Abandoned Cart

*An automated reminder from the universe

Dear Kula Diaries,

A few weeks ago, I wrote my ‘letter of resignation’ and shared it here. It felt cathartic to get those words out of myself and onto this virtual piece of paper… almost like shedding the skin of a different version of me and leaving familiar fears behind.

Back in December, I felt strongly called to begin the process of decluttering our house. And what I’ve learned through that very physical process is that when you declutter your house and create more space, there’s less to hide behind. In a sense, decluttering—while it creates a feeling of physical spaciousness—can also stir up some internal dust. Fears and worry are easy to hide under clutter. And without that clutter, it suddenly becomes impossible to avoid the things we’re sometimes afraid to look at.

In the midst of my dark night of the soul a few weeks ago, I looked at so many of the things I did on a daily basis and felt this deep sense of meaninglessness about them. Almost a sense of anger that I, “had” to spend my days working on tasks like automated marketing flows and ROIs and Meta ads and thinking about random things that I’m supposed to take very seriously and care about. On one level, I get it — I do care deeply about my business, because I care about the people who work for me. But the day-to-day grind of showing up and feeling motivated to continuously be ‘ON’ and generate inspiring ideas… is exhausting. Some days it feels like it’s all I can do just to live life as a human on this planet, let alone juggle a whole bunch of acronyms that—if I’m being honest—I don’t even really know what they mean.

Just prior to my downward spiral, I had logged into my Klaviyo account. Klaviyo is the platform I use to store my mailing list and send out my weekly Kula newsletter. Like most online businesses, I have automated marketing flows set up: a welcome flow, thank-you emails, browse abandonment, and finally, the penultimate flow—the abandoned cart email.

That flow triggers four hours after someone adds something to their cart and leaves the site. It sends a cheerful reminder about what they were looking at and, essentially, that Kula Cloth is awesome. And honestly? I do believe that. I’ve purchased things from other shops thanks to abandoned cart emails. These systems aren’t bad. They’re automated because automation can help business owners manage their time and energy.

But that day, as I sat down to tweak my flows with a sense of seriousness and obligation, I experienced a rare moment of nihilism. I stared at the screen doing tasks that felt very silly while simultaneously attempting to take them very seriously, and suddenly I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was also a human being living on a planet floating through an infinite cosmos. Everything I did every day felt unbelievably small and meaningless.

If you’ve read my letter of resignation, you know that emotional experience eventually bloomed like a flower. The energy passed through me in a way that felt important and needed—like I was letting go of things I’d been gripping very tightly. Most of these were deeply seated fears.

Fears I believed—incorrectly—that if I held close enough, I wouldn’t have to face. But in truth, I was ignoring what I already knew: when we lead with love and trust, the unseen forces of the universe respond in kind. When the energy we radiate is the goodness of the infinite, things become possible beyond the tangible world—beyond marketing flows.

That release brought with it a feeling of lightness and creativity and restored hope. I immediately recognized it as a feeling I’d known before—in the very early days of Kula Cloth. As I reflected back on the early days — before I had ever sewed my first fabric prototype — I realized it was far easier to create something from nothing than it was to be stuck in the middle of something I’d already built, oblivious to the newness still available in every moment.

Before Kula was a thing—before I even had the idea to try and design a pee cloth—I remember devoutly visualizing the life I wanted to live. I spent dedicated time each day focused on gratitude and appreciation for exactly where I was. I wrote down my vision for my life… over and over again, and I put it, proudly, on display on our fridge — so I could see it and read it all the time. I was excited and eager for these new experiences, even though I had absolutely no clue how they were going to happen. I also had no idea how to start a company, but I felt so excited about bringing this product to life that there was a deliciousness in allowing myself to feel my way there. Magical little glimmers appeared as I carved out a never-before-walked path toward something I’d only held in my heart.

As an idea moves from the invisible fabric of the universe into form, it shifts—from something diaphanous and shimmery into something solid. Thoughts become things. And the solid world is distracting. Its rigidity dulls our connection to the imaginative realm that’s always present. As Albert Einstein says, “Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”

As Kula became more solid, my attention slowly drifted from the ethereal act of creation to the things directly in front of me. Without realizing it, I slipped away from that magical world of possibility… until one day I found myself in a place that felt heavy with obligation, monotony, and routine. Same old, same old.

Over the past year, I’ve been gently redirecting my focus—away from what’s physically in front of me and toward the feeling of what I want to create. Toward the infinite nature of this moment. I want to imagine again. I need to. We all do. Not because where we are is wrong, but because enthusiasm, excitement, and love are how creation works. The feeling comes first… and the cosmos responds second. You can’t look at the physicality of the place that is directly in front of you and create anything other than exactly what you are giving your attention to. In order to create something new, you must start to see it and feel it ahead of its arrival.

A few days after I reemerged into the light, ideas began flooding in. Letting go of the old, made space for something new. I designed a little Kula called the Peace Pika. I hid ‘Easter eggs’ around the website—tiny invitations to peace and connection. And then I revisited the thing that had started it all: my automated marketing flows.

Click on this image to watch my mini Peace Pika improvisation!

I asked myself a question I’d never asked before: Why does this have to be automated today?

