Last Sunday, under the darkness of a new moon and on the eve of the autumn equinox, a group of us gathered to honour a sacred pause, that liminal space between seasons, between moon cycles, between what has been and what is becoming.

Together, we moved through intentional breath and movement. We set an intention. We released what no longer served us through the alchemy of fire, smoke, and ash. Though the act was private, it was witnessed. Though deeply personal, it was held in community.

I left that gathering feeling clear, grounded, and energized.

I wish I could go back and tell my 20-something self to focus on progress, not perfection. Each time I quit and started back up, I learned something about the harmful habit I had fallen into at age 13. I only saw starting again after quitting as a pure failure. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

On Sunday I found myself at a Farmer’s Market where I purchased some raspberries, my favourite berries by a long shot.

They are my faves because they have the magical ability to transport me back to a perfect summer day in my childhood. I was with my cousin, Shelley, who was more like my sister as we were only four months apart in age. We were having a sleepover at my house which we did a lot back in the day. People often confused us for sisters which we loved and most of the time we did not bother to correct them. That morning we awoke very early as we usually did, well before the adults. We loved this time of the morning because we could do what we wanted without adult interference.