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In a world of endless scrolling, relentless news cycles, and the constant hum of “not enough,” what does it really mean to come home to ourselves?

That’s the question I explored with my dear friend and spiritual teacher Betsy Weiner in the latest episode of Rise to More. For more than 25 years, Betsy has been guiding others through yoga, meditation, and deep inner work—but what makes her truly remarkable is her ability to blend wisdom with levity. She calls herself a personal trainer for the soul—and after hearing her speak, you’ll understand why.

Betsy began by describing what she’s observed in recent years: our collective dysregulation. We are bombarded by information—opinions, outrage, comparison, noise—and in trying to process it all, we lose touch with the one voice that matters: our own. The result? Polarization, anxiety, and a culture that has forgotten how to pause.

I write in Healer In Heels: we are so full of the world’s noise, we can no longer hear the whisper of our own soul.

And yet, as Betsy reminds us, peace is possible. It begins with what she calls the art of subtraction—the quiet, courageous act of releasing what was never truly ours to carry. The stories, expectations, and burdens we’ve inherited from family, culture, and society weigh us down. The path home isn’t about adding more—it’s about remembering who we are beneath the noise.

“You don’t need to add more light. You just need to remove what’s dimming yours.”

One of the most radical ideas Betsy offered was this: betterment isn’t always the answer. In a culture obsessed with self-optimization and productivity, she invites us to consider the possibility that this moment—right here, right now—might already be enough. Acceptance, she says, is one of the bravest forms of growth.

We also talked about humor—something Betsy uses as sacred medicine. Humor isn’t avoidance; it’s connection. It’s how we remember that joy and pain are not opposites—they coexist. When we laugh, we disarm our defenses and open our hearts.

“Laughter is the soul’s way of exhaling.”

Of course, no conversation with Betsy would be complete without talking about resilience. She shared with such tenderness about her own experiences with loss and adversity—and how they taught her compassion, grace, and the startling truth that we can love even those who may never love us back. Resilience, she says, is not about never breaking—it’s about breaking open, about rising again softer, truer, and more free.

“Resilience isn’t toughness. It’s tenderness that has been tested.”

What I love most about Betsy’s wisdom is how grounded it is. She doesn’t ask us to escape our lives or transcend our humanness. She invites us to inhabit it fully—to bring spirit into the small, sacred moments of every day. A morning prayer of gratitude. The silence between deep breaths. The sound of a sparrow outside your window. The stillness of Yoga Nidra.

Because in a time when so many feel fractured, Betsy reminds us that spiritual practice isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity.

This conversation was less about finding yourself and more about returning to yourself—the self that was never broken, never behind, never lost.

“You don’t have to become whole. You already are.”

And maybe that’s the real invitation: to stop trying to fix, improve, or strive our way home. To simply remember that home has been within us all along. Thank you for reading and watching - messages like this one are worth spreading in this crazy world of ours🙏🏼

Follow Betsy:

IG: https://www.instagram.com/betsylweiner/

Work with Betsy: https://betsyweiner.com

With love and presence,Jasna

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When we see public figures, we rarely see the human being. We see a policy, a headline, a viral moment. What we don’t often glimpse is the person—the father fixing his daughter’s tiara, the husband leaning on his wife, the runner who finds peace by railroad tracks after a long day.

In my recent Rise to More conversation with Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey, I set aside politics entirely. I wanted to know the man behind the title.

We live in polarized times. Outrage is the easiest currency to spend. Nuance is rare, compassion rarer. So I wanted to create a different kind of room. A room where we listen for humanity, not ammo. Where we remember we’re far more alike than different. And where transformation—individual and collective—still feels possible.

What unfolded was a raw and deeply human conversation about fatherhood, resilience, and the quiet costs of leadership.

Jacob spoke openly about being a father of two young girls and how they changed everything: the way he values time, the city he hopes to shape, the example he wants to set.

We don’t talk enough about the toll of being known. The loss of breath and private space. The reality that when he steps outside, he is “the mayor” within seconds—no matter if he’s running alone by the railroad tracks or holding his four-year-old’s hand.

He also spoke of hardship—moments when he stood firm in his decisions, was publicly shamed, and yet slept peacefully knowing he had done what he believed was right. From those experiences, he described something profound: post-traumatic growth—the ability to not just endure crisis, but to grow from it.

We talked about the echo chambers, the easy blame, the brittle certainty. He said something simple and brave: when we’re unhappy, it’s seductive to assign our pain to an “other.” It’s also the beginning of dehumanization.

The antidote? Burst your bubble on purpose. Seek people who think, pray, vote, and work differently than you. Have coffee. Share stories. Discover you actually like each other. It’s not naive—it’s necessary. Our nervous systems heal in proximity, not in posts.

Topics we covered in this episode:

* The perspective shift of fatherhood and raising daughters

* How resilience is built in crisis and why “post-traumatic growth” matters

* Running as both meditation and emotional release

* Jewish tradition and the teaching of the “36 righteous people”

* Keeping a soft heart in a hard, polarized world

* His personal mantra: Find a way—to lead, to serve, to keep moving forward

* What greatness and legacy mean to him

What I found most moving was Jacob’s candor. He admitted flaws. He spoke of the weight of criticism, the freedom of authenticity, and the small, grounding rituals that keep him human.

In the end, this wasn’t an interview about a mayor. It was a conversation with a man navigating the complexity of public life while striving to remain whole.

And perhaps that is the lesson for us all: whatever our role, we must find a way. To love, to lead, to soften, to rise. And for the love of God, to see humanity in one another regardless of our differences.

Please watch, listen or share.

With gratitude,

Jasna

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