To Live A Life

I recently heard an interview with singer songwriter Miranda Lambert, and she said you can’t write if you don’t live a life. I’m paraphrasing here, but she said you have to get out in the world and see and experience things to have something to say.

I agree.

While each person’s world varies in size at different times in our lives, we can endeavor to live a life today. Maybe the whole world is within reach for you. Or maybe you have an illness and your whole world is a triangle of bedroom to living room to kitchen.

Whatever your world looks like, I’m reminded that what matters is that we connect with each other and the world around us. It’s important that we seek, we open our eyes, we imagine distant horizons and then we lean in to look and listen closely to what is right here in front of us. To really observe. To really care. And to really feel something. When your phone dings mid-conversation, can you resist breaking eye contact with the person in front of you? Maybe that’s the place to start. Presence.

I told a friend recently that I hesitate to hit “send” when I write these notes to you, wondering if anything I could say here is worth a darn. She told me to “keep hitting send.”

Today is my birthday. We get a little extra reflective around birthdays, don’t we? I’m thinking about all of the people and moments in my life that I’m grateful for — you, my family, and my friends around the world. I’ve moved a lot in my adult life — Minnesota, Hong Kong, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Miami and now the Austin area. Because of that, I don’t really have friends in my immediate location. Being new, we don’t yet have friendships with proximity. A friend reminded me that that’s okay too. While we continue to work on this, today I’ll focus on how fortunate I am to have friends in many places. I won’t allow myself to feel without… because I’m not, we’re not.

I’m grateful for the love, for the helpers, for the work I’ve been given and for the opportunity to create. I'm grateful for simplicity. I’m grateful for the people who let me be my imperfect well-meaning self and the people who believe in me when I don’t believe in myself. I’m grateful for the ones who give me strength and at the same time the benefit of the doubt.

Author Joan Didion is quoted saying, “I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means.”

What I’m thinking is I’m feeling grateful today. The past couple years have had their challenges. But all is well. And as I find my way forward, I wanted to write you and say thank you for being here. And hit send.

Severing My Grip On Seriousness

I love carbonated water — especially with grapefruit or lime flavors. For a long time, my choice was Bubly brand or La Croix. I drank those like an addict — sometimes guzzling a six-pack in a single day. Seriously.

But it’s hard to tune out information that something as innocuous as canned carbonated water could still be unhealthy for you, especially considering the volume of my consumption.  So I decided to cut back a little. Fewer six-pack days. But still… it was a problem. And I do value my health and I’m working hard to improve it. 

So, I decided I had to do something drastic. Quit, mostly. I’d let myself have a little of this thing I liked a lot. There would be no more bulk purchases. Cans only. I knew this would mean largely sacrificing my love for the cold feel of the can in my hand and the satisfying snap when cracking open the next one.

Liquid Death

Then along comes Liquid Death. I discovered the black can (sparkling water) and the white can (mountain water) and liked them both. But then I found the green can of Liquid Death Severed Lime, and I fell in love with this tall, green, velvety, citrus-flavored beverage packaged like a grassy Colt 45. 

Nowadays, four out of five times when I buy my lime drink, it’s at a gas station or convenience store. I grab one when I’m driving somewhere on a hot day. Okay, two. I get back in the car, crack one open, enjoy the cool, liquidy lime flavor, then take off with my tall green friend named Liquid Death riding in the cup holder next to me. This never held any symbolism for me.

Until One Day

Until one day, when I opened the convenience store glass cooler door, I noticed myself pause while reaching for the green can with the huge label reading “Liquid Death." My hand hovered near it, suspended, like still waters. I suddenly wondered if it was a bad omen to buy this when I was driving. 

I decided I’d still get it but I’d have to be extra vigilant on the road.  Now that this had hit a conscious level, I couldn’t un-think it. Was this mental hot box — buy it, don’t buy it, buy it — healthy? Life-saving? Or was it meaningless fear floating around? Whatever it was, it had my attention, and it was a barrier between me and the enjoyment of my beverage. This beverage and its name simultaneously brought joy and stirred thoughts of my end. All of this from a label? From words? Well, one word, really.

