I don’t have any tattoos—yet. But if I were to ink something onto my body forever, it would be Mary Oliver’s hauntingly beautiful question:
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
For me, these words are more than poetry—they’re a call to action, a nudge, a reminder that this life is mine to shape. But knowing my luck, the tattoo wouldn’t age well. Over time, the once-inspiring line would droop, turning my wild and precious life into something saggy and regretful. So instead, I scribbled the quote in a journal I carry everywhere, hoping its message will keep me engaged in my own story—no ink required.
Yet, every time I read it, I feel a twinge of regret—not for the life I’ve lived, but for the moments I let pass without fully stepping into them. Thankfully, the universe (and my mother) had my back, guiding me even when I was blissfully unaware. Now, I wake up every morning genuinely excited to do the work I was meant to do.
Looking back, I realize I was always meant to be a coach—I was just disguised as a lonely kid with a pile of knock-off Barbies in rural Kansas. With few playmates around, my Barbies became my first clients. Some days, they had dramatic breakthroughs. Other days, they stormed out of “session,” done with my unsolicited advice and my all-knowing tone. I learned quickly—people (and dolls) don’t want to be fixed; they want to be heard. When I held back my assumptions and stayed curious, we all got along famously.
Those early (admittedly weird) coaching sessions taught me something fundamental: we all have an innate drive to figure out our own lives—our way. So, when someone swoops in, convinced they know best, it often triggers a visceral reaction:
"You are NOT the boss of me!"
And yet, instead of pushing back and proving to ourselves that we’ve got this, we often surrender—to advice, expectations, or the status quo. In doing so, we miss out on experiencing the capability that has been inside us all along.
That’s why I’m here. My life’s work is to help people stop surrendering and start standing up for their own wild and precious lives. Mary Oliver endured a tempestuous childhood—one most of us can’t imagine—and still carved something extraordinary out of it. Not because she had all the answers, but because she trusted her ability to create something meaningful.
We all have that same endurance. We all have unique gifts to share with the world. But trusting in our own power takes something simple yet profound—a prompt. Coaching is that prompt. It’s the spark that reminds you:
You already have everything you need to live your one wild and precious life—your way.
So, please "tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
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