It’s been a while, y’all.

We’re nearing the end of summer (at the time of this writing, it was September 6) and coming upon one of my favorite seasons, autumn—thank God! Baby, life’s just been lifin’ ain’t it? It always is, but my word, this summer has been a mix of every emotion I can think of. Immense gratitude for life and grief—a lifelong friend always within arm’s reach, yet something you never see keeping pace. Anger, because… corporate politics and unchecked egos. Amusement because of those same egos, desperate for power, grasping at straws. Joy from sweet, sweet emails and DMs about the impact of my work and vision. I can go on and on, but know that this summer has seen plenty of tears, lots of prayers, and laughter that’s turned to a cough or two, and cussing in my weekly therapy sessions.

Here is where I pick up in real time now that a couple of weeks have passed since I started this post. It’s September 21, the last day of summer, the day before the fall equinox—a time of literal balance, equal parts light and dark—and for me, what I anticipate as an easeful transition into slowing down, reflecting, and harvesting more of the seeds I planted throughout the year. Now, what I just named isn’t solely reserved for the coming season but rather a year-round practice. For instance, I stay in a state of reflection, and what I have gathered (in the spirit of balance) is that while it’s imperative to parse out the lessons, find the gems to be shared, and express gratitude for all that is—it’s imperative to make space for lightheartedness, to be present with my life so as not to wait until my reflection to realize what was happening in and around me. This has been teaching me the power of slowing down, what my therapist calls interoception, and what I’ve been calling sacred pauses. Speaking of September 21, today is my late Grandma Jimmie’s (loving Grandma J) birthday. She told me months before her passing to slow down. I knew she was right without even hearing all the racing in my mind and heart was actually doing. Here I am in my early 30s, finally learning what it feels like to slow down, to be intentional about pausing to explore what it is I actually feel, think, and need at any given moment. I won’t go too deep into my therapy work but the girl is well—with plenty more wellness to cultivate.

How does all that relate to the work of storytelling? Well, I find that storytelling isn’t just about what we share with others, what gets broadcast for critique and consumption—storytelling has much to do with the stories we tell ourselves. These sacred pauses I’ve been exploring, and honestly practicing long before I had a name or the awareness, have served as an exercise in both presence and reflection. Ain’t it amazing how the themes we explore were ever-present, supporting us until our awareness can take note? Some of the stories I’ve been telling myself needed to be retired, others updated to serve both the creator and the core.

I’m sure I’ve spoken in previous posts about how personal storytelling is for those who have made a life from the practice. I put myself into my work in a way that serves both me and the receiver. For it to be so intimate, I want to ensure that I am doing my personal work while sharing my work—I know that will resonate with the folks who get it! My audiences, collaborators, critics, and internal parts are all receiving a piece of me when I open myself up to share, sacred pauses and intention allow me to share those pieces with care, boundaries, and permission to be fully present.

Woo woo, semi-aside, and returning to my original thoughts at the beginning of this post, this year has TRIED me as far as my career is concerned. Tried my patience, tolerance, and beliefs. And you know what, shoutout to Tisha cause “I’m Still Here!”

As I write this, “Tell Me If You Still Care” by the beloved S.O.S. Band is playing in the background, and the answer is, yes. Yes, I still care about this work. I still care about the foundations I am building here at Dwntwn Brwn. I still care about my work, even when it is hard. And I still care about you, reader. Now, perhaps the woo has re-entered the chat because it is not lost on me that this song is coming from an SOS. Is care urgent in these times? For ourselves and one another, absolutely!

I’ve known for a while now that it's about that time for my sake and for the Divine gifts/assignment bestowed upon me—it’s about that time! My current job has served me, and for that I am grateful. I can also recognize when it’s time to take my talents elsewhere, and that’s where we are, friends. It's not lost on me what the current climate (political, economic, job, financial, etc.) is giving; I’m moving with a sort of intuitive strategy that I implore all my friends to exercise. I have a plan, and I also have faith. That’s all I say on that, or I fear we’ll be here for another five minutes.

However, what I will say and perhaps leave you with is that it's never a coincidence but rather synchronicity that allows us to feel, connect, and experience what we do, when we do. All I’ve experienced thus far this year has prepared me for this moment. To ask “what stories need to be shared through me” as I transition to another era of my work. It has prepared me to detach from the need to know what's next, but rather trust that the path will reveal itself once I’m ready to receive. And you know what, I’ve had the spaciousness to understand my ancestors more intuitively and intimately than I could when they were here. Ritual, reflection, and rest are on the agenda for the coming season—time to revel in all that I’ve created, cultivated, and shared. I hope autumn is a season that allows us all to open ourselves to the Divine connection that cultivates relationship, creativity, and imagination. That we can fellowship in communities that sustain us all year long. And that our next season allows us to be vessels for stories that carry the most authentic pieces of us.

With Ease,
Lauren