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Do you want to release anxiety and create a still mind? Would you like the ability to be present with whatever the present moment throws your way? Would you like to be calm, focused, and content? And most importantly, are you willing to do what it takes to have this…?

If you answered yes, then meditation needs to become as habitual as brushing your teeth.

I hear many clients say they want to stop worrying, release self-sabotage patterns, start a business that fulfills them and create financial freedom, shed five pounds and keep it off, be the person they want to be in relationship with so they can attract that person.

Whatever you want to accomplish is on the other side of your comfort zone and happens in a still mind.

Yoga isn’t always Om Shanti and pranayama. Sometimes it’s a home practice where I can scream bloody murder between up and down dog. Yoga isn’t always seated meditation, spine erect, legs in lotus. Sometimes it’s deep moans as I roll into a yogi pistol squat. Yoga isn’t always rhythmic ujjayi breath in half pigeon. Sometimes it’s weeping in a public class because I cannot wear the “I’m fine” mask anymore.

At age 13, I asked for a sign, that everything was going to be okay. My mom was driving me from the hospital in urban Louisville, KY to school. My intuition told me he was going to die.

My Dad loved to take the “scenic route” home. Whenever he picked me up from swim practice—he’d pull over and we’d watch the red-tailed hawk nest, his favorite, to see if we could spot one hunting prey for its young. My father taught me red tailed hawks are loyal birds. They mate for life and return to the same nest each year. They can see over a hundred yards away and live up to 14 years. He taught me how to differentiate between a red-tailed hawk, peregrine falcon, cooper’s hawk, etc. And most importantly, to see a hawk you must be fully present and that is one of the greatest gifts there is.

Renew means "to restore to freshness or vigor. To begin again." The first thing I associate renewal with is my family log cabin, Old Pond Place. Thirty-one years ago, my father had a dream to build a log home completely from salvaged wood and stone. My parents visited old abandoned cabins sealed with clapboard across Kentucky. What many saw as a dilapidated home, my father saw as an opportunity to practice renewal.

We don't need a five star spa day to feel renewed, when all we need is in our backyard. Growing up at the cabin, my brother, Bart, and I would race to the bottom of the lake to pick up fistfuls of muck on summer dares. The cabin taught me that silence says more than words themselves. That listening to my breath and bird songs is a breath of fresh air. That watching the sun set bleed cotton candy colors between tree branches is sweeter than Derby Pie.

The simple and free moments have had the biggest impact on my sense of vigor in this age of uncertainty. Here are six tools to practice self-renewal, get clear on what you do want, and get comfortable sitting in the discomfort of the unknown.

Peace can be difficult to cultivate during challenge and especially when you live far away from your loved ones. Whenever I feel my world has been turned upside down, I turn to Joseph Campbell, the great mythologist of our time. He is most famous for his "Hero's Journey" cycle that can be seen in some of the greatest modern-day films, like Star Wars of The Wizard of Oz.

He says, "At the bottom of the abyss comes the voice of salvation. The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come. At the darkest moment comes the light."

What does this quote have to do with home? In order to cultivate a peaceful home wherever we go, we must practice courage to look at what scares us most. We must be willing to clean the cobwebs out of the closet, so there is room to breathe.

For years, I ran away. Shutting family members’ deaths like a book I wasn't in the mood to read. Putting in overtime at work. Then, chasing the dragon I never met at after-parties. Rushing my healing from Lyme-induced insomnia, to return to work, in the name of productivity.

Flow is a heightened state of consciousness that silences our inner critic, accelerates the path to mastery, and cultivates immense joy. Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hours to genesis is no longer relevant, because with flow, you can get there in half the time.

Flow is that runner’s high that kicks in after 15 minutes of pounding pavement. It’s surfing down the translucent tube of a Big Kahuna wave. It’s matching breath with movement in yoga class. It’s losing yourself in conversation where 3 hours pass like 30 minutes? That’s flow.

It’s Focused mind. Time warp. Graceful action. Richness.

Photo take by McCall Besten of @birds.n.bees

Perfectionism is something I have struggled with from my first breath of earth's sweet gases.

As a young woman in America, eating light and exercising was not enough. So in the name of a perfect body, I meticulously counted calories and sweated in surplus like an anorexic Olympian.

As a student, studying was not enough. So in the name of good grades, I abused Adderall and coffee.

If the average American spends 290 hours driving each year, shouldn't we use this time wisely or at least be present?

Many people loathe driving. But driving can be an opportunity to be mindful. Mindfulness is defined as "the quality or state of being conscious or aware of something." And mindful focus on the present cultivates joy.

In life, we don't always have control of our final destination or the speed at which we arrive. But in driving, we do. We can create driving experiences that cultivate presence, joy, and spaciousness for new ideas.

My father died 10 days after my 14th birthday. That was 15 years ago. I thought I was over it. I went to therapy, journaled, wrote sappy poems, and cried a lot. But that was not enough.

Grief does not decay as quickly as our bodies do. It's sticky, like the gum you can't get off your shoe.  It arrives unannounced and ambushes you from behind, like a rear ender when you're already late.  If you're lucky, you let yourself sob to a stranger on the street. Mascara smeared under eyes for a raccoon surprise.

What if our headaches, stressors, and lows are our gurus? What if our challenges saturated in uncertainty are waiting for us to ask what is this trying to teach me?

For the past three years, I have experienced the most uncertainty of my young 29 years. I sat in the discomfort of not knowing why I couldn't sleep, why was I ill, would I be able to sleep again, would I be able to work again, where was I supposed to live, and what the hell was I supposed to do?