How To Hear Your Intuition

Honestly, I still expect my intuition to sound like a choir of angels or a trumpet from the backseat of a Cadillac convertible.

Sometimes it does. Sometimes I need something with a little heft and a little neon. Sometimes intuition is really clear.

But most of the time, my intuition sounds like most of the other little voices in my head. “Take an umbrella.” “Don’t go to that thing tonight.” “Now that you’ve decided not to go to that thing tonight, do go to that thing tonight. Oh, and you need to leave right now.”

Listening to your intuition, to that little voice in your head that speaks more softly than your doubt, more comfortably than your strident logic, is the learning process of a lifetime.

It can feel muddy. Because the intuition voice often does sound like the other voices. The voices of our parents. Of our teachers. Of friends. Of society. Of people who may or may not know what you need or may or may not have your best interests in mind. Those other internal voices that may be your ego or your logic.

But we can hone our intuition just like we’d hone any other skill: with attention and practice.

How to Hear Your Intuition

Here are two of my favorite ways to strengthen intuition:

1. Quiet your mind.

2. Take note of all the voices and messages that might be intuition.

When we can quiet our brains, allow our spinning thoughts to rest, our intuition comes through more clearly. Because it’s not trying to compete with so many other voices. The more you quiet your brain, the more powerfully your intuition will come through.

Learning to hear and follow your intuition simply requires practice.

One of the things I tell my clients is to write down thoughts they think might be intuition. You don’t have to follow it yet, just take notes. Take note of all those moments that might be intuition. Notice which ones keep repeating themselves. Take note of what happens when you follow that voice that you think might be your intuition, and what happens when you don’t.

Your intention, attention, and practice will help the voice of your intuition become crystal clear.

Viewing intuition as practice - rather than something we either can do or can’t do - is so sweet. We don’t need to be spiritual perfectionists who follow our intuition infallibly. Instead, we’re gathering information. Listening to see how that voice sounds, what it says, how it does and doesn’t sound like the other voices in our heads.

A little practice and you’ll begin distinguishing it with ease.

Last Friday, Brandon’s intuition told him to leave work early. It said, “Go home, you’re not going to get anything else done today.”

He didn’t listen. He let his logic - the voice that says things like “You can’t just leave work early, you need money, slackers leave work early” - override his intuition. Later that night he came home frustrated because, thanks to a confluence of events, he got nothing done and would have been much better served by a nice afternoon at home.

While that doesn’t make for the perfect Friday, it was good information. He heard the voice, he knew it was intuition, he didn’t listen, and he saw what happened. That experience helped build his intuition muscle memory. That experience made it just that much easier to listen and follow the intuitive voice next time.

As we pay attention to what happens when we do listen to our intuition and what happens when we don’t, we start to see and feel how beautifully we’re being guided all day every day.

One more thing to remember about intuition:

Intuition feels no need to be consistent.

Rather than telling you what’s true or what’s “right,” your intuition will tell you what you need to hear.

Which is one of the reasons things can get so confusing.

Me: “But you said not to do that thing tonight?”

Intuition: “Yes, because I didn’t want you to worry about it all day!”

Me: “But now you’re saying I do need to do that thing tonight? And, in order to be on time, I need to leave right now even though I still have to shower?”

Intuition: “Yes! What fun motion and momentum, right?”

Me: [growls] [dives into the shower] [drives into the city and has a great time]

Most importantly, there’s no way to miss what your soul is telling you. There’s no right way to do things and no wrong way to do things. If you miss one message, your soul will send another. If you don’t listen, the messages will get louder.

Eventually, you’ll hear what your soul is telling you. And the more you practice listening to the voice of your intuition and doing what it says (logic and the voice of society bedamned), the faster that process will go. :)

Lots of love,

Amber

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P.P.S. If learning to hear your intuition and follow your own internal GPS is something you’d like to explore, I created something to help. Read about it here.

Why I Don't Drink Any More

Title Correction: Why I Try Not To Drink Any More

Before anyone goes all Yoda “do or do not, there is no try” on me, allow me to say this:

Sometimes people have birthdays. It’s a mark of respect to the birthday human to drink with them. Because of this belief,* other people’s birthdays are my downfall. At this point, this is pretty much the only exception. (I’m trying to remember if I drank on my birthday. Oh, yup. I did. Because I am also a human who deserves respect.) (Oh, there was also a little drinking after a family reunion. And during a dinner with friends to thank us for watching their cats. Fine, birthdays are usually the only exception.)

