Holistic & sustainable approach to beauty, body & being.

As most of you know, I have been on walkabout for the past 2 years. Walkabout historically refers to a rite of passage during which one would journey into the wilderness for a time to listen, and basically, return to the essence of who they are. And I am so grateful for your company as I have traveled. For me, it has been a profound experience, each and every day offering up opportunities to identify and release ways of being that no longer serve me or humanity to the fullest potential. For most of my friends and family it has seemed radical: living day to day without planning, not producing much, nowhere to go, nothing to get or achieve, very few goals. In this western world of “achieve, achieve, achieve,” this is Radical indeed. And yet most of my friends desire the experience themselves. Deep within, “Radical” is calling them, because radical actually means a return to ones roots or origin. And our greatest desire is to embody our inner truth and our unique expression of it.

During this walkabout, although I’ve not been “working” much per se, I have produced a couple of things.

One is a children’s book called, “The Little Apple Tree.” This book is my heart. And belongs to all of us. For this reason, I am uploading a short movie of it here for you to enjoy and share freely.


And the other is a book that I’ve only begun, called, “Confessions of a Serial Monogamist, Journey through the men I loved to the me I love.” It is about my walkabout, which you have been a part of all along and for which I am eternally grateful.

In a few days, I am headed to Peru. Then I will be tucked away in nature for a couple of months, completely unplugged and off grid as much as possible to listen more deeply and to complete “Confessions,” if the inspiration springs forth.

I will be silent on Social Media during this time, but please know that I will be sending you loads of love and light from wherever I am. There may be some updates, but only through email. Please sign up here for those updates.

In the mean time, below is the intro to Confessions of a Serial Monogamist. Thank you for your love and support as I have walked this path. You are valuable beyond even your own understanding. Without your light added to the sum of all that is, the world is simply bereft. A unique facet of the one diamond that, together we are, there is no other like you. You are one of a kind.

If you’d like to be notified upon my reemergence or receive periodic updates on the books or my whereabouts, please sign up here.

I love you like crazy!


Confessions of a Serial Monogamist

Journey Through the Men I Loved to the Me I Love


My life had become untenable. My 16 year old daughter was deeply unhappy and showing signs of losing her self esteem which, as feisty as she is, seemed to be bleeding out at a rapid pace. She and her step dad were at each other’s throats. He and I were a high conflict couple, arguing most of the time. Although he would disagree that we argued at all. The way he saw it, it was I who argued with him. My head was spinning. I was completely exhausted trying to manage and referee what was happening inside our little home while maintaining the laid back, flip flop, “gone surfing” ethic on the outside. Round and round and round we’d go in our home, our hearts, our heads. Then out to the surf we’d skip while holding hands to try and wash it all away with a sunset paddle beneath the cliffs of Malibu or for a romantic segment on “Where are They Now?” It’s not that our shared love of nature was a lie. It’s that it seemed to be the only truth. An abject mishmash of agony and innocent hope, my heart wasn’t just breaking, it was a shattered sand dollar in the morning tide, held together by nothing more than the wet sand. Having been married three times before and now sitting 10 of the most difficult years deep in number four, I was paralyzed.

I am not one of those who easily gives up. I am an overachiever by practice, by creed. In the past, I would have said by Nature. But I now know that just because something is an automatic response doesn’t mean it’s one’s nature.

In fact it probably means it’s a coping mechanism for having not been encouraged, even allowed to actually live one’s true nature. That being said, I was indeed an overachiever. We’re talking class president, trophy hogging, natural childbirth, UCLA scholarship, “Sit down, stunt double, cause I’m gonna learn how to run up that wall and do a back flip myself,” kind of overachiever. And how could I not be?

I grew up under the battle cry, “I can’t means I don’t want to!” That battle cry won me many an award and lead roles in Network TV series. It got me record deals, movies and beautiful homes I remodeled by hand. But there, as my family, as my life began to fall apart, I knew that it wasn’t true. What I wanted most in life was a family, the kind of family I grew up with whose parents were each other’s deepest confidents and most playful partners. I wanted a family who’s children thrived in a creative space and ventured out boldly having been given just enough tether to figure it out for themselves without feeling set adrift. “I can’t” did not mean “I don’t want to.” What it meant was my system was broken. It meant the tools I was using, the structure, the beliefs that generated my actions were not in integrity with my deepest desires, desires I had yet to even identify. So buried beneath learned behavior were they, that every thing I accomplished, no matter how “significant” in the eyes of society they might have been, held a low grade dissatisfaction. That system got me what I was after at the time. But it didn’t get me what I wanted. Because what I thought I wanted turned out to be just the surface of a much deeper and intensely personal desire, one that was unique unto me and incessantly seeking expression.
So there on the edge of Paradise in a tiny Seaside community in the northern most part of Malibu, I stopped trying.

8 months later, on August 31, my wedding Anniversary, “I can’t” became my 4th divorce. The next day, our beautiful beach home was on the market. And by the following day it was sold. Now, with my daughter having taken off to college a year early to escape our madness, I was completely untethered: no house to care or pay for, enough cash in the bank to handle everything for a little while; no child at home for the first time in near 30 years. So I set out on a year-long journey of unraveling the mess. I didn’t want the right husband. I didn’t want the right job. I didn’t want the right home or car or guru or religion. I wanted what would make me deeply happy. I wanted the truth. And accepting what my good friend once told me, “Your best thinking got you here,” I knew the truth wasn’t in my head. The truth was in my heart.

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