Hello, friend.
This morning I wandered through my garden with my phone in one hand and absolutely no plan for what I was going to say.
The birds were singing. The cicadas were buzzing. A warm Kansas breeze moved through the flowers, and I simply started talking.
I’ve noticed something changing in me lately. (Do you feel yourself changing, too?)
For much of my life, I wanted certainty. I wanted the five-year plan, the map, the reassurance that if I worked hard enough and made all the “right” choices, life would unfold exactly as I imagined.
But this season has been teaching me something entirely different.
It’s teaching me that life feels less like following a carefully choreographed routine…
…and much more like an improv dance.
Every morning I step outside, and the garden reminds me of this. The flowers don’t bloom all at once. The tomatoes aren’t in a hurry. The herbs grow in their own rhythm.
Even the sourdough starter sitting on my kitchen counter has become an unexpected teacher. It asks me to slow down, to pay attention, to trust a process I can’t rush.
None of these things seem worried about tomorrow. They’re simply becoming who they were created to be.
I’m wondering what would happen if we gave ourselves permission to do the same.
One of the ideas that kept returning as I recorded this week’s podcast was the space between the exhale and the inhale.
That tiny pause.
The moment that can feel uncomfortable because nothing seems to be happening. So much of life lives there. Between who we’ve been and who we’re becoming.
Between certainty and possibility. Between letting go…and receiving what’s next.
I think we’ve been taught to rush through those spaces. To fill them. To fix them. To plan our way around them.
But maybe those pauses aren’t empty after all.
Maybe they’re where our nervous system remembers that we’re safe. Maybe they’re where our hearts become loud enough to hear.
This week, I’ve been practicing something simple. When I notice myself wanting all the answers, I take one slow breath. I pause just a little longer before the next inhale. And I remember that the next breath always comes.
Maybe that’s what trust feels like.
Not knowing exactly where we’re going…but believing we don’t have to walk there alone.
🎧 This Week’s Podcast
In this week’s episode of A Life That Lets Me Breathe, I’m sharing a conversation from my garden about urgency, uncertainty, wonder, and why I think life may be more like an improv dance than a perfectly planned performance.
If you’ve been navigating change, letting go of an old version of yourself, or simply longing to breathe a little deeper, I hope you’ll come walk beside me for a while.
What’s Blooming
This week, I’m smiling every time I step outside. The zinnias are in full bloom, my basil is thriving, and every morning brings a new surprise. I have so much to learn! The garden keeps reminding me that growth isn’t linear - it unfolds in its own beautiful timing.
What’s Baking
The kitchen has become its own little classroom. Sourdough focaccia has completely captured my heart, and I’m preparing for my first larger baking week. Every loaf feels like another lesson in patience, creativity, and trust. I can’t wait to share more from this journey with you.
This Week’s Invitation
Before you move on with your day…
Pause.
Take one slow breath.
Notice the space before the next inhale.
Can you soften there? Can you trust that the next breath will come?
And then ask yourself:
What would change if I danced with life instead of trying to control it?
Thank you for being here.Thank you for walking beside me. I’m so grateful we’re remembering together!
With love,
Shannon | A Free Spirit Life | TheEvergreenForest.Love | @shannonkinneyduh
Get full access to Shannon Kinney-Duh | A Free Spirit Life at shannonkinneyduh.substack.com/subscribe
