Hot Tea & A Lucky Break

From the moment we sat down at this cute little Chinese restaurant, I gave the teapot a side-eye.

Everything else was lovely — the food, the staff, the atmosphere — but this teapot seemed to have a little danger up its spout.

Instead of a sturdy porcelain handle, robust and part of the pot, it had a u-shaped arc of thin bamboo. That was odd enough, but when the well-meaning waiter placed it on top of a tiny iron stand and lit a tea candle underneath, I was even more skeptical. The tea was already the temperature of the sun’s surface.

We poured two cups of tea, but both were way too hot to hold. That’s when I made some comment about the bamboo handle interfering with the physics of pouring.

I blew out the little flame and moved the stand away from us. I wanted some distance from this setup.

The food came. It was delicious. We ate. We talked. The tea cooled.

And then, at the end of the meal, we decided to pour two more cups of tea. That’s when the teapot made its move. It slipped, crashed onto the table and shattered into dozens of spectacular pieces, flipping little dishes of chili sauce and sprinkling spiky shards into our last bites of dinner too. Tea poured straight into our laps.

Thankfully, by then, it was no longer hot.

The staff rushed over.

“Are you okay? Are you okay?”

“We’re okay!”

“That’s okay, that’s okay!”

Within seconds there were mops, rags and reassurances. We tried to help, but they wouldn’t let us. Once everyone realized no one was hurt, the whole thing became just a little tiny bit funny. We apologized. We tipped well. We apologized again as we left, and that’s when one of the men gave a hearty handshake, a smile and a sincere pat on the back.

He beamed, “No problem. In fact, come back again tomorrow and let’s break another one!”

Maybe that’s the best measure of a place — not whether everything goes perfectly, but how people respond when it doesn’t. I’m proud to say they responded brilliantly, and we didn’t do too bad ourselves.

We’d go back.

We’d just request a different teapot.

#hongkongcafe #midtownmanhattan

Inner Fitness, Self-Acceptance & Moving from Surviving to Thriving

Struggle is universal. Our relationship with it is not.

In The Inner Fitness Revolution, actress and author Tina Lifford explores resilience, self-acceptance and what she calls inner fitness — the practices that can help us meet life with less struggle and more peace.

In my recent conversation with Tina, one area we explored was this: What if we trained our inner lives as intentionally as we train our bodies or educate our minds? What practices might help us become more capable of meeting difficulty without being defined by it?

Photo courtesy of Tina Lifford

Tina describes three aspects of the self: the surviving self, thriving self and infinite self.

Most of us know the surviving self well. Our brains are wired to notice threats and difficulty. But what about the thriving self? Or the infinite self — the part of us that Tina suggests exists beyond circumstance and struggle?

How do we learn to inhabit those selves as readily as the one designed to survive? And what exactly is the infinite self? Consciousness? God? Source? These are some of the questions Tina and I explore in the latest episode of the Voreen Podcast. 

If you’re interested in changing your relationship with struggle, rather than simply becoming better at enduring it, I think you’ll find something worthwhile in her perspective.

“Inner Fitness, Self-Acceptance & Moving from Surviving to Thriving with Tina Lifford” is available now on the Voreen Podcast. Click below to listen or find it anywhere you like to listen to podcasts.

 Apple |  Spotify |  Stephanie’s website | YouTube 

From Capability to Calling

How many opportunities have we postponed while waiting for clarity?

In my recent interview with Christina Joy Whittaker, she offered an idea that has me re-thinking the way I'll approach change and growth going forward. For too long, I believed I needed clarity first, before I could solve for x. And, wow, that’s paralyzing. I now believe I had it wrong.

Photo courtesy of Christina Joy Whittaker

My conversation with Christina helped me see that clarity comes after you get in motion. Maybe you’ve had times when you thought clarity had to come first too. Waiting for certainty, I now believe, is a losing game. When we wait, we do it at the expense of expansion, vitality and growth. When we abandon the waiting and choose movement instead, that is what leads to and even makes clarity manifest. You know the sayings — the ones that remind us we only need enough light for the next faithful step.

I wonder how many paintings, businesses, books, careers and relationships began that way—not with certainty or clarity, but with motion and courage.

