Bound Lines and Book Spines

By Kristi Cruise I can do a lot of things. I can color-code a spreadsheet, write a grant proposal, build a website, manage a board meeting, and respond to seventy-two emails before breakfast. I can even fake enthusiasm while updating an Excel tab called “Pending Follow-Ups.” But let me be clear: I loathe operations. Like, deep-soul, energy-vacuum, “please let this be over soon” loathe. It’s funny, really, because somehow I do more of it now than ever. My days are an endless carousel of calendars, approvals, and tasks that multiply when I look away. Somewhere in the middle of all this productivity, my inner artist is waving a little white flag. I remember my high school swim coach, Mrs. Cullen, once told me I was a “jack of all trades, master of none.” She wasn’t wrong. I can survive in almost any situation — smile through chaos, fill in for anyone, and duct-tape broken systems together until they look like modern art. But thriving? That’s another story. Operations are like chlo...

  A New Definition of Love By Kristi Cruise Love is not the ache of wanting to be chosen. It’s the calm of remembering you already are — by yourself, by life, by something steady that has never left you. Love isn’t the spark that burns hot and fast. It’s the flame that hums in rhythm with your breath, asking nothing but truth. It’s not the drama of leaving and returning, the high of chaos followed by the relief of apology. It’s the gentle consistency that makes time feel soft again. Love does not demand proof or perfection. It asks only for presence. It says, " You are safe here. You don’t have to earn peace." It’s not about rescuing or being rescued.  It’s about walking side by side, both whole, both free, both curious enough to keep learning from each other. Love is an exhale. A place to land. A laughter that lingers because there’s nothing left to hide. The old kind of love taught me endurance. The new kind teaches me ease. And I will no longer confuse longi...

Surrender By Kristi Cruise There was once a yoga class I taught called Surrender. It was always the quietest on the schedule, tucked between the more popular power flows and sculpt sessions. People used to skip it, assuming they’d get more out of something harder, sweatier, faster. I get that now—how surrender can look like giving up when it’s really the beginning of freedom. I used to think surrender meant letting go of control. Now I think it’s more like letting go of the illusion of control— the exhausting upstream paddling that keeps us busy but rarely gets us anywhere new. Sometimes I can almost hear the river whisper, “You could rest now, you know. I can carry you farther than you think.” I’m starting to believe it. Lately, life has been reminding me that my oars are optional. The more tightly I grip them and paddle, the more tired I become. And yet when I finally release, when I let the current take me—the world rearranges itself with an ease I could never have plan...