“Tidings” is a monthly newsletter filled with reflections, poetry excerpts, and curated playlists featured in my classes, as well as my teaching schedule for the month ahead.
Please feel free to share parts of this newsletter that connect with you on social media or send to someone you love. Thank you for being here, it means so much.
A note: This month’s letter written largely on train, so excuse typos & weird formatting. I’m only so good on an iPad.
February felt like scaling a rock wall—grueling, unrelenting—but every grip I found was mine to claim. If January was a sprout breaking through wreckage, February was the force that fed it, with love, a healthy dose of anger, and the kind of care that does not coddle but strengthens. This tender bud did not just grow; it declared. It climbed, vined over rock face and rubble, and stated loudly, This is mine. This ascent was not a plea, not a whisper, not a request. It was a battle cry. A reckoning.
Ironically, I truly hate rock climbing.1 Despite this, I understand the climb.
This journey of a seed being planted and growing was never a common thread I planned to weave through my first few essays. Then again, how much of life ever truly follows a plan? How much of your life has gone exactly to plan? I was once given the advice to move like water—to yield, to flow, to meet obstacles with grace. As life unfolds that has proven to be sage counsel as often I have found the broad brushstrokes of my intentions remain, but the details of a planned life often shift largely due to forces beyond my control. Water bends with the path it’s given, yes, but it also carves. Given time, it shapes mountains, cuts canyons, and wears down the unshakable with soft, quiet force— its own type of persistent power.
A sprout, too, is soft — fragile even. But softness and vulnerability do not mean weakness.
This month, my own fragility was laid bare—job instability, a family medical scare, and once again *gesticulates wildly to the chaos of the world*. Repeated reminders that while I can take deliberate action, my control over the outcome of life is often limited. I had moments of deep disempowerment, of feeling small, breakable. It was as if that little sprout had pushed through the wreckage with all its might, only to find itself at the foot of a mountain—suddenly, painfully aware of its feeble form. The mountaintop, where sunlight shone, felt impossibly far. It would require yet another climb. And like that frail flora, I sat. Too tired, too sorry for myself to ascend.
Sometimes a rest is needed, like winter. A moment of dormancy before the inspiration to bloom happens. This pause for me took the form of a big wallow and weep with a few different friends. That emotional winter reminded me of something vital.
Like that tender greenery that had pushed against the weight of the world to bloom, I was still standing. Even with the climb ahead, I was upright—not by luck, but by the strength of my roots. Roots cultivated over time, through intention. My sense of self. My people. My choices. These are my anchors, the things that ground me in my power, even when the mountains loom high and my ability to scale feels scarce.
If I could give form to these roots, my community, my people, they would be mirrors—glistening underground trellises that hold me steady. Shimmering reflections of who I am and who I wish to become. They shine with love, truth, courage, intelligence, and determination—everything I hope to see and share with the world. Iridescent reminders of the reserves I can draw upon when the ground is frosty and the peaks feel endless. If you were to ask me what I am most proud of, it would be the people I get to walk through life with. My treasured community, who possess Everest-sized courage and galaxy-sized love I talked about last month. The fearless friends and family who pull me back when I lose my way. Whether I’m staring at an endless rock wall or wading through the wreckage of life, they turn to me with laughter, wisdom, and honesty—guiding me home to myself, encouraging me to climb.
Can I show you what I mean?
A loving reminder from a friend:
A more audacious but heartfelt text with a similar sentiment:
A reminder that maybe I offer the same to those around me (no judging the typo!)
These moments of love, scathing honesty, and reflection have always been my sustenance, but this month, they were my lifeline. When the delicate sprout of my heart took stock of its surroundings—when the landscape of my life shifted yet again, when another summit rose before me—it was my people who reminded me who I am, what I want to give to this world, and how I want to move forward. Who reminded me I have power within.
One of those brilliantly bright friends posed a question as I sat, downtrodden at the base of yet another climb. The question struck like a spark in the dark: What if, despite everything, you wove a narrative that supported yourself? They followed it up with some absolute zingers like, where is your agency here? How can you come back to your power?
The timing was uncanny, as if the universe had been conspiring. That same day, I stumbled upon a thought-to-be lost bracelet—a gift from a dear friend for my master’s graduation a few years back. A simple silver bar, etched with the words Despite it all. A quiet acknowledgment of the winding road that led me to that degree. A reminder that life moves in cycle— peaks, valleys, all landscapes in between— that the lessons of the past are never truly finished.
Three years ago, those words marked triumph. Today, they called me back to the same truth: Despite it all, we grow. Despite it all, we can climb.
While I will forever hate rock climbing, I do not mind a hike. And I believe Miley Cyrus might have been onto something. There will always be another mountain. I will always want to make it move. Sometimes the battle is uphill, and sometimes I will lose. But resilience is not about avoiding the struggle— it’s about stepping into it. About remembering that power is not just about force, but about endurance, about choice, about the story we tell ourselves. So if you don’t have ‘The Climb’ stuck in your head already, let’s finish this together (sing it with me, come on): It’s not about how fast I get there. It’s not about what’s waiting on the other side.It’s about the process. The ascent. The practice of reclaiming—again and again—the power that is ours.
