Co-ed Class

A focused consultation designed to understand your needs and explore how we can work together. During this initial conversation, we will discuss your projectgoals and determine the best approach for your success.

Spark your Creativity! In this four-week workshop, we will dive into the art of storytelling through creative writing, visual art, and spoken word. Each week, we will explore our inner creative spark by playing fun, accessible games designed to inspire play and wonder. No previous skills are required—just a sense of adventure and a curious heart.

In my dreams, all night, I am traveling to distant places, trying to find home. In snippets, I see him, but we cannot talk. He is an apparition, phasing in and out, yet somehow always by my side. Our relationship did not last even three months, and yet I am grieving like I have lost something I had held for ages. We fell deeply in love very fast, and broke up even faster. I think to both our surprise, one day, my broken parts and his broken parts looked at each other and said, “Enough.” And we both walked away. In those short months, he saw me. He knew me in ways I had never let anyone witness me before. He showed this lonely soul a sense of home, family, and connection. With him, I leveled up. I learned what it is to love without limits. And then it stopped. My life is a story of never being fully seen. It is a story of tender childhood gifts being handed over, doled out, and offered up to the highest bidder. Unlike the others, he did not want my goods; he simply wanted me - exactly as I am. And him? Well, his life is a messy, knotted story of struggle, betrayal, and survival. Life right now is eating him alive. He can barely see straight. And yet somehow, some mornings, I am here alone in bed, secretly wanting nothing more than to see him, to smell him, to hold him, and let the tears come. (His tears or mine? I'm not quite sure) But this is not how life's drama playing out right now. Today we're just two separate, messy people sending occasional texts through the ether. Here, but not here. Just like in my dreams. My dear friend Kristy, an artist and a young mother, says, “Tell him how you feel. Tell him you miss him. It's okay to want to try again.” My sweet brother - a builder and my protector says, "Please don't do it, Beck. Not yet. Take care of YOU.” And so here I am, alone this morning in the tangle of these bedsheets, writing to you, witnessing a full-body wrestling match between my heart and head; lovesick, nauseous, and torn between the aching pull of doing what I should do and what I must. I'm not sure which is which. And to you, my dear reader friends, I apologize. As I write from bed this morning, I don't have the right answers or words to wrap up this essay in a pretty bow. It simply is what it is. I've realized and accepted that today may just be another day of feeling this pain. And I suppose that's okay. And so I end this piece with a prayer. To the Great and Holy Spirit, I ask: Please fill my cup. Please fill his. Please bring these two hearts together in just the ways You see fit. Your will, not my own.

I went to church today. Or I should say I tried to go to church today. I woke up feeling heavy. Heavier than I've felt in a long time. So I decided to let this Sunday be a day of surrender. And lately that surrender goes straight to the Big Guy, because I've come to believe that no one else can hold an ache this big. I looked up a church and decided to put aside my insecurities about showing up alone and just go. I resolved that I would find myself a nice corner pew way in the back, listen, and just give it all to God. I just want to be with Him. As I drove towards the church, my music in my car seemed to sync perfectly with the pain in my heart. Tears poured down my cheeks. At the church entrance, I noticed a line of cars waiting to get in. A police car with its lights on was managing traffic. When I finally made it into the lot, volunteers directed a slow line of creeping cars to the back. Waiting patiently (and still crying), I could not find a spot. None of this felt right. I needed God, not a parking attendant, so I drove away. As I headed towards home I thought about this Jesus. Trust me, nothing could be stranger for this Jewish girl turned Buddhist turned Hindu, but here I am. And apparently I'm all in. I remembered hearing that one of Jesus's aims was to take worship out of the temples, away from the mountaintops, and bring it into our hearts. So what did I do? I turned on Crowder - a Christian band that a dear friend had recommended to me. (I can't believe I'm listening to Christian music! Lol!) As the song “Somebody Prayed” played on my car speakers, I turned into McDonald's to satisfy my craving for hash browns. Somehow, while lined up now with a whole new set of cars, feeling Crowder's music crescendo I realized that God is never far away… not at all. When I got to the window to pay, I recognized the regular cashier. He's a strange, scrawny kid, with long hair in a bun and feminine features. My first impulse was to judge him as I do with people sometimes, but then I softened and let myself just see him through the eyes of Love. As he gave me my receipt, he smiled so brightly, and I smiled back. And for that moment the whole drama of my life melted away. If Jesus is as real as I'm coming to believe he is, then we need to be looking for Him, not just in big buildings, but in the people. I believe the Holy Spirit isn't exclusive; it shows up in every soul (even if we don't know it). We just have to soften our hearts to notice. When we humble ourselves to accept that grace–that Universal love given to each and everyone of us–we will find him everywhere - even in the McDonald's drive-thru line.

Back in the mid-1980s, life wasn’t always easy. As a kid, on the playground, rather than playing tag or trading stickers like the other girls, I was the one on the swing set talking with whoever would join me in deep conversations about ghosts, life after death, or altered states of consciousness. Looking back, it’s no wonder. As a highly sensitive kid with a knack for picking up the emotions of everyone in the room, I was trying to make sense of a world that often felt uncomfortable, confusing, and out of control. At the age of 13, my father—a psychiatrist by trade—flagged me for OCD and bipolar disorder. I was labeled “sick,” put on meds, and sent to therapy. It seemed the adults in my life were more focused on what they deemed 'broken' in me than recognizing where my true gifts lived. Thus, rather than feeling seen and heard as a kid, I grew up believing I was terribly flawed. But over the years, I figured something out. To manage all that shame and anger, I developed a secret weapon: writing. Creativity became my holy sanctuary. My words had power! And through the magnificent art of storytelling, I learned to process the hard stuff, express my feelings deeply, and, for the first time, honor who I really am… and who I was to become. Story was my greatest ally. I was finding my gifts! Today, I'm still the weird girl who will happily talk with anyone on the topics of transcendence or spirituality, but I'm also someone who has learned to connect deeply with my heart. I have found my spiritual home. Through my publishing company, Jumping Fish Studios, and the story sessions I've created, I now teach and support others who, like myself, don't always feel comfortable in this noisy world. Together, we celebrate life's grand story arc of transformation, honoring the sacred human adventure that leads us straight into the wild troubles of the world, shows us our gifts, and then, like magic, brings us right back home. Do you have a powerful story of transformation to share? Join me for a session of interactive story games! Together, in one-on-one sessions or fun group workshops, we dive into the narratives of our lives. Each meeting is tailored to just where you want to go. Click Here to Book a Session