My Story

~The Story Behind The Path of Practice~

I have almost died seven times that I know of. Three of those moments found me in an ICU, my body balancing on the edge of existence. Another time, a horse I was training at 16 went over backward, nearly crushing me. Had I been using a western saddle, the horn would have pierced my ribs. At 18, I was a passenger in a high-speed car accident—after walking away unharmed, I helped the driver out of the wreck. I also survived a dangerous free-climb that could have ended very differently. At 20, I was exposed to a rabid cow—an encounter that led to me becoming fully vaccinated against rabies, a nasty way to die. These are only the ones I am aware of.

Each brush with death didn’t fill me with fear—it filled me with clarity. I understood, deeply, that we don’t have forever. This is why we practice. Not later. Not when life slows down. Now. Because life is fleeting, and within its impermanence lies its beauty, much like the blossoms in spring.

An Eclectic Beginning

I was raised in a family that was as esoteric as it was eclectic. I grew up surrounded by Sufis, Fourth Way practitioners, shamans, hippies, Ki Masters and seekers of every kind. My father, a pilot in SOG, was both deeply philosophical and marked by his time in combat, embodying a stoic presence. My mother, immersed in the seeking of esoteric truth/work, introduced me to the self-help movement, deep thinkers, mystics, practitioners and visionaries—Rumi, Lao Tzu, Marcus Aurelius, Shakespeare, Hafiz, Buddha, and countless others.

My great-grandfather, one of the most inspiring Christians I ever met, shared the story of his near-death experience: a vision of a luminous place, a choice to return, and the realization that Christianity was not a badge to be worn, but a way of being. He believed that whoever lives in alignment with that way—regardless of title or tradition—is a living expression of Christ's essence and teaching.

This immersion in diverse traditions shaped my perception of truth. From an early age, I was learning by doing. I started training horses at seven, milking goats at ten, and by fourteen, I was assisting in difficult livestock births when our vet's hands were too big for the task. Homesteading wasn’t just a lifestyle—it was a practice in presence, skill, and adaptability. I tended the garden, split wood for winter, canned food, helped train herding and hunting dogs, and cared for our animals using herbal remedies and home-based healing whenever possible. My mother was so skilled in this that even our local vet called her for advice on preventative care, especially for goats and other small homestead animals.

The Fire of Youth: Seeking Truth

As a teenager, I wrestled with what I saw as contradictions in the adults around me. They spoke of wisdom and truth, yet I watched them betray their own words. And, being young and full of energy, I quietly rebelled.

Teenagers have a remarkable ability to see through hypocrisy, to ask the questions that unsettle, to push against the edges of what is accepted. I was no different. I challenged, I questioned, and I refused to accept things just because they were “the way things are.”

These were the questions that shaped me then—questions I carried forward into adulthood, testing them against life itself:

1. What is true?

A: The only certainty is that we have the opportunity to live until we die.

2. What can we verify?

A: Only the present moment, through our bodies and senses. Everything else, outside of the verifiable moment is theory.

3. Is there a Divinity?

A: That is not something we can collectively verify—but it is something we may come to know personally, and "it" is much larger than a human can or could define in words. It is, by definition - infinite and unknowable in its infinite being -

4. If I do not know, what actions would be true regardless?

- Create something that will benefit future generations.

- Strive to be true to myself so that others may be inspired to do the same.

- Keep learning and verifying through experience.

- Become someone I can respect each morning.

5. If everything is impermanent, what holds value?

A: Being. Presence. Teaching others to fish rather than handing them one.

6. Are miracles real?

A: Yes. The greatest of them being that we exist at all.

Learning, Work, and the Practice of Presence

At 17, I began working outside the home—cleaning houses, then later as an office assistant at a chiropractic clinic. My “milking hands” turned out to be strong, and before long, I was doing physical therapy work as well. By 20, I became the assistant manager for an organic farm and orchard, where I deepened my understanding of sustainable land stewardship. During this time, I also took courses in business, fire science, bee keeping, range management and soil science, expanding my knowledge while continuing to learn through direct experience.

Then, I became a mother. And just as I had learned through hands-on experience in every area of my life, I approached parenting with the same intentionality. Raising children isn’t something that just happens—it’s an act of presence and practice.

To support our family, I took on work that allowed me to be fully present with my kids—teaching at a private school in exchange for tuition, becoming PTO president, and later helping found an environmental charter school that still thrives today. A year after its creation, I was asked to serve on the board, eventually becoming its president.

Through all of this, I saw that true leadership is not about control, but about creating spaces where others can thrive.

Breaking & Realigning: The Hardest Truth

One of the most painful and transformative experiences of my life was my divorce. It was a reckoning—a moment when I had to confront the reality that I had, like the adults my teenage ideal mind had 'judged', drifted out of alignment. The pain of stepping back into truth was excruciating, yet it stripped away everything that was not in alignment with my deep joy and awe that we are here. I have never been the same since.

In some ways, this was another of my “deaths”—not of my body, but of an identity that could no longer hold. This was when alignment stopped being theoretical. It became something I had to live.

And here is what I have come to understand: we never “arrive.” We are always refining, always learning, always returning to the questions.

Living the Fairy Tale

I have always been drawn to the tales of those who walk into the unknown. My life itself feels like a fairy tale, unfolding in ways beyond logic. I have walked the line between grounded practicality and the mystical unknown, finding wisdom in paradox and joy in the journey.

Throughout it all, I have come to understand that our greatest work is not in the titles we hold or the beliefs we profess, but in how we live. The Path of Practice is not a set of rules but an invitation to be present, to engage, to become fully alive.

An Invitation: Your Own Path of Practice

This is my story—the long and winding path that led to The Path of Practice. Your story may be shorter, simpler, or wildly different—and that’s exactly as it 'should' be. This is not about how much you share, but about stepping into practice in your own way.

Some of us arrive here through years of seeking. Some of us arrive through a single moment that changed everything.

The Path of Practice is not mine. It is ours.

And together, we walk it.