Eventually I created a mental workaround so I could still get my fix. 

I decided it’s an opportunity!

I decided it’s a moment for existential examination! 

It’s my memento mori!

The can with the edgy label allows me an opportunity to contemplate death, and by inversion, the beauty of life, each time I enjoy the product. I can savor the moment. I can remember life is finite.

Impermanence

Some folks visit cemeteries for this reason. I’ve done it too. Author Robin Sharma talks about this a lot. He’s one of many people who encourages thinking about death and in so doing we cultivate a gratitude and zest for life, for today. People of religions worldwide practice contemplating death to appreciate life and to remember its impermanence. Memento mori is universal.

I’ve intentionally walked through cemeteries filled with strangers whose stories I imagine are at once magical and common and beautiful. I've read headstone inscriptions and dreamed up tales of lives well lived. I’ve wondered what dreams these people still had inside of them when their body’s total running time on earth was up. I’ve cried thinking about all the people who are missing their loved ones.

I’ve interviewed people about their life stories, documenting slices of lives lived that amount to a personal legacy and collectively a family legacy. These are ways to keep the stories and memories alive long after we’re all gone. What I’m saying is I’ve made an effort to be mindful of death and made an effort to accept that it’s part of this earthly experience for all of us. “None of us is getting out alive.” 

So now when I reach for the occasional can of Liquid Death, I do so with intentionality and drink a toast to gratitude for another day. The edgy imagery reminds me to take more chances, live for today, forget the naysayers, jam the signal on the judges, block out the noise, embrace love, invite silence and art and music, and rejoice a little more!  I look fear in the eye and invisible wink.

The creepy label reminds me to have more fun, and to not take everything so dang seriously. It’s a nudge to liberate myself, unlock my whole authentic self, stop self-silencing and to be free in knowing my impermanence, my story, my voice and my life are good and enough and no less valuable than anyone else’s. 

I didn’t expect to loosen my grip on seriousness through a can of water let alone find some self-acceptance in it, but I think I did. I changed the ingredients label to read as follows:

Ingredients: Carbonated Mountain Water, Agave Nectar, Lime Extract, Citrus Acid, Natural Flavor, Natural Lime Flavor, Orange Extract, memento mori, self-acceptance, verve.

Every day that we dodge death is a chance to really live. Liquid Death Severed Lime means more to me than “murdering my thirst.” 

To me, it means living out loud, expressing myself, and practicing less self-silencing. I want to shout “just be kind” and I want to holler “love your neighbor!” More “live and let live” and less “my way or the highway.”

Sometimes I think my personal constitution has a governor on it — you can be this happy and this confident and this proud, but never more. So while I try to push the limit on my governor, I’ll never be able to shut out the world and its problems. And I don’t want to. I want to be here and well and engaged so I can make a difference. 

So maybe intentionally carving out a moment with a lime beverage that reminds me of life’s impermanence is one small way to keep going when the world seems so sour. A can of coping can’t hurt.

And it might even help me to show up in the world a little brighter, a little better and a little more equipped to pour another glass of sparkling love for the people of this planet.

A Poem: Nonpareil

Perched low on a reed in blades of grass

A pond, and red-winged blackbirds en masse  

The air moves through on the warm spring breeze

Amidst the birdsongs, a feeling of ease

Just then, I see you

And I’m caught in your gaze

You’re so tiny, and your coat is ablaze 

Your hat is regal in midnight blue

Your shoulders of green are resplendent too

Your feathery breast, red and rotund

Your wings, burnt orange like the setting sun

What a marvel you are

What’s your name?

I’ll find it I know but … (from electronics, can I refrain?)

Painted Bunting

That’s who you are

Oh, your name in French is spectacular

nonpareil 

“without equal” it means

for your dazzling plumage is unmatched it seems

You are a miracle, little winged one

You are the rainbow — without rain, just sun

If tomorrow I do not see you about

I’ll remember you with awe and reverence, no doubt

I really do want to see you again

But in case I don’t, I’ve reached for a pen

NOTE: No AI was used in the creation of this poem.

What If You Just Stopped?

