Guten Tag, Reader,

My internal timer went off after five minutes. I didn’t have to set it. It’s always 5-7 minutes into sitting outside when my body gets antsy and wants to move. Scratch that. My brain gets antsy and wants to move. Wants a purpose, something to do.

I noticed the thought intrusion (rude!) settled back in, and - now that the expected interruption was over - I opened the envelope I had tucked into my pocket before I left my house.

The envelope had been sitting on my desk for a few weeks. Before that, it had been sitting on my colleague Angie’s shelf for a few months. Before that, I had written the card inside to myself. On the last night of the wildHER Rogue River retreat last summer.

The thing about retreats is, as transformative and impactful as they are in the moment, after a few weeks or months back in “the real world,” the pre-retreat habits, rhythms, and thought patterns creep back in. You might forget how smart, powerful, capable, joyful, and sovereign you felt. How possible it seemed to make more art, set and defend strong boundaries, and to live a life guided by curiosity rather than anxiety.

Ask me how I know.

That’s why we give each participant an empty card on the last night. “Write down what you want to remember,” we prompt. “What message from the river is coming through right now?”

They put the cards in self-addressed envelopes, and we send them off a few months later.

Last Sunday, two friends and I practiced a sit spot* by a little creek that is pumping with snowmelt. The moment I had been waiting for, to finally read and process my card from the Rogue River.**

“I sure needed this today!” a wildHER 2025 woman had posted into our WhatsApp group with a photo of her card. And that’s exactly how I felt.

I haven’t shared much (yet) about all the sprouting seeds and all the offers I have been growing in my business.*** So the river assuring me that I am capable, creative, smart, and loved came at a moment when my brain started to doubt all that. When the inner doubter’s Top Ten tunes like “No Time,” “Who do you think you are,” or “This Will Never Work” started drowning out the beautiful symphony of “I wonder…”

As I was reading these flowing reassurances from months ago, the creek in front of me gurgled, splattered, and giggled its own message bursts about renewal, seasonality, and cyclicality.

I wonder how I might translate them for you, but I have come to understand that one key to understanding them is to accept their wordlessness.

Angie and I are incorporating this into wildHER through “silent day.” An opportunity to tune into the frequency of water, sky, land. Our ancestors might chuckle when they see us so far removed from listening to the wild.

Maybe your inner doubter has taken over all your frequencies lately. Or maybe you have simply forgotten what it sounds like to listen to your capable, joyful, confident Self.

Maybe you have read my words about the magic**** that happens on a river retreat but let your desire to come be drowned out by doubts like “I am not strong enough to raft down a wild river, not smart enough to keep up with campfire conversations, not [___your inner doubter’s voice here____] enough.”

I just sent out a few personal invitations for the last three spots for wildHER 2026. Do you want one? Just send me a quick note to tune into river frequency.

Always on your side, truly,

P.S. What IS your inner doubter saying about wildHER? What age-old tune is playing in your head to convince you it is not for you, even though you can feel your desire to claim your spot? Hit reply and let me know.

* A friendship that has dedicated space to sit outside together in silence? What a treasure, indeed. Also, sit spot: it’s just that. You sit. In a spot. 20 minutes. No phone, no book, no purpose.

** Of course, we facilitators have things we want to remember also. Each day, we receive downloads from the land and the water, too. I just mailed Angie her card, and she sent mine a while ago.

*** Let’s just say (for now) that my offer compost pile has been receiving a lot of scraps, while a lot of juicy, fertile, nourishing stuff is ready at the bottom.

**** I share Arthur C. Clarke’s perspective on magic, where it’s a phenomenon we may not yet have the words to fully explain.

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