When I began my journey into deathcare I was merely following a tickle of a calling that eventually sparked a fire within me fueled by purpose and passion far greater than I could have ever imagined. The mission of my work and of Going with Grace has always been clear—to support people as they answer the question “What must I do to be at peace with myself so I may live presently and die peacefully?” What wasn’t always so clear was the road by which to get there. Growing a business in a field that is (although becoming less) taboo has been complex. Some days I felt clear and there was effervescence in my blood and other days I would cry and feel lost, wondering where I got the nerve to take on death. But excavating your gifts doesn’t have to be a strenous undertaking!! The things that helped me to keep on keepin’ on during those unclear times were staying curious, choosing to play, slowing down to listen to my intuition, and surrounding myself with some really rad deathy folks who remind me that I’m not alone. Gratefully, that community of deathworkers who are LIT all the way up about making a difference in the world is only growing and it’s one of the reasons we created the EVOLVE business course to bring you together for support and guidance. 🙌🏿 ✨Our next round of this 6-week intensive course begins in April and we cap each session at 15 students so if you’re interested, don’t wait to join in on the fun!✨ We share your vision. Now let us support you in bringing it to life while you do death. 💜💀 @gisellebuchanan

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I was single for all of my 20s and half of my 30s, so Valentine’s Day will always make me think of my friends. (Just please don’t make me say ’Galentine’s Day.’) | Tag a bestie, duh. — Text reads: Be       st Fri     ends I send you a rambling voice note about how maybe I should try a different shade of brow tint this time / a little lighter / not so harsh / what do you think? / You know the passcode to my phone / and the name of that one guy I met on Bumble who cried about the movie Groundhog’s Day / and how much it hurt to leave Chicago / We’ve lost hours plotting paint colors / text replies / outfits / trips / what will happen on the next Insecure / what to do with our lives / “why are men?!” / who to trust / when to let go / You’re a soft place to land / a hard, wheezing laugh / the closest I’ll come to another sister / I used to think all of this in-between stuff was the intermission / the rest stops along the way / the amuse-bouche / the filler flowers / but lately I’ve come to realize that all of this small stuff is the stuff / this is it / the main event / the blue plate special / a million little drops of love that fill the whole cup

To buying that envelope, to bumping into strangers, to stepping out, to the fire engines and the great-looking babies. And of course, to the dancing animals. I saw this quote last week via @sambookshelf and was reminded, once again, how much the pandemic forbade our “dancing animals” — the joy one gets chatting with a stranger, bantering with the crossing guard, picking up a dropped pacifier to chase after a frazzled parent. A small reminder (to myself) to venture out for that envelope (and why I usually come back grinning when I do). #mondaymotivation (This quote is taken from a @pbs interview between David Brancaccio and Kurt Vonnegut via @thewirelessgirl.)

I love people like this — bakwaaas // tumblr

(37/54) “The meeting was held in the office of the former speaker of parliament. He’d been executed four weeks earlier. It was an office I’d been to many times before. But everything beautiful had been removed: the paintings, the carpets, the furniture. In the center of the room was a single table, and at its head sat one of the leaders of the Revolutionary Council. It was the body ultimately responsible for deciding the fate of the regime’s enemies. My colleague groveled. He read a prepared statement. He thanked the man for his wisdom. He thanked him for allowing us to keep our salaries. Then when he finished his remarks, he motioned to me and said: ‘My colleague would like to say something.’ I was caught by surprise. I had nothing prepared. I could have just thanked the man. But when an injustice has been committed, I must speak. It’s part of my code. It’s something I hold as dear as my own spirit. Because if we don’t live our ideals—then they don’t exist. 𝘋𝘢𝘢𝘥. 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪. 𝘙𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪. Justice, Goodness, Truth. They depend on us. We are the ones who must make them real. They only exist when we are living them. Truth is not some abstract concept. Truth is something you say. Truth is something you do. No matter how great the fear, you must follow your code. You must stay true to your ideals. Because if you do not, that fear will stay with you. It will break you. Every day it will remind you: you weren’t who you thought you were. And I’m not ready to lose the rest of my life to a single moment. There was a burnt match lying on the floor next to my foot. I picked it up off the ground. I looked the man in the eye, and I told him: ‘Maybe you should be thanking us, for not allowing this injustice.’ Then I held the burnt match in front of my face. ‘Even if you’d asked,’ I told him. ‘I wouldn’t have given you this burnt match.’”