I no longer believe clarity is the prerequisite. Now I see it's possibly the beneficent bestie that shows up once we're already courageously in motion. Clarity joins to run the race with you, makes you faster, energizes you and makes you unstoppable.

To hear from Christina Joy Whittaker, listen to the “From Capability to Calling” episode of the Voreen Podcast.

Future Focused

Ask Matt Scott about Fly Without Limits, the foundation he created, and he will tell you, “Providing resources is one of the things that I'm super proud of because I was an underfunded kid. If this organization existed when I was a kid, I would have had a much cooler childhood. I created Fly Without Limits for that kid.”

In Matt’s case, “that kid” was a youngster who kept showing up to watch the older kids play pickup games on outdoor basketball courts in Detroit. He got his first basketball as a gift from his father, and from that day on, Matt was at the courts day after day prepping for his chance to get in the game. That day came and it never stopped. It didn’t matter that those other kids didn’t use a wheelchair and Matt did.

Photo courtesy of Matt Scott

As a five-time Paralympian in the sport of Wheelchair Basketball with multiple medals including two golds, Matt is focused on the next generation now. Fly Without Limits is a global social impact organization. “We are disability empowerment, full stop.” That umbrella includes adaptive sports, leadership development, employment and education.

Matt was born with spina bifida, and wanted to play basketball — the two are not mutually exclusive. His Paralympic career spanned from 2004 to 2021. That’s staying power. Today, Matt looks back on his athletic career to mine for the lessons:

“I think what I learned about myself throughout that entire journey is that everything isn't just going to be these golden moments. The time that you're most defined is when it's not so golden. What do you do when you're not celebrating with the gold around your neck and cutting down nets? Who are you and what does that do? Does that make you separate and get divisive, or does that make you come together to ultimately do great things?” Matt says he and his teammates, coaches and staff chose the latter. “We are stronger together.”

He carries that perspective and knowledge forward to impart wisdom, guidance, resources and love into future generations. Through Fly Without Limits, Matt and his supporters can change lives. “I know how important one donation can be, because that one donation can be the difference between someone being a Paralympian and not.” Tune into the Voreen Podcast episode featuring Matt Scott to hear the story about the one donation that changed his life. And check out Fly Without Limits to see how you can get involved.

What Every Business Can Learn from a 109-Year-Old Restaurant

Their hot dogs can fill your stomach and soothe your appetite. But can that be the reason generations of families keep coming back to the same downtown coney counter in Detroit, Michigan? It might have more to do with filling your heart and soothing your soul. Because there’s something else served here that does more than any coney can. To start, it’s comfort, consistency and the multi-faceted element of nostalgia. 

In my recent Voreen Podcast conversation with Grace Keros, the third-generation owner of American Coney Island, I listened to the story of Grace’s grandfather coming to the U.S. from Greece, how he made a life here despite being illiterate — from shoes and speakeasys to hats and hot dogs. It’s a story of a restaurant built on grit and resilience that became the genesis of a family-run business and a staple of a beloved American city.

Photo courtesy of Grace Keros

In 1917, the Ford Model T had become the best-selling car in the world, the U.S. was entering World War 1, and a man named Gust from Greece was starting a business on a downtown street corner in the Motor City. More than a century later, the grill still sits in the same spot, still cooking up the coneys that have become part of Detroit's identity. There are said to be more than 500 coney spots in the Detroit metro area, and as you’ll hear Grace say, every one traces back to this one. The menu here looks, well, retro. It hasn’t changed. And neither has the devotion of the employees to customers and customers to staff.

The restaurant has become part of the backdrop of thousands of lives. Located at the intersection of three downtown streets, it’s a crossroads of people too — business suits sitting shoulder to shoulder with t-shirts. Everyone is welcome. Everyone is comfortable. That’s part of the Keros family legacy. 

To return to the beginning and the story of comfort, consistency and nostalgia, there is one thing they will not serve. They will not, under any circumstance, put ketchup on your hot dog. If you want something so blasphemous, you can do that yourself. In the place of acquiescence, you’ll get generous portions of heart-centered authenticity. In combination with the food and friendship, it seems to be a 109-year-old recipe that Detroit keeps coming back for.

To listen to the conversation, click here or find the Voreen Podcast anywhere you like to listen.