*Like all beliefs, this may or may not be true and may or may not serve me.

All this to say, I celebrated a friend’s birthday on Wednesday and OH HOW IT WAS CELEBRATED. Thursday Amber paid for Wednesday Amber’s choices. It also prompted me toward this topic again, especially in the wake of some effort spent lately trying to understand why I react the way I do in certain situations.

Weird thing about drinking that I’ve noticed for myself: If I am going to drink, it’s far better to do so during the first half of my cycle than the second. Obviously, for my brain and general health never drinking is the best option, more on that in a minute, but in terms of mood and The Regretting of Life Choices, drinking in the follicular and ovulation stages are far better than drinking in the luteal or, heaven forfend, the PMS stage. (PMS is not an official stage, as it turns out. But wow, do I feel it when I drink then.)

Anyway.

To the Reasons I Don’t Do My Best Not To Drink Any More

We have a history of alcoholism in my family. Pretty much all Gen Xers do, right? Because our parents grew up in the 1950s, when drinking was the coping mechanism of choice / the actual only coping mechanism. So many of our parents were raised by alcoholics or, if we don’t want to call them alcoholics, then “people who celebrated the end of the work day with a cocktail or two or seven.”

People raised by alcoholics will have trauma. This is fact.

When you’re raised by an alcoholic, one of two things will probably happen:

1. You will follow the behavior demonstrated to you as a child, and become an alcoholic.

2. You will observe the behavior demonstrated to you as a child, decide you want absolutely no part of that nonsense, and do your utmost NOT to become an alcoholic.

Both of my parents chose Door Number Two. Let’s give them a round of applause, because choosing Door Number Two in those days was basically down to sheer willpower.

Here’s where it gets weird, and this is the part that seems to be less well understood as of yet.

If people have untreated trauma, they will pass it down to their children.

As far as I can tell, this is the only explanation for me and how I am.

According to the mental health professionals at Kaiser, I have cPTSD.

There is no real reason for me to have PTSD, aside from the fact that I have a super sensitive nervous system. I had a nice childhood - well-loved, secure, opportunities like piano lessons (which I did not appreciate) and the college of my choice (which I did). I was also lucky to never experience violence or accidents or war, or any of the other things the traditional trauma model recognizes.

Privilege plus luck does not equal PTSD. Except when it does.

I’ve also lived a life. Breakups, sudden moves, a miscarriage, getting fired from jobs, financial instability. As we’re coming to understand trauma, or at least what I call subtle trauma, these things contribute. But my symptoms seem to pre-date any of these experiences I had as an adult. It’s even possible that they contributed.

To be clear, this is not to blame my parents or my childhood for anything or to avoid taking responsibility. It’s to illustrate that things are considerably less clear cut than most of us have been led to believe, especially when it comes to family systems and what we inherit from our parents and previous generations.

I have a great deal of respect for my parents, I believe they did an extraordinary job with what they had and made big leaps within one generation. My father especially took a truly traumatic and often terrible childhood and turned it around as best he could for his children and for his younger siblings. Sure, a therapist could (and did) say a lot of things about him, but I think he and my mother both did a great job, all things considered.

Here’s the thing:

Untreated trauma gets passed on to the next generation. I believe I have PTSD because my parents did, because they grew up with alcoholic fathers, and had to muscle through because the late twentieth century didn’t have the tools that we do in the early twenty-first. I suspect they didn’t know they had trauma. Even if they suspected, they wouldn’t have had the tools to treat it.

We have the tools now, but they’re often hard to come by. Mental health coverage within most insurance plans is sketchy at best. Going private is often much more effective (oh, the things I would spend lots of money on), but is inaccessible to all but the top few. By all measurements, I’m in a tip top percentage of lucky humans and a lot of what I need is currently inaccessible to me. This is why I end up in the etheric healing realms. BECAUSE THEY ARE FREE. (Ha!) But that’s a rant for another day.

