Lessons in Hollywood (Lakes)
As I sat by the water, I couldn't help but wonder: Maybe they say lessons come in waves because a lot of the time they all look exactly the same? And if so, when do they stop repeating themselves?
The more you heal, the more you uncover the parts of yourself that still need mending. This awareness unfolds like a quiet, persistent whisper—deep and knowing—that gently tugs at your heart whenever you find yourself in a space that holds the mirror to your unhealed wounds. It often comes as a question: "Why does this still trigger me?" Both G-d and the universe will guide you back to these moments, again and again, until you’ve learned what you need to learn. "What lesson remains for me?" is a question I’ve asked too many times.
After a medicine ceremony, a Shaman or facilitator will say: ‘If you think you’re healed, go home to your children and your family, and then tell me how healed you really are.’
It's hard to fuel your soul, create, and step into your power and purpose when you're exhausted and your kids are demanding attention. Reaching a calm, Zen mindset feels impossible with daily demands pulling you in every direction. Staying committed to your faith is tough when life knocks you down. It often feels like you're waiting for someone to grant you permission to do things; permission to become someone, permission to shine your light, permission to want more.
That’s how I found myself sitting on a bench by the water during our Passover vacation, feeling the wind on my face, and wondering when the divine pokes would finally pass or if they really ever do. I just want the good ones, G-d. Okay? (read my previous newsletter for more on divine pokes here ).
During this pregnancy, I've felt more fragile, mentally stronger, and more vulnerable than ever before. Exposed and raw, I've become sensitive to all the emotional elements. The past five years have been a journey of healing, grief, joy, and transformation. I’ve experienced and facilitated plant medicine ceremonies, journaled, shed countless shower-tears, and stayed open to growth. Yet, after turning 35 in November, it feels different—like there’s more at stake now. I’ve become acutely aware of time, how it slips away, making you forget and remember, all at once.
The past few years have been mentally challenging, and the startup journey is exhausting. My husband and I often note how many founders we read about didn’t have families while building their companies. They faced struggles and doubts, yet they must have believed in a higher purpose. I remind my husband that if we embrace the good in life, we must also accept tough times as opportunities for growth. Even in dark moments, there's always a lesson to learn or a way to bring light—like finding wisdom at the bottom of the water.
My husband worked during the Passover intermediary days, so I went with my parents and kids on a boat ride near Hollywood. My sister and her family were on a boat behind us. When we reached the deepest part, the boats were anchored, and everyone dove in. I sat on the edge of the boat, fully present, lost in the moment. I was so immersed in the experience that I forgot my phone was on my lap. Then, I shifted, pulled my legs up, and seconds later, I saw it—my phone swirling toward the bottom of the lake. NOOOOO! MY PHONE! And just like that, it was gone.
My nephews pulled on their goggles and got into Baywatch-hero mode. “We’ll go get it!” The guy driving my sister’s boat lamented that it was a lost cause. He lost his phone three weeks before and hadn’t backed it up for over a year. Seconds after my phone tumbled, my mom turned to me and channeling her inner Moroccan (we are Ashkenazi Jews) said, ‘Kapara! It’s a phone, not a person.’ I felt ridiculous that my first instinct was to tear up and I was glad I was wearing sunglasses. It wasn’t the phone, it was the build up of all I’d been storing, suppressing. For a thousand dollars, I got a new phone. Expensive but replaceable.
On the way home, my daughter asked me why I wasn’t upset about losing my phone. I told her that when something happens suddenly and it doesn’t seem to make any sense, we need to trust that it’s exactly what is supposed to be. It’s the hardest part I told her, experiencing something hard, sad, or inconvenient and choosing to trust that this is something good for us in it. If we choose to see happy experiences as things that are meant for us, we need to see ALL experiences the same way. We can’t be part-time believers.
The next day, with my new phone in hand, I was shopping with my mom and girls when she asked, "Where to first?" I pointed to J.Crew. While browsing, a couple ahead of us in line paid, and the husband turned to me, saying, "Chag Sameach." Hearing a slight accent, I asked the wife where she was from. "Montreal," she replied—where my dad is from and where my family lived when my parents first married. Surprised, I pointed to my mom, and we started talking about the street we lived on. In that moment, as my girls finished picking necklaces, we realized we had just bumped into the parents of a man who lived across the street from us in Montreal—a man my parents had hosted for Shabbat dinners countless times. It was bizarre yet somehow not surprising. When you align with the universe, surrender and accept — experiences find you.
This is such a good show or series, I sometimes think to myself about life. How random and how completely divine.
In between the tears and the laughter, and all of the emotions I’m gently allowing myself to feel, I consider that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Allowing and believing. Not fixing or doubting —trusting.
And that’s how I found myself sitting at the lake taking in the beauty G-d laid out for me. Emotions, so many emotions. I feel so much this time around. There’s grief and longing here. There’s hope and fear. There’s deep wounds that make way for deep healing. I guess it comes in waves. Sometimes the waves pull in your phone, and sometimes, they splash you with a random couple in J.Crew. Sometimes the waves look different, but they’re actually the same.
They’re inviting you in. Swim, jump, dip your toes in. May as well be free. May as well get in the water. If you stand there at the edge, you don’t get to experience any of it.
I got up and sauntered back to the house. I felt every breeze and raised my chin to let the sun touch my face. What a blessing to be alive and experience this life.
Feeling is the secret.
-Mimi
