Marinating in the Good: A Late Summer Invitation

As the long, golden days of summer begin to soften, I find myself returning—again and again—to one simple, powerful practice: marinate in the good. It’s something I’ve been sharing often in sessions lately—not as a way to bypass what is hard or painful, but as a conscious, healing choice to fully receive the sweetness that is here. To turn our attention—deliberately and gently—toward what is nourishing and life-giving, even if just for a moment.

Rick Hanson, the psychologist and meditation teacher, writes: “The brain is like Velcro for the negative and Teflon for the positive.” This is the negativity bias—a survival mechanism built to help us detect threats, but which now often leaves us bracing for loss or disappointment even in the midst of beauty. Especially for those of us who’ve lived through trauma or prolonged stress, we can find ourselves habitually scanning for the next problem, the next heartbreak, the next shoe to drop.

There’s a line I love from the poem The Advent of Midlife:
“I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop. It already did, and I survived.”
There’s such truth and quiet power in that. When we stop waiting for the next challenge, and allow ourselves to settle into what is good right now—the laughter of a child, sunlight on a flower, clean water in our glass, the face of someone we love, the softness of a pillow behind a tired heart—we begin to rewire the nervous system. We begin to trust safety again. We begin to heal.

This is why I’ve been practicing enjoyment as a spiritual doorway—not simply gratitude, which can sometimes feel performative or aspirational, but the grounded experience of asking, what am I enjoying right now? This breath. The way the wind moves through the trees. A cup of tea. That my car is driving and I can afford to put gas in it. That challenge that has ended. That the body pain I had yesterday is gone today. When we marinate in these moments, we are not denying difficulty—we are opening our awareness to the full spectrum of experience. We are saying: I can hold the pain and I can feel this joy. I can be in heartbreak and notice that goodness is still all around me.

Enjoyment, when practiced intentionally, becomes a spiritual path back to presence. It doesn't require everything to be okay. It only asks that we notice. When we marinate in the good—even for 30 seconds at a time—we change our brain, our story, and our capacity to meet life with openness. We create space not just for joy, but for truth. For compassion. For being with all that is, which includes a lot of beauty.

So as summer fades, let yourself linger. Let your attention soften around what’s beautiful and true. Let it in. Let it nourish you. You don’t need to wait for everything to be perfect. You just need to be here, right now, marinating in the good.

Share Seeds of Light Elizabeth Astor

October 6th - October 18th

This is a truly special journey, and we’ve gathered an incredible group of women who are ready to travel with open hearts and a spirit of deep connection.

We’ll travel together through temples and terraced hillsides, in ceremony and stillness, laughter and awe.

Along the way, we’ll explore Nepal’s rich spiritual traditions, breathtaking landscapes, and vibrant culture, with a nourishing, inspiring, and transformative itinerary designed to awaken and restore. If you’ve been feeling the call, this is your moment. We would be so honored to have you with us.

Register Now

Last week, my Facebook and Instagram accounts were hacked. Disturbing and harmful content was posted—material that I would never create or endorse—and as a result, both accounts were permanently shut down. It was a deeply disturbing experience, and I’m in the process of recovering and rebuilding.

I’ll be creating new accounts in the coming weeks and will share those with you here once they’re live. In the meantime, this newsletter is the best way to stay connected—and you can always find me on Insight Timer, where I continue to share guided meditations and teachings in a safe, grounded space.

My fall schedule for one-on-one sessions with patients will be available online starting August 19th.

Thank you for being here. I’m so grateful for this community.

by ANDREA GIBSON 1975-2025

Andrea Gibson is my favorite poet—and one of the most impactful, inspiring, and beautiful human beings I’ve ever met. Their passing a few weeks ago was a profound loss for me and for so many in my community. Andrea’s presence was a bright, blazing light of truth and tenderness—the kind of art and aliveness that opens the heart, breaks it, and heals it all at once.
In their final years, Andrea became a true master of marinating in the good—of noticing, naming, and cherishing the moments that make life worth living. It’s hard to choose just one poem to share, because so many speak to the fullness of life with stunning clarity. But this one feels especially alive right now. It celebrates what it means to love life deeply—to stay present, to savor, and to be transformed by the beauty of simply being here.


"Whenever I spend the day crying,
my friends tell me I look high. Good grief,
they finally understand me.
Even when the arena is empty, I thank god
for the shots I miss. If you ever catch me
only thanking god for the shots I make,
remind me I’m not thanking god. Remind me
all my prayers were answered
the moment I started praying
for what I already have.
Jenny says when people ask if she’s out of the woods,
she tells them she’ll never be out of the woods,
says there is something lovely about the woods.
I know how to build a survival shelter
from fallen tree branches, packed mud,
and pulled moss. I could survive forever
on death alone. Wasn’t it death that taught me
to stop measuring my lifespan by length,
but by width? Do you know how many beautiful things
can be seen in a single second? How you can blow up
a second like a balloon and fit infinity inside of it?
I’m infinite, I know, but I still have a measly wrinkle
collection compared to my end goal. I would love
to be a before picture, I think, as I look in the mirror
and mistake my head for the moon. My dark
thoughts are almost always 238,856 miles away
from me believing them. I love this life,
I whisper into my doctor’s stethoscope
so she can hear my heart. My heart, an heirloom
I didn’t inherit until I thought I could die.
Why did I go so long believing I owed the world
my disappointment? Why did I want to take
the world by storm when I could have taken it
by sunshine, by rosewater, by the cactus flowers
on the side of the road where I broke down?
I’m not about to waste more time
spinning stories about how much time
I’m owed, but there is a man
who is usually here, who isn’t today.
I don’t know if he’s still alive. I just know
his wife was made of so much hope
she looked like a firework above his chair.
Will the afterlife be harder if I remember
the people I love, or forget them?
Either way, please let me remember."

A Monthly Group

This is an ongoing group that meets monthly online with Elizabeth Astor to practice ways to work with challenging moments and mind states and to cultivate resilience and wellbeing. We gather on zoom 2-3pm MT, the 3rd Tuesday of each month.

Come Join Us! We practice together, laugh together, and learn how to ride the waves of life with more clarity and grace.

$20 / Month

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