Beneath the Same Stars
Updated: Jun 26
"Twelve years ago, I stood alone beneath a winter sky searching for answers I could not yet name. Last Saturday, I stood beneath a summer sky surrounded by growth in every direction. The stars were the same. I was not."
For weeks leading up to the Summer Solstice Gathering, I found myself imagining how the evening would unfold.
I had planned readings, reflections, and stories I wanted to share. I imagined introducing the books, talking about the journey that led to them, and standing in the garden reflecting on everything that had brought us to that moment. As the day approached, I found myself rehearsing pieces of it in my mind, wondering how it would feel when everything finally came together.
Then Saturday arrived.
The weather forecast seemed determined to test my ability to practice what I preach. Rain fell throughout much of the day. Storms rolled through. Dark clouds gathered overhead, and more than once I found myself looking at the sky and wondering what the evening would become.
And then, almost as if on cue, the weather cleared.
The lights came on. The torches were lit. People began arriving. Conversations started. The garden filled with laughter, stories, music, and connection.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized the evening was unfolding differently than I had imagined.
Not worse, Just differently.
As guests arrived and conversations deepened, I found myself with a choice. I could gather everyone together and move forward with the plans I had made, or I could allow the evening to become what it seemed to naturally want to be.
I chose the latter.
The reading stayed in my notebook. The books remained stacked on the table. Instead of standing in front of the group, I found myself moving from conversation to conversation, reconnecting with people I hadn't seen in years, listening to stories, sharing memories, and simply enjoying the experience of being present with the people who had gathered there.
For a brief moment afterward, I wondered if I had made a mistake.
The reading was important to me. The books are important to me. There was a part of me that worried I had missed an opportunity to properly mark the occasion.
But the more I have reflected on the evening, the more I have come to realize that what happened was perfectly aligned with the very philosophy I had gathered everyone there to celebrate.
For years, Becoming has been a practice of learning to trust life a little more. Trusting growth. Trusting timing. Trusting that not everything meaningful can be planned in advance. Trusting that sometimes the most important moments are the ones we never could have orchestrated ourselves.
The gathering became one of those moments.
The garden was full of people whose stories have become intertwined with my own over the years. Some have been part of my life for decades. Others arrived more recently. All of them have contributed to the person I have become.
As I watched people walk through the garden gate, sign the journal, sit around the fire, share food, play music, and connect with one another, I realized that the evening itself had become the message.
The books were present, but so was the life that inspired them.
The philosophy was present, but so were the relationships that gave it meaning.
The garden was present, but so were the people whose stories helped it come alive.
In the days since, I have found myself thinking about the difference between the night Becoming began and the night we created together on the Summer Solstice.
Twelve years ago, I stood alone beneath a winter sky searching for answers I could not yet name. The air was cold. The future felt uncertain. The path ahead was unclear.
Last Saturday, I stood beneath a summer sky surrounded by growth in every direction. Growth in the garden. Growth in the work. Growth in the relationships. Growth in my understanding of who I am and what matters most.
The stars were the same.
I was not.
And perhaps that is the most meaningful realization of all.
The release of Becoming Aligned feels less like an ending and more like a threshold.
For years, the work of Becoming has largely been an inward journey. Awareness asked me to look honestly at myself. Alignment asked me to build a life that reflected what I found. Both required reflection, learning, questioning, and a willingness to continually return to what felt true.
What I feel now is different. I find myself entering a season of expression—not expression as performance, proving, or seeking approval, but expression as sharing. Expression as embodiment. A season of trusting that what has been growing quietly beneath the surface is ready to move outward into the world. Not because I have everything figured out, but because there comes a point when what has taken root within you asks to be expressed.
The garden is growing quickly now. New blooms seem to appear every day. The vegetables are stretching toward the sun. The journal contains its first stories. The books have found their way into readers' hands.
And as I look around this space, I feel the same thing I felt throughout the weeks leading up to the gathering.
Gratitude.
Gratitude for the people who helped build this garden. Gratitude for Dave, Kalista, and Will. Gratitude for my family. Gratitude for the people who showed up despite uncertain weather. Gratitude for the people who have supported this journey from the beginning. Gratitude for those who arrived somewhere along the way.
Most of all, I am grateful for the reminder that growth rarely unfolds exactly as we expect it to.
Sometimes it unfolds exactly as it needs to.
Becoming, always returning,
Carrie
Founder, Total Transformation
NBC-HWC Health Coach
ACE Personal Trainer, & Behavior Change Specialist
PN Level 1 Nutrition Coach
Mental Well-Being Certified Fitness Professional
A copy of the first Becoming audiobook is being gifted to email subscribers.
To be added to my list send an email to: total.transformation21@gmail.com
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