What Sport Builds That No Medal Can Measure

Watching elite athletes compete—whether in this summer's World Cup or at the Olympic and Paralympic Games—it's easy to see only what's visible. Tangible. I'm just as interested in what’s not so visible and not so tangible. The struggle. The heart. The doubt. The dedication. The resilience. The grace. The tears. The commitment. The decision to keep pursuing excellence. In my recent conversation with two-time Paralympian Sophia Herzog-Gibb, we talked about more than swimming. We talked about what sport builds inside the athlete.

Sophia graduated from high school early to train at the U.S. Olympic & Paralympic Training Center. Years of early mornings, double workouts and relentless discipline led her to a silver medal at the 2016 Paralympics in Rio de Janeiro. But what shined through for me even more than that medal… is Sophia’s mettle.

Sophia described herself in the run up to Rio as being “the hunter.” One day, in advance of going to Rio, Sophia put up a time that, if official, would have ranked her near the top in the world. She surprised herself that day, and it gave her confidence. No one knew, so no one saw her coming. She showed up in Rio, competed with the best and came home with hard-earned hardware.

By the 2020 Paralympics in Tokyo (in 2021), she had become what she described as “the hunted.” Expectations had changed, so the pressure was different. But she showed up and wowed again.

What I find to be the most instructive is what happened before Tokyo and after that second stellar Paralympic performance. Sophia, like so many athletes, was entering the workforce without traditional work experience. But what she entered with was discipline, composure under pressure and the ability to keep showing up when things get hard. She had athletic skills and life skills. She had the grit to find her next “pool,” the guts to dive in and the self-belief to know that she could do it, that she would swim.

As we watch the world's best compete on the biggest stages this summer, it's worth remembering we're seeing only a shard of their story. The time that athlete is seen on the field or in the pool can be measured in hours, minutes or seconds. The time and effort that athlete invested to become the mosaic of the person they are is measured in years. We can devote ourselves to the pursuit of something, and sometimes we can even achieve it. And when we do, then that achievement almost becomes a tile of the mosaic, a “square one” all its own. 

Photo courtesy of Sophia Herzog-Gibb

Can we do it again? Once we achieve something — a mountain climbed, a design delivered,  a degree or a diploma — can we carry the excellence forward? To answer that is to call on the invisible elements inside ourselves again. The same ones an athlete calls up. The struggle. The heart. The doubt. The dedication. The resilience. The grace. The tears. The commitment. The self-trust. The decision to keep pursuing excellence. As we advance, we learn the greatness is in the trying and the going for it and the “daring greatly.” Then the next step of greatness is carrying hard lessons forward every time we start over, again and again and again. 

Maybe that's what our efforts and experiences are really doing. Maybe they’re not just helping you achieve something. Maybe they’re assembling the light and glimmers and sharp edges too that make you uniquely you. So that you can get up again tomorrow morning to pursue excellence again. Excellence, in harmony with grace.

Watch for the next Voreen Podcast episode release this Sunday. You can find it anywhere you listen to podcasts. If you want to support the podcast, you can listen, download, leave a review and tell a friend. For more options, visit https://www.patreon.com/voreen. 

What’s Your Anatomical Aha?

Have you ever felt drawn to an idea, a place or a possibility before you could explain why? For one person, it’s wide open flatlands. For another, towering skyscrapers. For you, maybe it's the high desert or sitting face to face with someone dear to you. What’s the signal you pick up that explains the draw? Can you identify it?

Katrine Formby shared her signal in the recent inaugural episode of the Voreen Podcast. She described that knowing feeling as her “heart clapping." For her, it's an inner signal that something is meaningful, beautiful or worth exploring. She felt it in the sunshine of southern California, near the lake in Austin, Texas, and when she and her husband, Bill, visited Telluride, Colorado. While visiting the mountain town, she noticed a sketch on the wall. She was drawn to it. The image depicted a historic building with elegant arched windows and a tower. “Where is that building?” she asked. The realtor they were meeting with replied, “You’re sitting in it—and it’s for sale.”

Katrine’s heart was clapping. Even though the existing building looked nothing like the one in the sketch, in Katrine’s mind’s eye, it could again. Her heart told her so through her honed signaling system, one she’s learned to feel, notice and trust. 

