I woke up one morning with a skinny person’s brain.

Google “The Best Way to _________” and you’ll get 340 million hits.

If you want to know the best way to grow slime mold, juggle chainsaws, or catch fireflies, you’ll find a guru. Their advice, they will tell you, is foolproof. No one cops to dishing out anything less than perfection.

The dirt path led me to the Women of the Woods.

I was in Chile on a health retreat that included shamanic sessions. All I knew about the women was that one used a bayonet instead of a knife. I didn’t know why weapons were needed in a shamanic treatment, but was about to find out.

I was a feral child.

My home life was chaotic. My American parents owned a car rental firm in the French Caribbean. The crises were constant -- accidents, flat tires, breakdowns. When my father drank he became monstrous. I spent a lot of time alone, in nature, at airports and resort car rental desks.

My beekeeper friend keeps me awash in honey and bee gossip.

Every time I visit, I learn something new, ranging from bee sex, fights to the death between wannabe queens, how Fall honey is different from Spring honey, or weird USDA rules about labeling honey. 

For years if someone stepped on my toes, I said I was sorry.

Taking responsibility for someone else’s actions, accidental or not, is an unhealthy coping mechanism. It’s the flip side of people who don’t take responsibility for anything, ever.