​Last week, I wrote about the Struggle Bus.

You know the one.

The bus that races through life collecting commitments, obligations, deadlines, responsibilities, and expectations. The bus that rarely stops long enough for us to catch our breath before speeding off to the next thing.

In that newsletter, I shared the importance of stepping off the bus and allowing ourselves a moment of pause.

What I didn't know at the time was what would happen next.

Earlier this year, I intentionally created space for myself. Not because I had a grand plan. Not because I knew exactly where I was headed. Simply because I could feel that I needed a pause.

A little breathing room.

A chance to listen.

And somewhere in that quiet space, an unexpected invitation appeared.

Plant Spirit Summer School near Edinburgh, Scotland.

Now, if I'm being completely honest, I have no idea where this experience will lead.

I don't have a five-year plan for it.

I don't have expectations.

I don't even have a specific outcome I'm hoping to achieve.

What I do have is curiosity.

A gentle intuitive nudge that says, "Go."

So I'm going.

Not because it makes perfect logical sense.

Not because I can explain every reason.

But because I've learned that some opportunities don't arrive as a detailed roadmap. They arrive as a whisper.

And if we're moving too fast, we'll miss them.

I often think intuition gets portrayed as a lightning bolt moment where everything suddenly becomes clear.

My experience has been different.

More often, intuition shows up after we've made room for it.

It arrives in the quiet moments.

The walks.

The cups of coffee.

The afternoons when we finally stop filling every available space in our calendar.

The pause creates the opening.

The opening creates awareness.

And awareness allows us to hear what has been trying to reach us all along.

As I prepare to leave for Scotland, I find myself wondering:

Have you taken a pause yet?

Not a vacation filled with activities.

Not a weekend spent catching up on everything you've fallen behind on.

A true pause.

A moment to step off the Struggle Bus and simply listen.

And if you have...
- What showed up?
- What idea appeared?
- What invitation arrived?
- What curiosity began tugging at your sleeve?

Perhaps your next step isn't meant to arrive as a fully formed plan.

Perhaps it begins with a whisper.

And perhaps the only thing required right now is enough stillness to hear it.

This week, I invite you to create a little space.

Not to figure everything out.

Simply to listen.

You never know what invitation might be waiting for you on the other side of the pause.

Trust the pause,

Robin

P.S.  My newsletter will be on pause until July.

Have you noticed how fast everything seems to be moving lately?

The world feels louder. Faster. More demanding.

Our calendars fill with work obligations, family obligations, friend obligations, volunteer obligations, and a never-ending stream of notifications reminding us of all the things we should be doing.

Before we know it, we're running from one responsibility to the next, trying to keep all the plates spinning.

And somewhere along the way, we lose ourselves.

Recently, I've found myself thinking about what I affectionately call...
"The Struggle Bus."

You know the one.

It's the bus we board when we believe we have to do it all.

The bus where everyone else's needs get a reserved seat while our own needs are left standing in the aisle.

The bus where we tell ourselves we'll rest later, create later, dream later, and take care of ourselves later.

The problem is that later rarely comes.

Many of us were raised with the belief that being a good person meant putting everyone else's needs before our own. We learned to be dependable, helpful, accommodating, and available.

While these qualities can be beautiful gifts, they can also become exhausting patterns.

At some point, we begin carrying responsibilities that were never ours to carry.

We say yes when we mean no.

We overextend ourselves because we don't want to disappoint anyone.

We become so focused on caring for everyone else that we stop listening to what we need.

Perhaps this isn't a time to learn how to juggle more.

Perhaps this is a time to put some things down.

Perhaps the old pattern of self-sacrifice has reached its expiration date.

What if taking a day for yourself wasn't selfish?

What if canceling plans because you need rest wasn't something that required justification?

What if spending an afternoon alone reading, gardening, creating art, taking a nap, or simply staring out the window was exactly what your soul needed?

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is step off the struggle bus.

Not forever.

Just long enough to remember who we are beneath all the obligations.

To breathe.

To listen.

To reconnect with ourselves.

The world will continue spinning.

The emails will still be there tomorrow.

The laundry can wait.

The to-do list will never truly be finished.

But your well-being matters now.

Your creativity matters now.

Your peace matters now.

This week, I invite you to ask yourself:

• Where am I carrying more than I need to carry?
• What obligation am I ready to release?
• What would it look like to give myself permission to simply be?

Maybe the most productive thing you do this week is nothing at all.

Maybe that's exactly the medicine you need.

With Moxie,

Robin

Reflection Questions
• Where in my life am I rushing without questioning why?
• What would happen if I gave myself permission to rest?
• Which obligations truly belong to me, and which am I carrying out of habit?
• What is my soul asking for right now?
• If I stepped off the struggle bus today, what would I do instead?

This past weekend, I found myself driving home after checking on repairs at our old family house.

As I made my way down the country road, something caught my attention.

On the north side of the road stood a magnificent tom turkey, his tail feathers fully fanned, proudly displaying himself for a nearby female turkey. Before long, the pair crossed the road together, moving from north to south.

A few moments later, I spotted a groundhog sitting upright on the south side of the road, quietly observing the world around him.

To many people, seeing these animals may have looked like an ordinary drive home. To me, it felt like a conversation.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about restoration—not only remodeling the 2nd floor of the Kent Emporium and an old house next door (details to come in future newsletters) but also creating space for new possibilities.

Over the past few months, I've been transforming these two spaces into a creative sanctuary. What was once an empty space has slowly begun to take on a new life. Art supplies have found a home. Ideas are beginning to gather. Possibilities are taking shape.

In many ways, the remodeling projects feel like a reflection of an inner shift.

As I reflected on the animals I encountered, their symbolism felt surprisingly aligned with what I've been experiencing.

The turkey, with his feathers spread wide, seemed to embody confidence, self-expression, and the willingness to be seen. There was nothing small about his presence. He wasn't hiding. He was fully expressing who he was.

The turkey made me wonder...

• Where in our lives are we being invited to show up more fully?
• Where are we ready to stop dimming our light and allow our gifts to be seen?

Then came the groundhog.

Groundhog medicine is often associated with emergence, cycles, and building strong foundations. Unlike the turkey's bold display, the groundhog carried a quieter energy. He simply sat upright, alert and present, as if surveying the landscape before taking the next step.

His message felt equally important.

The groundhog reminded me...

• Before we expand, we need a foundation.
• Before we launch the next chapter, we need space for it to land.

Perhaps that is why I have felt so drawn to organizing, clearing, creating, and reimagining the spaces around me. Sometimes what looks like cleaning out a closet is actually preparing for a new season of growth.

As I continued my drive home, I couldn't help but notice the symbolism of the journey itself.  I had just left a place connected to family history, memories, and the past.

And on the road home, I was greeted by two messengers reminding me of what comes next...

• Honor where you've been.
• Build a strong foundation.

And when the time comes, don't be afraid to be seen.

Maybe that message isn't just for me.

Maybe it's for anyone standing at the edge of something new.

Maybe it's for anyone who has been quietly tending a dream, organizing a room, writing a book, creating a project, or wondering whether they're ready for their next bold move.

The turkey says, "Show yourself."

The groundhog says, "Trust what you've been building."

And together they remind us that what has been growing beneath the surface may finally be ready to emerge.


Until next time, keep listening for the messengers, trusting the signs, and illuminating new possibilities along your path.
Robin
​

Reflection Questions​
• What part of me is ready to be seen more fully?
• What foundation am I currently building or strengthening?
• What dream has been quietly growing beneath the surface?
• What wisdom from my past is helping shape my future?
• Where am I being invited to emerge rather than remain hidden?