That “heart clapping” signal inspired Katrine and her husband, Bill, to take on a renovation project that would span 20 years. There were delays, financial challenges and moments of fear in those two decades. But they kept going. And eventually, the tower returned to the Telluride skyline and its original beauty. The historic Nugget Building was later sold to the Telluride Film Festival, giving it a new future centered on creativity, community and storytelling.

Katrine’s story started with a moment of noticing — the “heart clapping” — followed by curiosity, inquiry and then action.  For me, this story sparked a question: What gets my heart clapping? And what is my body’s equivalent signal? Do you know your personal “heart clapping” equivalent? Can you name it? If not, can you feel it? Do you recognize it when it shows up?

For decades now, I have called mine the “honeycomb crackling effect.” I know. The words make no sense. The best way I can describe it is when I feel something opening up or filling up, rearranging, aligning inside me. Sometimes I feel it in my head. Sometimes I feel it in my veins. Who knows what it is on a scientific level. But on a woo level, maybe it's molecules moving, synapses syncing or hormones harmonizing. It’s energy for sure. It’s an anatomical aha. 

Like any signal, if the environment is too noisy — due to actual noise or stress or distraction or overwhelm — it can be hard to hear. I hear signals best when my mind and heart are open and my lips are closed. Like a flesh and bone and blood radar detection system. We’re sentient beings. We’re sensing, filtering, detecting, amplifying, classifying, deciding. The quiet moments can let me know what to give voice to — be it a song or a word or a simple newsletter message typed out on a keyboard.

What is your signal? In what circumstances do you notice it? What happens next?

As you roll into your weekend, notice what gives you energy. Notice what keeps returning. Notice what feels true to you. Your heart can walk you straight to where your new path begins. 

If you haven’t listened to my interview with Katrine Formby, you can listen here or anywhere you listen to podcasts. Coming up next is my interview with Sophia Herzog-Gibb. I hope you’ll listen in to another conversation to connect.

New Podcast

I’ve thought about ways to be able to meet more people and to build more connections in my life. To learn more, to expand my vision for what is possible and to ground into what is real and true. A recurring desire when I’d get quiet continued to be to start another podcast. That’s because with 2.2 million English language podcasts already existing in the world, the world needs one more.

In truth, this is a little bit of a social prescription for me. I’m a seeker and a searcher, and I am trying to find my way, just like you. I’ve decided to stop self- censoring to the degree that I have for so long, and I’ve decided to stop being so scared of using my voice or even hearing it. Because of that, I will be sharing conversations to connect from my new podcast with you starting today.

This morning I picked up a book I’d read years ago. It’s called Invisible Acts of Power by Carolyn Myss. In it, she writes, “Many people have creative ideas and yearnings that they do not pursue out of the fear of financial failure or embarrassment, or because they are reluctant to step outside of their normal way of life and change it. They abort their dreams, not realizing that psychological and emotional abortions can be more devastating than physical ones.”

And so, here is my simple offering to you. This is my first podcast episode of my new show called Voreen. As you may know, that’s my middle name. I am calling these conversations to connect, and I want to ask more intimate questions where appropriate, including what people are in the middle of, what they are doing to get through it, and also what books they’re reading, do they like to sing, would they sing for me on the podcast?

I’ve asked myself what is the thread of all the people I hope to talk to on this podcast? The answer is kindness. The thread that links all the people I hope to talk to will be kindness. Again, this is a social prescription for me, and I’m sharing it with you in case you need a little hope Rx.

Whatever you are in the middle of, I hope for you that it brings you joy if not today then someday. And that it brings you health and well-being, if not today then someday. And that it brings you a sense of fulfillment and purpose, if not today then someday.

The podcast is not even available on all platforms yet. This is so fresh that the ink hasn’t even dried.

It is my imperfect offering. And there will be more imperfect offerings to come. Link to the first episode here: https://www.stephaniehimango.com/podcast.

Presence

I remember Grandpa sitting at the upright piano playing songs while toddler-aged grandkids scooted in closer, gathering around him. His back was straight, and all nine and a half fingers danced across the piano keyboard playing “The Sting” or “Alley Cat” or “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?” That one was a favorite, and when it was time, we'd bark, “Ruff, ruff!”