Because I have a family history of alcoholism, my genes are constantly trying to lure me in that direction. This is where my extra sensitive nervous system is a help and a hindrance. It’s a help because I know when I’m starting to go a bit too far down the alcohol path. It’s a visceral feeling and an intuitive knowing. It’s a hindrance because when your nervous system is overwhelmed or totally shot, you veer in the direction of numbing - sugar, television, alcohol, drugs. (I have never allowed myself to go anywhere near drugs for this very reason. I cannot be trusted. Or at least my delicate peony nervous system can’t be.)

Why I Do my best to drink as little as possible:

Alcohol does bad things to your brain.

Alcohol screws with your gut, which is your second brain.

Both of those facts mean that alcohol can really affect your mood and life.

And…alcoholics in a family can seriously mess with that family, down through every generation until it’s dealt with.

I’m the generation that has to deal with it, and frankly it’s a pain in my ass.

Healing PTSD is a thing. Being vigilant about any kind of alcohol consumption is a thing. Learning how to feel what I learned early to repress is a thing. Learning how to soothe myself and not make any lasting decisions while in an activation loop is a thing. Learning how to not react the way I really want to react is a thing. Learning how to heal things that aren’t mine but have been passed down through my family line, from my parents’ generation to many generations before that, is a thing.

THERE ARE JUST SO MANY THINGS.

When I have a drink, even just one, my mood and thought patterns and decision-making ability will be adversely affected for at least three days. My partner and I are more likely to fight, and that fight is more likely to not go well.

(This is a little less likely to happen in the first half of my cycle and almost certain to happen in the second half of my cycle, which I find fascinating.)

Essentially, alcohol fucks with my health - mental, physical, and emotional - and it does my life zero favors. Except when I’m dancing in the back of a car in San Francisco on the way to a birthday dinner in that sweet moment of buzz hours before the repercussions begin. That’s the moment people drink for and, yes, it is fun.

Alcohol is a coping mechanism, pure and simple, in a world where coping is far more available than real healing.

If I have any mission in life, helping the shift from coping to healing is probably it. But I’m still trying to get my own house in order, healing my own shit and doing the healing for my family that has apparently been assigned to me and trying not to make too many messes in the meantime. Maybe the only way I can help the world in this is by helping myself.

If you’ve been wondering why you seem to have a lot of trauma and you’re not sure why, you aren’t alone. If you’ve been noticing that alcohol fucks with your week or your life, that you’re not alone.

If you’re keeping an eagle eye on your substances because things go way south when you don’t, fist bump. If you’re healing things from your family, fist bump. If you’re healing your own things, fist bump.

If you’re excited for the moment when coping shifts to healing shifts to thriving… me too, friend.

xo - Amber

Happiness Asks, Joy Gives

Yesterday, I went to a birthday party. There was a pool, there was a barbecue, there were palm trees and cacti, and children running amok.

While you can’t accurately judge a person’s happiness based on observing them at a party, a lot of them looked happy. There was talk of the next baby, the next home, the next job. Which I think adds to happiness, because it isn’t necessarily a measure of not being where you want to be, but a measure of your expansion.

Humans live to evolve and expand and get excited about what’s next.

Because I like to sit alone on sunny outdoor couches at parties, I spent some time watching other people’s (perceived) happiness and thinking about what would make me happy. Getting a dog, my pilot’s license, getting out amongst humans more - something I’ve always been a bit tentative about, a tendency that tripled during the pandemic and my own health challenges. Shoes may have entered the thought process. My first word was shoes and nothing makes me happier than putting on brand new pink flats, don’t judge me. But I know these things in and of themselves won’t make me happy.

Happiness lies in my response to these things. Happiness lies in my attention to these things and my enjoyment of them.

Happiness isn’t a destination, happiness is a series of joyful moments that we string together over a lifetime, no matter what else is going on in our lives.

Joy is always available.

Even if you have two dollars in the bank, even if dreams don’t come true, even if people are being deeply annoying.

Joy is always an option. But it requires attention. Awareness. An ability to be in a moment, really in it, not thinking about the next thing or whatever’s on your plate at the moment.

When I stopped being alone in the sun because other people began to realize that I am the best at choosing spots to be and came to join me, we started talking about happiness - what it means, what it looks like.

Honestly, happiness feels like a loaded word to me. Possibly because I’m American and “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” has been etched on my brain. Like happiness is something to be chased down, lassoed, and dragged back to your lair on the end of a rope.