When you're working and going and not letting up, slowing down feels impossible. Stopping? Unthinkable. But sometimes, that's exactly what you need.

Almost a year ago, someone I love dearly was witnessing my relentlessness and asked me a question that caught my attention: “What if you just stopped? What if you did things that felt healthy? That made you feel good? That felt novel? That felt fun?”

As a non-stop doer, I knew with every cell of my being that that was exactly what I needed. 

I know how hard it is to slow down, let alone stop. But I gave myself permission to do that. I will admit: It hadn’t even occurred to me that I could.

So, the very next day, I grabbed a beach towel, found a grassy spot in the park, took off my shoes, grounded, and I watched the solar eclipse.

I squinted my eyes to shadows falling in curious ways.

I eavesdropped on kids giggling in delight.

I noticed my mouth stretching into a smile.

I looked on, (like the old Liberty Mutual Insurance commercial to the song Half Acre by Hem), as strangers did random acts of kindness for other strangers.

I marveled at the majesty of the black bird, and my heart jumped a little when the street lights flickered on in the middle of the day.

I wasn’t scrolling job boards, networking, inviting anyone for coffee or taking an online course. I simply woke up, worked out, and planned a day that felt enjoyable. A day that felt like living.

The hardest part? Giving myself permission to stop. But once I did, something shifted. 

I’m about to mix metaphors. Grinding and grinding only leaves you with dust. But stopping—even just for a day—can put the wind back in your sails. It did mine.

If you’ve been going non-stop, consider that this might be right for you: Stop the burnout. Stop the shoulds. 

Give yourself permission to get out of your head and into the magnificence of the moment. 

Sometimes stopping is exactly what you need to replenish your energy, to spark creativity and to ‘remember the sun.’ (Remember the Sun is the title of a Pieta Brown track I’ve long adored.) Look it up. Then look up.

How a Starbucks Mix-up Sparked My Alter Ego

I’m at Starbucks placing my order. 

When the barista asks my name, I say it, but their repetition tells me they’ve heard it wrong.

Somewhere between my voice and their register, something gets lost—or perhaps something magical emerges.

Maybe it’s the Norah Jones or Aretha Franklin vibes in the air that transform “Stephanie” into “Mazda.”

Yes, Mazda.

I immediately think of Beyoncé’s Sasha Fierce. Might Mazda be my own alter ego?

For a fleeting moment, I adore it—then, I crave an upgrade. Still, Mazda has a Z in it, and I like that.

When I share this with my friend, Naoko, she says, “It’s kind of a low-key power name.”

I agree.

About a month later, I return to the same Starbucks. It's colder now, and I’m wearing a green-and-white hand-knit beanie that my friend Melissa made for me. I may look different.

I greet the barista by name and ask if they remember me—Mazda. I catch a swirl of recognition—almond milk and coffee mixed with curiosity.

I remind them of our first Mazda moment. The lights flicker on and they remember.

They ask if I want “Stephanie” or “Mazda” on my cup. 

I do not dislike this question. So, I stay silent and smile conspiratorially.

See the photo reveal: they chose perfectly.

This got me thinking…

What if Starbucks' name-on-cup tradition evolved? What if baristas offered a choice: your real name or a superhero alter ego?

What name would you choose—or what name might choose you?

I know the idea has holes—go ahead, poke away. 

Maybe it’s been done. 

But imagine the fun.

A Short (Bittersweet) Love Story

She is petite, with bangs and a gray bob.  He’s tall, slim and gentlemanly.

They’re both attentive listeners. Eyes sparkling. Sincere. Curious.

One orders shrimp, the other chicken, as they sit close to one another.

“I’m 83,” she says. “I’m 85,” he adds. 

They’ve been together for about 10 years. 

“We met in the ICU waiting room,” she says.

 “Our spouses were both being cared for there,” he says.

“They died within three days of one another,” she says.

“Yes, three days,” he says.

"We bonded in our grief,” she says. “We’d get pizza and cry."

They both give a wan smile.

"And we’d share the stories of our departed,” he says.

“We both know everything about the other…”

She nods affirmatively, then her eyes are shining.

