Like individual drops that form the ocean, we are not separate. We are the whole, God's children moving together. Only some fish swim up and others swim down.
My awakening process was messy. Ongoing. But through it, I’ve come to know myself and God within me more deeply and through that knowing, I’ve learned how I move through the world.
When I directed my first film Mama Said, it was a massive undertaking. I was green—really green—even if I didn’t see it then, and neither did anyone else. I was carried by a force larger than myself. I knew exactly what to do in each moment, even though it was my first time directing a 35mm film, shooting on a Panavision camera, leading a crew of over fifty people, and breaking the one sacred rule drilled into us in film school: never work with animals or children.
I worked with a white cat and twenty-two children between the ages of seven and nine.
Not intentionally. Truly.
I didn’t even remember that warning until the premiere Q&A, when a young man asked how difficult it was to work with children and a cat. I froze. That’s when it hit me. I had been sleepwalking and yet somehow, deeply awake.
Now, those of you who overanalyze just smiled smugly.
But what if instead of chaos, this was trust? What if I was so aligned with my calling, so surrendered to flow and purpose, that the universe simply said, Here, have the full experience?
If your first instinct is to see that as grace rather than madness, you’re probably a live-in-the-moment, intuitively driven, full-immersion type like me. Neither way of being is right or wrong. They’re simply different entry points into creation.
For context: I am a dog person. Loyal, affectionate, happy-to-see-you-every-time-you-enter-the-room energy. I’ve never owned a cat, never gravitated toward them, never imagined myself choosing one as a symbol of hope or protection, especially not instinctively. And yet, without debate, without analysis, without a single pro/con list, I knew this story needed a white cat. Not a dog. Not a symbol I personally resonated with. A cat.
Looking back, that might have been my first real lesson in intuition: it doesn’t consult your preferences. It doesn’t care about your identity. It simply knows what belongs.
As I traveled to festivals, watching the film again and again, I’d think, Oh, that’s why I made that choice. If only I could harness that awareness during the process, not after. Cue the familiar creative hindsight spiral.
I throw myself into projects so fully that I forget to eat. I become so filled with joy that hunger doesn’t register. That passion, unchecked, has bitten me hard more than once. Until one day, it bit me hard enough to wake me up.
Now let’s look at the other end of the spectrum.
Maybe you’re the one who analyzes everything. Every word. Every color. Every move. You don’t decide without consulting someone, or something, outside yourself. You believe this is how you stay safe. How you ensure success. How you “nail it.”
But instead, you’re nailing yourself to fear.
Fear of judgment.
Fear of being seen.
Fear of freedom.
Perhaps somewhere along the way, you were hurt. And so you learned to protect yourself by controlling outcomes. In doing so, you quietly disconnected from your life force, from your inner light, and from others who vibrate at a higher frequency.
Both states require fine-tuning.
And fine-tuning is just a polite way of saying awakening.
That awakening is why you’re here. I am part of yours. You are part of mine. I needed more inner and outer awareness in my creative process. You might need less.
In recent years, life presented me with relational contrast, polar opposites of my natural way of being. I came face-to-face with tension I didn’t create, yet still had to experience, learning that not everything broken needs to be fought, and not everything tender needs explaining.
I realized these moments where people judged me unfairly wasn’t about villains or wrongdoing. It was about exposure. About truth. About whether I would crumble, disappear, or rise to meet a higher version of myself.
I chose to rise. I always have. Amen.
Not in a half-hazard, mediocre way.
Because, as the famous quote by Cheri Huber says, “How you do anything is how you do everything.”
The veil lifted when I was ready to hold what I saw. I needed time to feel my way through it. It wasn’t pretty. I’m not perfect. But I chose myself. I chose my highest expression without abandoning my inner child. The little girl who loves fiercely, trusts deeply, and sees goodness even when it’s hidden.
Balance is the key.
Awakening is the road that leads you there.
Scripture helps to guide you home.
If you’re feeling stuck, here’s the good news: it’s simple. Not easy, but simple.
Choose yourself. Authentically.
Not the version shaped by defense or performance but the one that still knows how to soften.
Foster mindfulness, reduce lower-state emotions, and embracing inner stillness. This will help shift your perspective, allowing for a deeper connection to the self and the present moment. Remember your true identity is not attached to any external sources.
Leave the noise behind.
The proving.
The quiet sacrifices you never named.
Live. Love. Play.
Not to escape this life, but to meet it without armor.
Rest in peace by leading with grace.
And when the tension finally loosens its grip,
when the mind stops asking who’s right or wrong,
what remains is simple and true:
connection to source restores what effort never could.
Presence and faith makes things right.
Here—
with nothing to fix,
nothing to fight,
just us,
alone together.
Enjoy this life.
If growth and movement is your doorway, here’s a tune to spark the positive change within the awakening process. The lyrics are very apropos.
The song isn’t just about romance; it’s about tension vs. tenderness, innocence vs. lived experience, and the relief that comes when the noise drops away and we remember what’s real. “Just us alone will make things right” isn’t escapism—it’s return.
In Conversation
