Losing your cool doesn’t mean you’re not spiritual. It means you’re alive.

Yesterday, madly working on a digital course for an organization that needed it LAST WEEK, I somehow lost both files I was working with. I went to a café to regroup, and while they’d always had a “dogs are welcome” policy, the city health inspector just happened to be there—and I was loudly yelled at. I quietly left and went to the lake to decompress. My dog wouldn’t come when I called, and when I finally found him… he was wearing a proud new coat of heavily aromatic, freshly-deposited horse poop.

I used to believe that truly spiritual people were always calm and peaceful.

I’m not so young anymore, and I still have messy days. I lose my cool, cry in my car, and talk to my dog like he’s my therapist.

For a long time, I felt like I shouldn’t STILL be messy at my age. I thought it meant I hadn’t “arrived” yet at some elusive spiritual threshold.

But what if the real spiritual path isn’t about being perpetually serene—
but about staying connected to ourselves even when we’re anything but?

What if evolution looks more like this:
Taking a breath instead of a side swipe.
Letting yourself cry without shame.
Owning your humanity instead of hiding it behind performance.
Remaining centered while the world spins.

I don’t believe the most integrated people are always peaceful. I believe they’re TRUTHFUL.

They don’t bypass the chaos—they breathe through it.
They show up raw… and still keep showing up.

I think the eternally calm, radiant, zen master floating three inches off the ground at all times is seductive. It’s also a myth.

Enlightenment isn’t sterile or tidy.

Being “a mess” doesn’t mean I’ve failed. It means I’m in it. I’m alive. For me this week a messy life has included grief, rage, laughter, snot, awe, exhaustion, and a poop-covered dog. 🐶