Sometimes that declaration is a whisper, sometimes a battle cry, but it matters just the same. Stating This is mine regardless of what life is giving at the time. Taking ownership of moments, even ones I would rather avoid. It was metabolizing the anger I felt at witnessing such destruction in the world, to be moved to action. And I am immeasurably grateful to the friends and practices that turn me back to myself when I forget just how resilient or resourced I am or can be.
So while the horrors of the world persist, so do the delights. The laughter of friends in a cozy bar in a foreign city. A toddler smothering their caring adult with kisses on a crowded train. The sharp, joyful shriek of a friend spotting you at an airport gate (I’ve been traveling—can you tell?).
These moments, small but electric, charge me. They are part of the energy that roots and feeds that tiny little sprout. They remind me that true power does not lie in brute force. That those who seek control through domination may hold it temporarily, but the most profound strength I have ever known has never come from force. Truly, not once.
Instead, to me, power is found in the questions, the quiet, the quest. It belongs to those that dare to ask. Who are brave enough to get curious—with themselves, with others. Who sit in stillness and notice. Who take the fear of the unknown and turn it into an invitation, a doorway to freedom. Who seek the good. Who use anger as a fiery tool for change. Who are courageous enough to soften, even when the world gets hard. Who ask where the agency lies. Who say hard truths and move with honesty. Who find the road back to themselves—and walk those they love home as well. Who encourage themselves, others, even the tiniest sprout, to grow, to claim, to climb.
Yoga reminds me that power is never out of reach. Breath—pranayama—is considered our life force. In my most tense moments, deep inhales have steadied me, regulated my racing heart, and brought me back to presence. Deep exhales have offered release, a moment of pause, and a chance to start again. To enlist my breath in movement, on or off the mat, is to remind myself: I have power at all times. And you have it, too.
So this month, I invite you to find your power.
In a quiet breath. In an invigorating flow. In a workout that grounds you in strength.
In the stories you tell yourself. In the choices you make.
When life is uncertain, how can you use that as a doorway freedom instead of fear?
Where or when do you feel most empowered?
Who or what walks you back home to yourself?
Even in the most frustrating situations, where can you exercise agency?
I look forward to asking, and perhaps answering, some of these questions with you in class, in conversation, in our collective climb. You’ll find my schedule, playlists, and March’s featured poems, bits, and clips below.
With love and gratitude,
Tori
Poems/Bits/Clips
If any of these excerpts speak to you I recommend clicking through to enjoy the full work.
“I would love to live/ Like a river flows/ Carried by the surprise/Of its own unfolding” - John O’Donohue, Fluent
“Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood./ How grass can be nourishing in the/ mouths of lambs./ How rivers and stones are forever/ in allegiance with gravity/ while we ourselves dream of rising. / How two hands touch and the bonds will/ never be broken./ How people come, from delight or the/ scars of damage,/ to the comfort of a poem./ Let me keep my distance, always, from those/ who think they have the answers./ Let me keep company always with those who say/ “Look!” and laugh in astonishment,/ and bow their heads.” - Mary Oliver, Mysteries,Yes
“…Don’t lose yourself in memories, or get stuck up in fantasies./ Don’t forget to cleanse, ground, shield, and breathe./ Don’t forget to be./ Don’t focus so much on the walls that you forget that you are free…” - Miss Yankey, To Don’t List
“a spell to cast upon meeting a/ stranger, comrade, or friend working/ for social and/or environmental justice and liberation:/ you are a miracle walking/ i greet you with wonder/ in a world which seeks to own/ your joy and your imagination/ you have chosen to be free,/ every day, as a practice/ i can never known the struggles you went through to get/ here,/ but i know you have swum upstream/ and at times it has been lonely/ i want you to know/ i honor the choices you made in/ solitude/ and i honor the work you have done to belong/ i honor the commitment to that/ which is larger than yourself/ and your journey/ to love the particular container of life/ that is you/ you are enough/ your work is enough/ you are needed/ your work is sacred/ you are here/ and i am grateful” - adrienne maree brown, radical gratitude spell
I once bonded over my hatred of rock climbing with a date who had a proclivity for poem writing. Initially this might have been a huge ick but proved to be charming. So here is a little treat from my date to me and now to you: “They met up at a the beer hall,/ a sporty rowdy spot/ The DJ in the corner,/was just finishing his slot/They quickly got to talking/ well, after they moved twice/ and soon they found a mutual foe/ a Seattle-common vice./They didn’t dance around it/ they didn’t boulder by/ no need for knee pads to catch them/ no chalk to dry their eyes/ “Why does every single person, in this mother freaking town/ spend all their time ascending rocks/just to climb back down??’’/ they really didn’t get it/ it was the hardest of a no/ and any way they framed it/ they’d simply never go/ but later when they texted/ to brainstorm for the next date/ they thought, well hell, it ~might~ be fun/ in a ‘haha hehe’ way/ they’d laugh at all the local bros/flailing all their limbs/ so they packed their shoes/ and headed out/ then never left the gym.” - Tori’s Date from May 2022, “How Climbers are Born”
Big love Boo