About

Screen Shot 2016-07-13 at 4.34.58 PMI appreciate you stopping by my little corner of the world wide web. Below you’ll find a bit more about me and Tranquility du Jour.

Standard bio {storytelling below}: I’m a psychotherapist in private practice, serve as president of Pigs & Pugs Project, and design eco-fashion TranquiliT.

In 1999 I founded Tranquil Space —named among the top 25 yoga studios in the world by Travel + Leisure—and sold it to YogaWorks in 2017. I’ve penned a few lifestyle books catered to tranquility seekers and hosted a podcast since 2005.

My work has been featured in The Washington Post, Fast Company, Washingtonian, Yoga Journal, USNews & World Report, Bella Grace, and numerous books. I hold master’s in women’s studies and social work,  an assortment of certifications in yoga, mindfulness, and positive psychology, and am currently studying veterinary social work.

When not collaborating with clients or catering to my rescue pugs, you’ll find me sipping pots of fragrant tea, practicing yoga on a leopard-print mat, or leading retreats globally.

I live in a tiny Pink Palace in Washington, D.C. with rescue pets and longtime partner, Tim Mooney. I dream of Paris, global animal welfare, and living on a farmette surrounded by rescue pigs and pugs while tending a flower and veggie garden.

For doses of love straight to your inbox, sign up for Love Notes and my blog or tune in to the Tranquility du Jour podcast. Hearing from you makes me happy, so please connectBisous. xspacer

Story time: Originally from Oklahoma, I couldn’t wait to explore life beyond the windy Great Plains. After graduating from college, I backpacked through Europe with a childhood friend and moved to Summit County, Colorado to ski and work.

Unable to release into the chill mountain lifestyle, I worked many jobs, learned to snowboard, and grew antsy. So I packed up my car and drove to Washington, DC to attend a paralegal program at Georgetown University. It was time to be an “adult.”

I landed my dream spot in the nation’s largest intellectual property firm complete with an office and secretary. I’d made it . . . or so I thought. Soon I found myself dreaming of retirement from this corporate jobin 40 yearsto travel and live life on my own terms. Surely there had to be more.

Constantly seeking, I looked into graduate programs, read piles of self-help books, and was rarely separated from my journal. I ended an abusive relationship and exchanged it for a black rescue cat named Bonnard (after French Impressionist Pierre Bonnard). The cat was a much better fit.

Having developed an intrigue for yoga, I signed up for a teacher training and read The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. The book and training were catalysts that launched me into my next phase. I invited strangers into my living room. We practiced yoga around a fireplace in my fourth floor walk-up and sipped homemade chai afterwards. That was 1999.

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.—Anaïs Nin

By 2000, I took a scary leap into self-employment. A women’s studies degree, retreats, a clothing line, books, mentoring, a non-profit, an additional studio location, a blog, a podcast, a social work degree, and a tranquility tour in a vintage camper named Miss Lillie followed.

Everything I do began as a seeda desire for an experience that I couldn’t find. Whether a feminine yoga studio with chandeliers or comfy clothing that transitions from day to night, all of my offerings started out as passion projects to satisfy my own inner cravings.

The road was never without bumps. There was loss of those dearest to me. There was betrayal. There were people who came and went. There have been mistakes. It’s all part of the journey.

And I’m still seeking. Still addicted to self-help, learning, and growing. Still wanting to leave the world a better place. Still not in perfect balance.  Honestly, finding that coveted life balance often feels like two steps forward and one step back. “Doing it all” is a delicate dance of fits and starts, missteps, and an occasional curtain bow.

And so the journey continues.

The artist never entirely knows. We guess. We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark.—Agnes de Mille

 

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