Later as an adult, at Christmas, I remember that when Grandpa picked up a guitar, harmonica or accordion, we’d stir with anticipation because we knew the singing was about to begin. We passed around the lyrics sheets because, if we didn’t, by the second verse there might be one or two singers rather than 30 or 40. Grandpa always sat on the end of the band as he softly tapped both feet as he played. He wore an easy smile, and his fascinated eyes scanned the room, taking in the joy of the moment. I hope we mirrored his light and joy back to him, and I hope he could feel it.

Grandpa was easy to be around. But you had the sense that he’d been through some things. We had heard about his mother dying when he was just a boy. We had heard he went to Europe during World War II. We knew he lost his first wife when they were both relatively young. Even if we didn’t fully understand it all, it just seemed like his ease and calm were rooted in experience. Rather than hardening him, though, it softened him. His kindness and steadiness were like a warm field of energy that surrounded him and enveloped you. As a child, I didn't have a word for it. Whether he was playing music, sharing a meal, going to the nursing home to “play for the old people,” or simply sitting in his chair listening, he gave his full attention. He was present. He never seemed to be rushing toward the next thing. When you spoke, he listened. Really listened. He found humor and lightness in simple moments.

If he knew you liked those cookies, he pushed the dish a little closer to you with a wink. If he knew you loved pickled herring, he and his wife made sure that dish would be on the table when you stopped to visit. The care and attention was always there. Later in life when he was hard of hearing, he didn’t use that as an invitation to close off. He would turn up his hearing aids and lean in.

“Ohhhh.”

His eyes would brighten.

“Is that right?”

His eyebrows would rise.

“Oh, okay.”

These were simple responses. But they carried something many of us are hungry for: the feeling that what we are saying matters. That we are safe to say what is on our heart. Our Grandpa’s truest gift was making people feel like they mattered. Every adult and child — family, friend or stranger — felt loved in his presence.

Create Before You Consume

Collage of drawings in my 2026 Creativity Calendar.

I admire people who put their craft or heart or any part of themselves out into the world if it is not in their nature to do so. Maybe some people never experience the psychological stop signs that prevent them from expressing themselves. But there’s a whole population of us who, when we put something out into the world — particularly something creative — we are doing it in spite of ourselves. I mean, who ever said creativity was supposed to be tidy? Who ever said creativity was supposed to be perfect? And yet, we silently recite these stories to ourselves all the time.

When I find myself pulled to create, but then shying away from doing it for fear of judgment (not just from others, but my own too) I do better to do it anyway. We all do. To just see if magic can happen. Why line up a field-full of stop signs in our anticipatory mind before we whirl a wondrous wand? Why do we halt before we hallelujah? Why do we deprive ourselves the chance to experience the joy of seeing a dazzling something come to life on paper or in song or elsewhere? Why do we allow invisible bonds to cage our innate desire to self-express?

When we do this, we don’t just experience an innocuous void from not creating something. We don’t just suffer the pain and shame of self-censorship. And we don’t just deprive others of seeing our vulnerability as a beacon.

We also rob them and ourselves of the cellular energy boost experienced while witnessing something you might call bravery or at least guts. Lastly, I believe the biggest damage that comes from stopping ourselves before we even attempt a creative act is that we deprive our spirit, our inner child, of something essential. It’s not about the end product — it’s about what we experience in the process. When it comes to creative expression, the best thing we can do is express. And it's only through this trial that the miracles of innovation have ever come to life.

My drawings may be crude and my skills may be lacking, but I know that doing the thing is better than not doing the thing. And I know that creating the thing is better than judging the thing. My daily creativity calendar circles are a place to start my day practicing my 2026 mantra which is to Create Before I Consume. It will earn me no Emmys or Oscars, it won’t land me on a best sellers list, and my one inch by one inch drawings won’t be sought out for museum or gallery display. But doing this… Just. Makes. Me. Feel. Good. It calms my nervous system. It’s really hard to share of ourselves because creativity is vulnerable. But the birds I hear singing every morning sing to sing, not to perform. If we could just remember that, right?

I find joy in appreciating the creative imaginings you and people all over the world make real, so I have to believe that when I share my own creative blossoms or weeds with others, those might could sprout something in you too. (Might could is an expression I’ve learned in Texas.) We are not meant to hoard our joy, our light or our true being.

What if we could bring ourselves to a place where we create to create… and give not a second thought or a micro-sparkle of energy to the judgment that may follow?