93. the missing link

I had an epiphany last Friday. 

Something has been missing in my life, and it became abundantly clear as we came together in the first Antisocial Social Club gathering. 

For thirteen years, I’ve been coordinating and orchestrating events which gather (mostly) women: teacher training certifications, retreats, workshops, online courses, mentorship programs, workout groups, girl’s weekends - you name it, I’ve organized it. 

When we opened the space for the spring ASC circle, I admitted to the group that I was pretty much flying by the seat of my pants. I did have a plan, a loose agenda, of course, but honestly the plan was mostly to show up, check the vibe, and see what everybody needed in terms of connection. 

It usually only takes one share - the voice of one other woman - for me to fall in love with listening circles all over again. I don’t know if it’s just me, or universal, but when I hear the heartfelt truth-telling of brilliant, compassionate women, something inside me clicks into place, like the last puzzle piece, and I feel whole. Something about hearing the variance of emotional expressions, each tone and melody slightly different, creates a sum that is greater than the parts, a synergistic symphony of sharing, and I no longer feel alone. 

The Mother River whispered to me in that call, and then she spoke with a subtle rushing sensation throughout my being. She reminded me that for five years, she’s been directing my vision and mission this way, towards simply gathering women. 

Yet I always argue, certain that it’s ‘not enough.’ Particularly when it comes to offerings that will resource and sustain me, the inner voice of doubt is strongest when it comes to my most natural gifts - writing and gathering women. 

I have no doubts about my skills, gifts, and abilities in coaching and counseling, and I charge for those services with ease. I don’t struggle to confidently express the value of my work when it comes to teaching yoga or guiding workouts, and I’m not insecure when it comes to inviting women to join me for retreats. In most areas of my work, I seem to have a clear and easeful understanding of the value of my offerings, and I create pathways for appropriate mutual resourcing. 

But something about these simplest and truest ways of sharing my gifts in the world often brings me to a tricky place - how can I charge money for something that also fills my cup in the most beautiful way? How can I deserve to be paid to do what comes most naturally to me? 

What is the fair exchange for giving the world my heart and art?

The epiphany was this: I’ve been searching everywhere but right in front of me for what is truly sustainable when it comes to my soul work. I’ve been ignoring visions, and assuming there must be ‘some other way’ besides the Mother River. But the missing link could very well be right in front of me. The simplest explanation is usually the answer. 

Aha! This is the missing link.

For me, you are the missing link. 

Scratch that, we are the missing link.

When it comes to true, deep, abiding wellness, this is the piece I’ve forgotten in the past few years, and been most hungry for. I’ve stopped guiding group breathwork, gave up the covid-era listening circles, dropped Moon Medicine, and I don’t have the steady flow of women’s stories reaching my heart and ears. I’ve been withering up when it comes to nourishment of the most ancient kind - the chorus of ‘mmhmms’ and head-nods as we listen to each other’s aches, hopes, dreams, and longings - as we’ve done for thousands and thousands of years. 

I miss us. 

I miss us because when we are together, it’s like being immersed in wild nature, surrounded by great ancient oaks, green moss, lavender and wildflowers. Because we are wild nature, our bodies are the same holy substance as the flora and fauna. Being with us is as grounding as laying in the sunshine on a deserted beach, hearing the crash of the waves pounding the shore in steady rhythm. 

I love us. 

I love us because we care for each other, hear each other and see each other in a way that is impossible to find in the mirror, in our families, and in the workplace. It’s a different way of being together when we gather in the temple, even if the temple is the modern magical portal of Zoom. 

I need us. 

I need us because alone I get confused, uncertain, frustrated, angry, exhausted, and I forget that we are seasonal, and while I am in these valleys, another is standing on the peak of joy, elation, accomplishment, exhilaration, connection, and love. 

The epiphany was like when I broke my back surfing at 26, and realized life is too short to do anything but what we really love. I miss gathering women, I love gathering women, and I need to gather women, because it’s simply… my calling. 

By request, and the wise advice of this community, I’m making some new ways to support my heart and art - and yours at the same time. Read on for the evolution of the museletter, sent with a deep prayer that in allowing my truest gifts to continue to bloom, they’ll be pollinated in ways that enable them to keep growing.

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Psst. Hey you.
Yeah, you.

I want to thank you for being here. Sharing this journey with you for the past few months has shifted and unlocked something in my creative expression that is just getting started.

I also want to recommit - for myself - to digging deeper in this space, to going right to the raw edge of what I am thinking, feeling, and experiencing, and to explore creative writing as a practice in knowing myself more deeply. 

Because there is immense power in naming intentions, part of my intention in continuing this project is to give voice to essays, stories, and reflections from the shadowy realms of my human experience. 

It is your loving acceptance, support, and occasional replies that keep my creative fire burning - so thank you for taking the time to connect and share your own insights and commiserations with what I write. 

It means a lot to me, and I don't take it - or you - for granted. 

With great affection,

Amelia