One of my favorite lessons I learned in 2024 was…when my breath moves into my chest and my throat constricts, it is a no. I can figure out why later.

A risk I took that I am proud of was…applying to TedX Bard because I breathed with the fear but didn’t let it stop me from putting myself out there.

The most breathgiving surprise of the year was…finding myself at a rugged Maine beach, watching ocean ducks bob on the cold, harsh Atlantic ocean waves.

Because, what I have discovered over the past three years is the ritual of conscious breathing daily nourishes an awareness and acceptance rooted in steadiness. The slow breaths help me shift out of the sympathetic state — the state I like to call, the “there must be a right answer to the question here” state.

Here’s the question.

When the breath stands still in your individual body, what is it asking you to listen to more closely?

The next time you notice your breath become shallow or absent — look around and find a tree, use that mirror neuron system, and remember your sweet pine, elm, sequoia, and oak self as you inhale its exhale, and it inhales your exhale.

As Suzanne Simard wrote in Finding The Mother Tree, “We think that most important clues are large, but the world loves to remind us that they can be beautifully small.”

While studying a setting sunflower, I was reminded of how remarkable this season’s shift is in the seasons of the breath. The movement from full expansion and blooming in the lungs into the releasing and deflating of these vital organs is vulnerable. It’s a reminder that as much as we want to attach to the blossoming and ablaze of the top of the inhale, the shy surrender of the exhale is its essential compatriot.