I love volunteering each week at our organic community garden. All the produce goes to neighbors in need. And I get to work beside people who care about clean, natural food.

Last week, we found something strange on a tomato plant.

It was a hornworm caterpillar. But it wasn’t alone. Dozens of tiny white cocoons were embedded all along its back.
I later learned they were the eggs of a parasitic wasp.

Nature can be brutal — and brilliant.

The caterpillar was barely moving. Still alive, but clearly done for. And yet, in its final hours, it was nourishing new life. It was unknowingly fulfilling a role it never chose.

​That image stayed with me.

Over the last decades, I’ve taken aging head-on.
More strength. Better mobility. Energy I haven’t felt since my 30s.

But lately, I’ve shifted my attention inward.
The stuff people don’t usually talk about.

The emotional and spiritual weight we carry.
Old patterns. Dormant parts of us.
Even unexplored gifts that might still have something to offer the world.

I don’t want to be like that caterpillar — worn down and unaware, just going through the motions while life moves on without me.

I want to choose what I nurture.

Sure, muscle and mitochondria are important for health. But once that's in hand, we have  renewed energy and can focus on other, more important, things:
The quality of our thoughts. The depth of our relationships. The way our values show up in daily life.

For me, this has looked like:

There’s wisdom all around us. Even in a dying caterpillar.

​Let’s not waste it.

Hatch anew -- Take my 3-Day Reboot