I arrived in Sedona in the late 1990s, fresh from six months of backpacking around South America. I was 27, adventurous, curious, and ready for whatever came next.

I had no idea how much my life was about to change.

My introduction to Sedona actually began in Taos, New Mexico, where I spotted a peculiar yellow flyer advertising Hostel Sedona. It featured a spaceship, with the hostel's name apparently caught in its tractor beam.

It was a ridiculous advertisement. But something about it caught my attention, and I felt compelled to go.

So I did.

Freshman Year at Sedona University

I spent my first night at the hostel. The following morning, I hopped on my bicycle and set out to explore.

The red rocks were spectacular, of course. But I was equally fascinated by Sedona's spiritual community. This was the era of channelers, past-life explorations, meditation circles, yoga, and all manner of unconventional approaches to understanding ourselves and the universe.

I wanted to explore it all.

As I pedaled around town, I came upon the Earth Mother Father Foundation. Something about the place drew me in, but I was surprisingly nervous about walking through the door.

Imagine that. I'd just spent half a year traveling through South America by myself, yet entering a New Age center in Sedona required a considerable act of courage!

Eventually, I went inside.

An older gentleman named Bob Sharpe approached and introduced himself. He had a warm, grandfatherly presence that immediately put me at ease. Here's Mr. Bobby, whose compassion and guidance changed the course of my life.

He was a compassionate and gifted healer who helped me recognize emotional burdens I hadn't even realized I was carrying. We spent time together in some extraordinary natural places around Sedona, doing deep emotional release work.

In an essay I wrote during those early years, Sedona 101, I described the experience as discovering that I'd been wearing an invisible suit of armor. Something I'd developed long ago to protect myself from emotional pain had also been keeping me at a distance from my own feelings.

As that armor began to fall away, I experienced a sense of joy, openness, and aliveness that was astonishing to me.

I felt like myself. Perhaps for the first time.

I still think of my life in terms of before meeting Bob and after.

An Education Without a Curriculum

Back then, people sometimes referred to Sedona as Sedona University—a place where life itself provided the curriculum.

I loved that idea so much that I wrote an entire essay about my freshman year.

In it, I described a fellow hostel resident named Doug, a colorful character from Florida who wore pink shorts and purple sunglasses, called me "Sweet Pea," and drove a 1971 Buick with enough chrome to blind passing motorists.

"Hostile Sedona," he called our temporary home, warning that it's not for the faint of heart.

Doug and I were both trying to establish ourselves in this unusual little town.

And establishing myself wasn't entirely straightforward.

This was before remote work and internet-based businesses were commonplace. If you wanted to live in Sedona, you had to figure out how to earn a living here.

I began tutoring math, drawing on my analytical side while my spiritual side was having the adventure of a lifetime. Here I am with one of my math students:

Looking back, I can see that my entrepreneurial instincts, scientific curiosity, and spiritual exploration were all very much alive, even then.

The Turquoise on Cathedral Rock

One of my favorite memories from those years involves my young niece, Christian, who came from Indiana to spend a week with me.

She was preparing for a school project about Arizona and had a list of things she wanted to experience or collect during her visit. One was a piece of turquoise.

We visited a few crystal shops, but hadn't found her turquoise yet.

One day, we set out to climb Cathedral Rock.

Christian was convinced she couldn't make it to the top. I was pretty sure she'd leave me in the dust.

Along the way, we passed a fellow hiking barefoot. That was unusual enough to catch my attention.

Eventually, Christian and I made it to the top, where we sat enjoying our accomplishment and the magnificent scenery.

Then the barefoot hiker appeared.

He approached Christian and said, "I was guided to give you this."

And he handed her a piece of turquoise.

Here's Christian proudly holding the piece of turquoise she received from a stranger on Cathedral Rock. She still has it nearly thirty years later.

We were astonished!

He had no apparent way of knowing about her school project or her wish for a piece of turquoise.

Nearly thirty years later, Christian still has that stone. And I still smile when I remember it.

Sedona was full of moments like that for me—unexpected encounters, unlikely coincidences, and experiences that invited me to remain curious rather than rush toward an explanation.

Still Learning, Still Exploring

Almost thirty years have passed since those early adventures.

I've left Sedona and returned, watched the town change, explored countless trails, and developed a relationship with this landscape that continues to deepen.

My spiritual exploration has changed, too. I've tried many things, questioned plenty, kept what feels meaningful, and let other things go.

Eventually, meditation became a central part of my life, and I began sharing it with others.

Today, through Sedona Meditation Experiences, I welcome people who are curious about exploring Sedona beyond its spectacular scenery. Some are experienced meditators. Others are trying meditation for the first time. Many are simply interested in what might happen when they slow down, get quiet, and pay attention.

I recognize something of my younger self in that curiosity.

I remember what it felt like to be new here, excited by the possibilities, and a little uncertain about where to begin. I also remember how much it mattered to encounter someone like Bob, who made me feel safe, welcome, and free to discover things for myself.

That's the spirit I hope to share.

In my original Sedona 101 essay, I imagined myself as a freshman at Sedona University, learning to shed old armor and engage more fully with life.

At the end of that story, I could almost hear Doug congratulating me:

"Congratulations, Sweet Pea. Looks like you passed the entrance exam."

Well, Doug, here's a little update.

Somehow, after all these years, I've ended up on the faculty.

And I still love coming to class.

Here I am standing atop Sugarloaf my first winter in Sedona - 1997.