"Stories are a wonderful thing,” she says.

Five Things On A Monday

ONE — I’m in a cafe working today. A stranger just looked at me with total earnestness as he stood up to leave and said, "Have a great day." And it made my eyes well up a little as my face became hot and flush. I was reminded there is good in the world. Has this happened to you? Have you made it happen in another?

TWO — A friend said ‘I wish I had a bail button’ on some things she’s not sure she wants to do anymore. I laughed because I’d never heard this expression. Where in life do you wish you had a bail button?

THREE — Last year on Superbowl Sunday, I was delivering pizzas to Superbowl parties as an Uber Eats driver. This year we were invited to a great Superbowl party. Even if every problem in your life is not solved yet, can you find the blessings in the big bowl of life? Can you spot them in spite of life's pain and pressures? 

FOUR — On that topic, author Brad Stulberg said, “People think progress is linear but it’s not.” He said, “You’ve got to stay in the game long enough to break through inevitable plateaus…Commit to showing up. Keep going.” If the measuring tool for a win today is showing up, what’s one win you can make happen? 

FIVE — I’m working hard and believing in faith. Looking purely at how I’m showing up and what I’m putting out into the world, I believe I'll be in a much better place by this time next year. I have more faith now than I did a year ago while I was proudly delivering pizzas and doing what I could with what I had at the moment. How can you live in more faith as you work on yourself and toward improving your life?

High Alignment

If you’ve been here for a while with me, you may have noticed that when I write, I do so from the intersection of story and wellness.

I think today’s post sits right in the center of that intersection.

I have a question for you.

In your view, is alignment zero sum? As in, you’re aligned or not aligned.

Until recently, I would have answered yes. I would have said yes, you’re either aligned or you’re not.

I don’t speak fluent car, so I’m not drawing any muscle car metaphors here, as in wheels or auto body alignment. (Truth: I secretly wish I was able to put on a mechanic’s shirt — black with name in tan— and know enough to navigate under the hood of a car.)

I don’t speak fluent chiropractic either, so also no medical metaphors here. (Truth: I secretly wish I was able to work as a healer like chiropractors, yoga teachers and dance teachers do.)

Social, professional, emotional alignment is the kind I’m asking about. Is that kind of alignment zero sum? I no longer think the answer is yes. I think there are degrees of alignment. I no longer think of alignment as zero sum.

And it’s kind of freeing.

How It’s Freeing

Before thinking of it as something that could have degrees, I was feeling cognitive dissonance. Because it was unconscious, I felt regular anxiety and unease. That happened when I thought I was aligned with someone or something, but I sensed something was off, er, out of alignment. Not outright wrong. But not quite right either.

This was indirectly brought to a conscious level when I was listening to a speaker who described his cause and the cause of a group I’m part of as being in “high alignment.” His observation and choice of language stopped me a little. I immediately sensed he was right, and simultaneously sensed one of my own blind spots filling up with light.

Alignment can have an adjective? Really?

So I started running through areas of my life and asking:

Profession: Degree of alignment?

Relationships: Degree of alignment?

Goals: Degree of alignment?

Past mistakes: Degree of alignment?

Future successes: Degree of alignment?

I don’t wish for you perfect or even high alignment on every single thing in your life. 

I wish for you awareness of degrees because that awareness will guide you toward higher alignment in all things. Maybe, like me, you’ll feel like you just found a new nuanced setting on your inner compass.

Being who you are, you may have reached this knowing long ago. But if like me you’re just seeing this come to light now, I hope you find the notion of ‘degrees of alignment’ freeing too.

What Is Sanchin?

Have you ever felt stuck, unsure why you’re off balance or struggling? The concept of "sanchin" — meaning "three battles" — offers a powerful tool to help you find clarity. 

I discovered this idea while studying Goju Ryu style karate, but its lessons extend far beyond martial arts. Sanchin reveals two universal truths: we strive to unify body, mind, and spirit, and we constantly navigate battles with self, others, and our environment. Once you understand these battles, you can take control and move forward with purpose.

During my most intense training days, I saw these three battles play out in real time:

My late karate Sifu Cheung Shiu-kwong and me at the Hong Kong University dojo.