Joy feels easier. Because moments of joy are always there for the taking: a daisy busting up through the concrete, a dog licking someone’s face, a skateboarder doing something crazy on a fast moving plank before wiping out at the stop sign.

Joy doesn’t depend on achieved dreams or overcome challenges, it’s there in every moment like a gift the world is trying to give you. You get to choose whether you accept it or not.

For some, happiness is having kids. For some, happiness is not having kids. For some, happiness is achieving the financial security necessary to live a simple life. For some, happiness requires certain substances.

Happiness asks, joy gives.

Happiness, at least the way I hear the word, requires that certain conditions be met. Joy appears unexpectedly, out of nowhere, like a cat jumping on the bed when you thought it was outside chasing humming birds or those humming birds buzzing by the window on their way to visit the roses.

I want to dedicate my life to joy, instead of happiness. Happiness just feels stressful. It requires a certain amount of money and has quite the list of conditions. Joy gets to happen right now because there’s bacon in the kitchen and it’s sunny outside. Technically, those are also conditions, but it’s a much lower bar. Happiness requires years of work for uncertain pay-off.

Joy will give you everything it has right now, just because you exist.

The Many and Varied Uses of Imaginary Jellybeans

I’m not sure how to tell this story without sounding crazy, but if I worried about sounding crazy I'd never open my mouth. So here we go.

On Sunday, I was hiking. It was a beautiful day, with a view of the ocean, verdant valleys, and happy cows (also peeing cows) dotting the hills beside the trail. I wasn’t having any of it. I was tired, I was cranky, and I wasn’t interested in anything related to living life at that time.

As I trudged up and down hike-related peaks and valleys, I finally got over myself enough to ask “How can I have a better time than I’m currently having?” Because I finally remembered that I do have some element of control over how I live my life. Maybe I can’t control the peeing cow, but I can certainly control how much I enjoy this actually very nice Sunday situation in which I find myself.

(Very nice Sunday situation.)

So I asked “How can this [general hand wave in the direction of life] feel better?”

Nothing happened. Because I was cranky, I didn’t really expect it to.

But as I focused on not thinking thoughts and instead on enjoying the view and the way the air felt on my skin, I started to shift out of crankiness and into neutrality and then some semblance of pleasure.

After a bit more plodding through the landscape, something opened up. Maybe I stumbled through a fairy glen or my whimsical brand of imagination fired up or guidance stepped in, I can’t say. And it doesn’t really matter. As I was walking, I got handed a silver basket full of jellybeans. Not the grocery store-corn syrup-red dye number death brand of jellybeans. These were fairy jellybeans. Some were midnight blue speckled with silver stars. Some were that particular turquoise of tropical island ocean. Some were peony pink. And I heard, “You can eat this one for calmness, this one for joy, this one to fall asleep, this one for more money, this one for creative inspiration, this one for delight,” and so on.

So I chose the imaginary jellybean that would help me get over myself and start enjoying my Sunday afternoon hike. I imagined eating it, and the fairy jellybean energy filling me up. It wasn’t like a miracle bean, where suddenly I was skipping through the hills and thrilled with life. But by the end of the hike, I was feeling much better. The day shifted into something absolutely lovely, including my favorite pizza and a really nice glass of wine that I got to drink in the sun. My week since has been significantly better than the week previous.

My point is, whether you believe in angelic support or guidance or your inner wisdom or the support of the universe or the power of your imagination, you always have access to a shift in perspective. You can always adjust how you view and experience things - all you have to do is ask, and trust that the answer will come. Whether that answer comes in the form of a silver basket filled with magic fairy jellybeans or something more prosaic doesn’t matter.

Your imagination is the portal to a better experience. So this is me reminding myself - and you, if that’s helpful - to use it wisely.

How to Find Joy When The World is a Trash Fire

First things first: remembering that the world is not actually a trash fire.

We still have clean water that we can drink, bathe in, make coffee from. We still have food in the fridge, a roof over your head, something to love - whether that something is a person, a pet, a project, a new Netflix show.

We still have beautiful things to see, whether you can get in your car and go look at them in (masked) person or pour over your pictures or search the internet for stunning pictures other people have taken.

