The Journey

A year — to the day — before launching Lumina, I found myself, having been months on the road with hundreds of miles on foot, approaching my destination. Walking the French Camino across northern Spain had created some profound shifts in my way of thinking and how I viewed the world. I began the journey feeling closed, stuck, lost, and unsure; I was ending it feeling open, free, found, and confident.

It was a strange thing, this quiet transformation. How, why, and when it occurred were mysteries to me. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other — a literal million times — through relentless pain, in wind, rain, snow, sun, and hail, through valleys, over mountains, across the great plateau, traversing woodlands, deserts, cities, farmlands, mostly in silence and solitude, sometimes in the company of strangers, without a plan, return ticket, or end date, had somehow created an environment for internal change.

Yet was it even any of that? Or was it rather the radical acceptance I'd adopted along the way — this idea that resistance to what is only adds to the pain. Perhaps it was, quite simply, turning off the distractions and deliberately tuning into stillness and silence. While I'd agonized about how to pack minimally for my journey, I'd been unaware of what was weighing me down in other ways: physically, mentally, emotionally. Being fully present — first with myself — paying attention to what had taken up residence in my body and mind. I was surprised to find that my body had a lot to say, when I could quiet myself enough to listen. I was learning a very different way of existence: that of being simply present. Here. Now.

And somehow, something shifted. To move slowly and deliberately through the world, to be fully present, unhurried — these became new priorities.

I returned home feeling incredibly grounded and at peace. And, naturally, without a plan. The idea of massage therapy school resurfaced — I'd been considering it on and off for over 20 years, always talking myself out of it. After some deliberation, I returned to what I'd written in those last days on the road: open hands, open heart — let the path reveal the way. The next step was all I needed to know. And that process — aiming to live fully in each moment, to move ever forward within whatever light falls on the path — is how Lumina came to be.

My hope is that this work creates space for you to just be, even if only for an hour. To become aware of what you're carrying — physically, or otherwise. To feel what you feel, notice what you notice. An invitation to pause, interrupt the noise, tune into yourself — to deeply listen, and follow the light.

I'd love to meet you on your journey.