When you write a story, it doesn't happen at a lovely table in the middle of a hidden garden in a small suburb of Italy with angels floating down from heaven, directing you with exactly what to write. I mean, I believe we are all universal channels for divine love, and each of us has a story to tell and a message to share - but it doesn't happen like that. My stories have been documented on bus rides home after long days at work. They were scribbled in a moleskine late at night when my heart was hurting and I felt broken because a guy I fell for wasn't going to come back. I was incredibly heartbroken - an emotion I don't feel very often. It happened when I sat still near the ocean in Santa Monica, contemplating my next move while trying to concentrate on the sounds of the tides rolling in. It happened in coffee shops. Airplane rides with turbulence that sent my anxiety out the roof. Every single moment has compiled the story that has been this year. 
  
 And here I find myself in the beginnings of December: the final month of this beautifully chaotic year. December has always been my favorite month; maybe it's due to my full blooded Capricorn birth sign rooted in the very heart of its astrological course. Or maybe being born during a snowstorm has left me permanently nostalgic for cold weather and bundling up. Whatever it is, though, I find myself becoming more far more introverted this time of year, taking long periods of seclusion for quiet time and "going inward."

  I can't help think of what this year - especially 2016 -  has done for me and the changes it brought about. On a worldly scale, so much has happened - and I think we all can feel it collectively. There's been quite a bit of "what the actual  F just happened this year" and hoping 2017 will be the "miracle year." 
 

 To sum up 2016 on my end in a nutshell: a series of extreme ups-and-downs and significant life events extreme events left me with no choice but to write about them, hoping it would reach out to anyone who needed to hear that they were not alone. Or whomever was on the verge of making a change, but too afraid do it. Every time I decided to leap and make a change, I was nervous as hell. And most of the time I knew what action I had to take and felt uncomfortable doing it - but each time it got me into a better place and a better mindset. I believe in co-creation with the universe: that we ask for what we need. We  have to affirm what we have and what we're grateful for it like it's already happened. Following these universal "prayers,"  ANY ROPE WE ARE THROWN, any synchronicity that occurs after, we must take it as an open door and walk through it.

 Love has to be the vein in everything we do  - especially if we're going for making a huge dream come true. I procrastinated more than I should have - and procrastination stems from fear. Fear for me is a headlock, as it is for anyone else.  That fear kept me awake at night. It kept me in bed later in the mornings instead of getting up. And the only way I busted through that fear was physicality and movement: this is exactly where Buti Yoga came in to save me and my body.  "the secret to something kept hidden." The movement of this practice was the closest I could get to dancing after having another knee surgery this year, which has left ballet out of the picture.

  Many of us did not make it out alive this year; consider the beloved celebrities we lost.  Back in May, my dad left after his cancer-ridden body drew itself out to his very last breath. Even 7 months after his passing, I can't forget what loss feels like, but because of that, I also remember what forgiveness is. I've been reminded that we have a life to live and a purpose to fulfill. It's not always going to be something direct and completely defined; does it need to be, though? I struggled with that too - that I only needed to be an actress on camera. That I only need to bring my love and knowledge of classical ballet. I gave myself black-and-white options which only kept me inside a box - one that I would be itching to break out of very soon. Thankfully, I did.

One year ago, I was entirely a different person. I didn't talk as much. I was afraid I wouldn't be going a anywhere with anything. I didn't live with much intention.  This year left me a little more raw. A little more real. Way more willing to stand up and be myself. And most of all, willing to be vulnerable and be completely okay with that.

Published by Dani Savka