A Room of My Own

Apparently, the evolution of my singing pretty much exactly mirrors the evolution of my self.

I generally sing rather beautifully, with an ebb and flow of confidence and shakiness, moments when I am fully in it and moments when I hold on too tightly to let myself fully express what is already there. A deep need to control the sound alongside a deep desire to have free-flowing access.

I have a lot of power in my voice. And because I know that power is there, I tend to want to get to it. To push for the big sound rather than trust a smaller, slower sound. Rather than play with textures and let the power build and evolve from there with intention and meaning.

My voice teacher keeps showing me the same thing in a hundred different ways: the power isn't something I have to create. It's already there. I don't need to push it into existence or control every note on its way out. In fact, all that effort consistently gets in the way of the very thing I'm trying to access and I land flat or sharp or out of breath.

I need to trust my body. Lean into the supports I already have. Take the breath. Feel my feet. Let my body do what it knows how to do.

Again and again, the lesson is: You already have everything you need. Stop gripping long enough to let it work.

Um... hello? Could that be more ANNOYING and AMAZING?!

AND “You already have everything you need” is pretty much the foundation of my coaching approach.

Sigh... we teach what we most need to learn.

Anyway, this isn't even about my singing.

My voice teacher and I barter. She teaches me to sing, and I coach her. Over time, it has become this incredibly special relationship built on a tremendous amount of mutual trust.

She shows me how my particular patterns, instincts, fears, gifts, strengths, and growth edges appear in my singing. Then we switch chairs.

She helps me trust what is already inside me.

I do the same for her and I help her see where she is ready to leap.

She is also one of my very few in-person clients right now. She cries almost every time we work together, an honor and a gift to witness and hold space for.

A few weeks ago, I walked out of yet another café session with her (yes, brave lady), knowing she is standing on the precipice of a big leveling up. And a message that had been quietly whispering at the back of my mind for months suddenly leapt forward and screamed in my ear:

TIME FOR AN OFFICE HOME IN SAN DIEGO. NO MORE WAITING FOR MORE CLIENTS HERE.

For years, I've met local clients in coworking spaces and cafés all over the city. But my work is changing.

I'm leaning further into somatic work these days, helping people use what's happening in their bodies to get to what's true faster and more clearly than the mind can talk its way there.

And - OOF do people cry with me! A lot. It's become something of a signature move. ;)

I am a gifted seer and namer, and when someone feels truly seen, the body tends to respond before the words catch up. That response is almost always tears.

I'm endlessly grateful to the brave humans who've cried with me in cafés over the years. But it was time for you to be able to cry and breathe and lean in and be somewhere with a door that closes and a white noise machine on the other side of it.

So I threw "office space San Diego" into Google and got back mostly corporate, mostly not my vibe, mostly full-time tenants, which isn't how I'm doing this. This is a two-days-a-week endeavor. I still see virtual clients and work with organizational clients and remote teams all over the country, and I want to protect the spaciousness that allows for that.

Then I found a resource specifically for therapeutic practitioners and body workers looking for the kind of space that can actually hold this work.

The first space felt almost perfect. Right location, price, decor, vibe…

Then I noticed: no window.

Something in me knew that mattered, so I checked with two therapist friends, my own therapist, and my husband, who's also a counselor.

All four: You cannot have a room with no natural light.

Fine.

I kept looking.

Here's what I didn't expect: a lot of the people offering these room shares are body workers, which meant I got a tour through some genuinely beautiful, strange, wonderful spaces. All of which did smell delish!

One was oceanfront and full of lotus flowers, which, if you know me, is basically my spirit flower.

I thought I'd found home.

Turns out the space belongs to a colon cleanse specialist. Did not even realize that’s a thing! :)

She gives enemas all day and has a sign on her wall that says, “Would Poop Here Again.” I LOVED IT. Hard to find someone more irreverent than me, and there she was. That space may happen but its TBD and she needed a few weeks.

Then I found another space, tucked inside an esthetician's office.

Beautiful. Warm. Natural light. Right location. Right feel. Very cool owner.

I could see my clients coming in, closing the door, doing some brave and difficult work, and potentially emerging with both greater self-awareness and excellent skin.

I was sure this was it.

And then it fell through.

Fuck.

I was disappointed. I had already started building the thing in my head.

And there it was again.

The same damn lesson.

I know there's something powerful here. So I want to push. I want to get to the big sound. I want to know what the room is, secure it, make the thing real.

But apparently this, too, is asking me to start with the smaller sound.

Trust the support.

Stop gripping.

Let it build.

I have the words PRACTICE AND ALL IS COMING tattooed on my wrist alongside a lotus flower, of course!! It is there to remind me that all there ever is to do is trust the unfolding while continuing to do my part.

The office falling through doesn't change what I heard that day.

TIME FOR AN OFFICE HOME IN SAN DIEGO.

I know that part.

Right now I have two clients here and a vision of building toward eight to ten people a week, in person, alongside the virtual coaching and organizational work I love.

Maybe two clients is the smaller sound.

Maybe I don't need to push it into eight or ten. Maybe I need to keep creating the conditions, doing the work, following what I know, and let it build.

I thought I had found the room.

I hadn't.

So I'm still looking.

And apparently, the lesson is the same whether I'm standing in front of a microphone or looking for the next home for my work.

Feel my feet.

Take the breath.

Trust the support that's already there.

Don't push for the big sound.

Let it grow.

All is coming.