Carrying It Forward: Reflections from an Evening with Misha Brown

A few weeks ago, I came across Misha Brown on social media.

I had seen bits and pieces of his content before, but I had never really stopped long enough to pay close attention. Lately, I have been deeply immersed in writing, building my coaching business, developing my website, and thinking about everything I want to create next.

In many ways, I had become so focused on writing about intentional living that I had forgotten, at least a little, to actually live intentionally myself.

Then I saw Misha talking about being invited to speak at a Hay House event I will be attending in October.

That caught my attention. But more than that—it stopped me. I had been so absorbed in building that I wasn't actually following my own advice. The irony was pretty clear.

So I looked him up. I learned more about his work. I discovered that Hay House had recently published his book, Be Your Own Bestie. I ordered a copy and started listening to the audiobook before the physical book had even arrived.

A few chapters in, I found myself thinking, There's a lot here that feels familiar. Not because our books are the same. They're not.

Misha is much funnier than I am. His style is irreverent, direct, and unmistakably his. His S.A.S.S. framework speaks to self-reflection, affirmation, boundaries, and intentionally creating the life you want. My own framework, The Twelve Intentions, arrives at some similar truths through a very different path.

And I think that matters.

There are ideas that belong to all of us. Self-acceptance. Compassion. Boundaries. Courage. Reflection. Learning to trust ourselves. Choosing how we want to live rather than simply allowing life to happen around us. We may arrive at those ideas through different experiences and express them in completely different voices, but many of the lessons along the way are surprisingly similar.

The more I listened to Misha, the more curious I became. Then I discovered that he was going to be performing in San Diego.

I could have easily thought, That sounds interesting, and gone back to my laptop. Instead, I bought a ticket. Then I added the meet-and-greet.

When I arrived, the room was packed and intimate. I found my seat at a table across from two women, and we introduced ourselves. One of them asked, "Did you come alone?"

"Yes," I said.

"Why?"

I looked at her and said, "Why not? I'm my own bestie."

We all laughed.

It was a quick, playful exchange, but later I realized how perfectly it captured why I was there. I had wanted to go, so I went. I didn't need to wait for someone else to be available before giving myself permission to have the experience. That, too, is a form of intentional living. And it was exactly what I needed to remember.

Once Misha took the stage, it became clear very quickly why people connect with him. He's funny, but what stayed with me just as much was his storytelling. He was humble, personable, and willing to talk openly about the experiences that shaped him. Beneath the humor was a very human message: know yourself, accept yourself, establish boundaries, protect your peace, and learn to become your own ally.

Or, as the title of his book says, be your own bestie.

As I listened, I kept thinking about my own manuscript.

Writing The Twelve Intentions has been one of the most reflective experiences of my life. The intentions didn't appear to me neatly while I was living through the experiences that eventually became part of the book. I didn't move through a difficult moment and immediately think, This is Courage, or This is teaching me Compassion.

Many of the intentions became visible only later, when I began looking back. When I told my own stories back to myself. When I examined choices, relationships, losses, transitions, mistakes, hopes, and moments when life moved in directions I never expected.

In writing the manuscript, I began to see patterns: Breathe. Focus. Ground. Courage. Create. Thrive. Balance. Gratitude. Compassion. Wonder. Hope. Transform.

They had been there all along.

Writing the book has helped me understand my own life differently. It has allowed me to look at where I've been with more honesty and perspective, but perhaps even more importantly, it has made me think more deeply about who I am becoming.

That's what I hope the book eventually does for someone who reads it. I don't want The Twelve Intentions to tell people who they're supposed to be. I hope it helps them become more fully who they already are—the best version of themselves, the version they were always meant to become.

After the show, I joined the line for the meet-and-greet. I was probably about three-quarters of the way through, which gave me plenty of time to watch what was happening.

One thing immediately stood out: Misha didn't rush people through. He signed books and took pictures, of course, but he also talked with people. He listened. He laughed with them. He seemed genuinely interested in the person standing in front of him. He connected.

While waiting, I began talking with two women nearby. We compared questions we had submitted for Misha earlier in the evening and talked about why we were there. At some point, I mentioned that I had written a book of my own. They asked about it, and before long, I was explaining The Twelve Intentions and handing them both my business card.

It struck me afterward how easily those conversations happened simply because I had decided to show up.

Eventually, it was my turn to meet Misha. I had already written down what I wanted him to put in my copy of Be Your Own Bestie:

Keep carrying the intention forward

I was being a little intentional about the request—I suspected he might ask what it meant. He did.

That gave me a natural opening to tell him about my book. I explained that each chapter of The Twelve Intentions focuses on one intention, and at the end of every chapter I include a short section called Carry It Forward—something the reader can take with them as a reminder of the intention and how it might show up in everyday life.

He told me he loved the idea, and he sounded sincere. We talked briefly about publishing and how his relationship with Hay House came together. I gave him my business card. We took pictures. And then the moment was over.

On the way out, I walked with the two women I had met in line. We had taken pictures for one another during the meet-and-greet, which gave us some wonderfully candid photos that probably captured the evening better than the more posed ones ever could.

I mentioned that I had forgotten to tell Misha I would be seeing him again at the Hay House event in October.

"I hope he remembers me," I said.

One of the women responded that not many people probably tell him they've written a book, explain what it's about, and hand him a business card.

Maybe he'll remember me. Maybe he won't.

I've decided that is not really the important part.

The important part is that I went.

I noticed something that interested me and, instead of filing it away for later, I followed it. I bought the ticket. I walked into a room by myself. I met new people. I talked about my book. I listened to someone whose message both challenged and affirmed some of my own thinking. I laughed. I connected. I participated in my own life.

And maybe that's one of the reminders I needed most.

Intentional living isn't simply about having goals, making plans, or understanding ourselves more deeply. Sometimes it's much simpler than that.

Sometimes it's noticing what catches our attention and giving ourselves permission to follow it. Sometimes it's walking into a room where we know almost no one. Sometimes it's starting a conversation. Sometimes it's allowing another person's story to remind us of something in our own.

And sometimes it's remembering that while we're busy creating what comes next, we still have to live what is happening now.

When I looked again at what Misha had written in my book, I smiled.

What are you carrying forward? I realized that I had become so focused on writing about intentional living, building what comes next, and checking off everything I thought I needed to do that I had stopped paying enough attention to actually living it.

Maybe you've done the same. Maybe you've been so busy managing the plans, the responsibilities, and the next steps that you've forgotten to notice what's happening right in front of you.

So perhaps the invitation is simple: pause, look up, and ask yourself what intention you want to carry forward into your own life—not someday, but now.