There are always good people in the world, people doing their best to love and make things and rest and take care of others and show up in powerful ways that are for the good of humanity. Those people always exist. If you’re exhausted, you can look for the helpers. If your tank is full, you can be the helper. In whatever way suits you and your disposition. (There are as many ways to help as there are people on this planet.)

It’s easy to get caught up in what’s going on out there, but we have to step back - turn off the news, turn off the twitter, turn off the external voices - for significant periods of time so that our nervous system can calm the F down, so we can take care of ourselves, our people, our pets, our homes. Tend the creative fire. Slow your brain. Give yourself plenty of space to rest and sleep and make nice, nourishing meals. Bonus round: using the cloth napkins reserved for company BECAUSE YOU DESERVE NICE NAPKINS TOO. And also, no one’s really having company right now.

Tending to your joy looks like choosing a thought that feels a little better than the one you’re thinking right now.

Examples:

“The world is a goddamn trash fire.” —> “I have what I need, I see where people are helping, I am going to do whatever I can today to take care of myself.”

“I’m worried about money.” —> “I always have what I need and often have a lot of what I want and I trust that will continue.”

“I’m worried about a loved one’s health.” —> “Everyone has their own journey and who am I to say that their life journey is wrong?”

(I know it’s tempting to punch someone when they use the word “journey” in relation to health, whether it’s yours or a loved one’s, but 1) when my dad died it genuinely helped to remember that he has his own life path and maybe I shouldn’t judge it because it wasn’t what I wanted and 2) you can always use a different word.)

Tending to your joy looks like moving your body, in the fresh air if possible.

This is not a revolutionary concept, but it’s so easy to forget how good it feels to take a walk in the trees, to swing your arms and breathe the chilly air, and feel ideas spring to life while listening to some good music.

I say that as I’m planning to skip today’s walk, because its gloomy and it’s the balsamic moon and I haven’t been resting much. (The three or four days right before the new moon is a good time to plan rest and avoid pushing yourself.)

Tending to your joy looks like doing whatever feels fun right now. If fun feels like a stretch, doing whatever feels like a giant wheeze of relief.

When I’m facing down an epic to-do list (I’m learning how to not put so much damn pressure on myself but that cruise liner has been sailing for over forty years so it’s taking some time to turn in the choppy waters), it always helps to scan the list and ask myself “What feels like fun right now?” Or if fun is a stretch, “What can I do easily right now?”

If you need to rest, but you’re so hyped up on internet comments or so wracked with anxiety that the idea of going to sleep feels like asking your car to turn into a unicorn made of jellybeans, scan the options to see what feels best. Watching a Pixar movie? Reading a book? Listening to a meditation? Revisiting your favorite comedy special? Imagining your enemies getting paper cuts? Take whatever rest feels possible.

Tending to your joy looks like turning off anything that needs regular recharging.

We know this. But how often do we do it? I talk about it all the damn time, but it’s fairly rare that I take my phone and laptop and stick them in a closet for 24 hours. But whenever I do, I feel like I’ve been sprinkled with magic fairy dust. It makes it easier to relax, on every level. These days, turning off anything that emits light or has an opinion about the world is better than anti-anxiety medication. I know because I’ve tried both.

Joy can be found in any moment. Rest can be found in any moment. Ease can be found in any moment.

Fine, maybe not when you’re running from a stampeding warthog, but stampeding warthogs are rare enough that I feel comfortable committing that idea to writing.

Honestly, I didn’t really believe it myself until I experienced enough moments of relief and joy and ease in awful circumstances - parent dying, day after a breakup, etc - that I realized it is possible, especially when you have no choice but to surrender everything you think and hope for and understand. That’s when those moments of joy and relief creep in.

Surrendering - surrendering fear, worry, angst, fear, righteous indignation - often looks like choosing the next thought that feels better, the next thing that feels fun. Because doing that means you’re surrendering the old way of being, the way that says Reality Requires Suffering.

Suffering is not required. Surrendering is always possible. Joy can be found in a glass of water, a walk, a remote control. Joy can be found in letting yourself give up on something in favor of something that lights a fire in your blood. Or sounds vaguely better than that other thing.

Sometimes joy comes from committing to one step up from awful. Because if you keep climbing the staircase, you’ll get somewhere good.