hours in at the pool to make it. Along the way there were meets that took up your whole weekend, practices so hard that you could barely get out of bed next day, missed sleepovers and parties and homework squeezed in between eating and swimming. But every time I said, “You don’t have to do this…” you looked at me with a smile and said,”But I want to…I don’t want to miss it”

This was the year that you discovered that optimism and positive thinking changes everything. When you felt like a rock star you showed up as a rock star. When we sat in complaint it all fell apart.

This was a blossoming year for you–in so many small and big ways. You brought your A game to interactions with friends, and navigated some tough situations with consideration and kindness. You made some hard choices. You struggled with people who disappointed you but came out finding your way, always with kindness. Even with me. Even when you were angry beyond words, you kept at it until you could say what you wanted to say kindly, standing your ground, searching for words but telling me “I HAVE A RIGHT TO MY FEELINGS”. No matter how badly you wanted to win, you made friends with your competition, joking on the blocks, hugging before a tough race, coming home from each big meet with new buddies to text about sports and movies…and girls.

You are solution oriented. When I have been too tired to see straight, blurry eyed from studying you always have an idea to set things right–whether its cleaning the kitchen or ordering out food or curling up to watch a movie.

When life gets hard or we have a difficult challenge to face, you remind me that life is an adventure, a game to be played with gusto, a gift.

Some people think I am crazy for driving you to these early morning practices but what they don’t know is how much joy I get from watching you laugh on the deck and start the morning by jumping feet first into the deep end. Secret is, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Happy birthday dear Max. I love you so much.