So I did something no marketing expert would ever recommend. I temporarily turned off my abandoned cart flow and began sending personal messages instead…. messages with a genuine offer to answer questions or just say hello. I felt an exuberance I can hardly describe. I spent a day happily …feeling energized and alive by this new approach. It might not be sustainable long-term, but I’ve never been the type to prioritize long-term feasibility over what feels deeply right in the moment. And in that moment, what felt right was human connection, not funnels.

The very next day, I had a call with my mentor, Hasna. Toward the end of our conversation, she asked if she could guide me through a visualization. I hadn’t told her much about turning off my abandoned cart flow, but I should say this about Hasna: before we meet, she sits in meditation and asks the universe what she needs to bring into our time together. As a result, our conversations often feel uncannily aligned with whatever I’m moving through.

She guided me into deep breathing and into the present moment—the only moment that ever really exists. As I settled in, she asked me to connect with the consciousness beyond my physical body, the unknowable, untouchable, unlocatable part of who I am. The eternal part. Then she asked me to imagine myself before I came into this physical world, peeking behind the veil. And quite unexpectedly, she asked me to visualize (and I can’t make this up)… that I was pushing a sort of infinite celestial shopping cart.

Me, petting Jasper in her ‘safe zone’ (under our dining room table — ha!). She’s improved so much, it’s really quite amazing to have witnessed her going from completely feral to semi-tolerant of humans - haha! She still does hiss quite a bit, and is extremely fearful — but enjoys getting pets if she is under the table.

As I moved through the aisles of existence, I was selecting experiences—choosing the circumstances I wanted to live through so my soul could learn what it came here to learn. As she spoke, I felt myself smile. The synchronicity was almost funny: here I was, newly fixated on abandoned carts, and now I was being guided through a meditation where I was choosing items for my own cart of life.

I sensed that I was surrounded by infinite love and support, excitedly selecting a wide variety of experiences. The shelves were filled with every possible situation that could ever exist — and I knew, intuitively, that each precious human was meant to select a variety of things: things that were challenging and beautiful, delightful and frustrating, fun and difficult. I saw such a vast array of experiences: being bullied as a child, learning to play the violin, travelling to new and exciting places, feeling lost and alone, struggling with relationships, becoming a park ranger, losing my job, starting a company, being bored by any number of random tasks or chores… the whole, chaotic wildness of life. I placed them gently into my ethereal cart, knowing that once I entered this rugged, physical world, I’d have the chance to feel all of it—to remember love as I navigated my own, unique trail.

I didn’t see hesitation on my face. I saw delight and excitement: I wanted to get into the world and experience everything that this physical life had to offer. I was eager to begin.

As I sat there, I reflected on the weeks when I had felt lost, and I saw clearly how the universe had guided me back to myself. How frustration and monotony weren’t mistakes—they were things I had chosen too. Even they, as it turned out, were important. With shocking clarity, I knew on a cellular level — that I had chosen this. I had wanted to come into this world to experience the messy chaos of what it means to be a human being. With each new moment, I was learning… growing… blooming and creating.

In a serendipitously ironic turn, I realized the universe had been sending me an abandoned cart message all along.

Don’t forget, it whispered. You’ve left something here.

Each time, love guided me back to the cart—back to the reminder that my life doesn’t lose its meaning in moments of routine or frustration — that, in fact, those are the moments that define the story of what my life will become. How I respond… what I can bring to this moment now… and this one… and this one… no matter how seemingly, ‘meaningless’ — it all matters. Over the course of my life, I’ve tried to run away from many things. I’ve abandoned my cart more times than I can count… because living on this planet can feel like an open wound.

But just when I’m ready to walk away, the cosmos whispers again:

Don’t abandon your cart here.
You aren’t done yet.
Come back to it, friend. You aren’t alone.

A long time ago—before you can even remember—you chose this. You chose it because you wanted to grow alongside the edge of the universe as it becomes all that it can be. Every experience you selected exists because it is precious and necessary.

Each one is part of an intricate and impossible web of moments that must unfold so that all of us—every single being—can return to love. All of our experiences are connected and intertwined — in ways that we can’t possibly understand or know. But, as I closed my eyes and saw the eagerness that I was radiating from every cell in my body for a chance to see what this would all be like, I knew that it was important. That it’s important for all of us.

And maybe that’s the real message.

Not a reminder to buy what’s in your cart.
But a reminder to remember why you came here in the first place.

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Friends — thank you for being here today, and all days! Remember, some days look different than others. Some days, we might find ourselves (literally) on the summit of a mountain… and other days, we might be doing things that would easily be classified as ‘boring’ or ‘frustrating’. It’s so easy to label these moments of our lives as ‘less' meaningful than others — and I want you to know that the preciousness of your life does not lose value in any moment. It doesn’t lose value if you aren’t out on a hike. It doesn’t lose value if you are sitting at home. Your life matters because you are in it, and because you have the opportunity in each and every moment to radiate an infinite amount of love — no matter where you are or what you are doing.

See, today, if you can pick the MOST NORMAL/MUNDANE thing that you do… and make it something special. How can you radiate love on a customer service phone call? Or while writing at e-mail? Or while washing dishes? What can you do to bring love into an unexpected moment of this day… this hour… this minute… RIGHT NOW?

I’m sending you all so much love, today, and all days. You really are something quite miraculous… and I hope you know that.