1. The Battle with Self: Some days, I was my own worst enemy. My body felt tired or injured, or my mind became my saboteur. Whether it was a lack of confidence, distractions from work, or personal struggles, I often found myself fighting against my own limitations. The broader question is: how often do we let our own motivation, discipline, or mindset hold us back?

2. The Battle with Others: On other days, my opponent became the greatest challenge. Even when my body was strong and my mind focused, the sheer skill or intensity of my sparring partner tested me. This mirrors life’s challenging relationships—whether it’s conflict, competition, or collaboration, other people can become our hardest battles.

3. The Battle with Environment: Then there were days when the environment was the real adversary. Training in a sweltering, non-air-conditioned room for hours pushed me to my limits. It wasn’t about winning or losing; it was about enduring. In life, our environment can either lift us up or drag us down. Is the space too noisy, quiet, toxic, or limiting? Are we surrounded by negativity or restrictive beliefs?

Sanchin isn’t just a martial arts practice; it’s a framework for life. When you feel off balance, ask yourself: Which battle am I facing? Is it with myself, someone else, or my surroundings? This simple question can guide you to the root of the problem and set you on the path to resolution.

The beauty of sanchin is its clarity and applicability. It reminds us that challenges are inevitable, but with the right mindset, we can face them with strength and purpose. By unifying your body, mind, and spirit, and identifying the battles you’re fighting, you’ll find the resilience and clarity to move forward.

Coda

When conducting interviews in a noisy dining car, we made time. Standing amidst the sun-baked wreckage of a hurricane, we made time. At the headquarters of a startup that sold for a cool billion, we made time. On every story, my colleagues and I follow one simple practice:

We always build in a little time.

Time for what?

Throughout my career gathering documentary-style interviews for stories featured on broadcasts including the Today Show, the Olympics and Innovation Nation, we’ve always ended shoots by recording about 30 seconds of “room tone.”

For those unfamiliar, room tone is the ambient sound captured to smooth audio transitions during editing. What it looks like in practice is everyone stands or sits silently on set and waits until the audio engineer says they’ve got what they need. The end of most interviews includes that small, silent coda.

Sometime during the pandemic, those 30 seconds transformed into something deeper.

This Was A Chance To Close Our Eyes, To Quiet Our Minds, And To Breathe. Together.

Over the years, I’ve watched people agonize a little during this half minute of silence. They study the ceiling, look at their feet or wiggle away the discomfort. It went like that for a long time until I started reframing that silence as an opportunity for a mini-meditation. 

It doesn't matter if the mood is high or low, silly or somber, this collective silence has power in it. When I’ve explained on set for the interviewees what we’re about to do, I let them know they can do as they wish with the silence, maybe even meditate. Almost everyone embraces the opportunity.

Try Being In Intentional Silence With A Group Of 5 To 25 People Sometime.

It’s an interesting study. It’s a little like an awkward elevator ride but with everyone facing each other, and without the elevator music — the kind where that big metal box groans out a yawn and you think it’s broken and nobody knows where to look so they avert their eyes while ears are alert for detection of strange noises or the ‘ding’ that prompts an exhale when you’ve reached your floor.

But close your eyes together, and inventors and grandmothers, athletes and entrepreneurs, curators or chefs all seem to savor the safe silence. 

Whether you work in classrooms, boardrooms, or on construction sites, taking even brief pauses for calm can yield measurable benefits. I wish I could tell you I had a metric for you from our shoots, but I don’t. I can tell you that upon opening our eyes after that little break together usually makes you want to take a nice deep breath, maybe even sigh.

Meditation reduces anxiety, promotes mental clarity and bolsters well-being. It transforms.

The next time you find yourself in a team meeting, workshop, or group setting, try carving out 30 seconds for intentional, collective silence. It could be at the beginning of a brainstorming session or in the middle of the day.

What you’ll likely find is a unifying force—a collective calm that strengthens bonds and sharpens minds. A moment of silence has always been a powerful connector and creates a sense of oneness. But use it as a coda not just a commemoration and I bet you’ll create a collective corner of calm.