by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Jun 11, 2026 | Cleaning, Emotions, Finding yourself, Grief, Health, Mental Health, Mindfulness, Motivation, Personal, Psychotherapy, Relationships, Self-care, Self-reflection, Writing
I’ve been reading a lot of memoirs lately, so this is a slightly different-toned piece. It’s the type of writing I used to do: reflective, narrative, a little personal. It feels a little vulnerable to share. I’m worried it might be awkward for patients and clients, like seeing your teacher in the mall on a Saturday. But, reading others’ stories helps me connect in a way that information can’t. Narrative winds and flows more like water than carefully placed interlocking bricks of facts. Through shared humanity, we see ourselves.
I will continue to do informational pieces, too. I’m still making podcasts (my free Bloodwork Series is available, with a hormone testing chapter coming next). If you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit eclectic and like to cover lots of topics.
But, anyway, I’m trying to write more regularly again, and this style is part of that. It’s part of my yearly Spring Cleaning.
I’ve never been one for New Year’s Resolutions. December bleeding into January, I suppose, is officially a new calendar year, but with the same dreary, dark days and cold weather, it doesn’t feel like the beginning of anything. Instead, I have Spring Cleaning, a season for new beginnings: sorting, inventory, renewal, organizing, and goal-setting.
When I was a naturopathic medical student, I lived with my Nonna on the top floor of her three-story Victorian house near Christie Station in Toronto. On Saturdays, she would wake me, looming over my bed, duster in hand, announcing, “Todayyy: We clean.” Exhausted from the long week of commuting, classes, and studying, I obliged. We rubbed damp microfibre towels over blinds, vacuumed the carpets, and scrubbed the shower, clearing the previous week’s residue from our psyches.
Cleaning was a Nonna thing. It was her pride, purpose and identity. Nonna famously told a Green Party canvasser, when they came to the door to ask for her vote, “You wanna clean-a the environ-nament? Why don’ you start-a by clean-na the street?” She had a point.
Todayyy: we clean has become a private mantra I whisper to myself whenever I want to reset my space. Those weekend mornings, after coffee, reading and scrolling, when I feel like sweeping dirt and restoring order, I think of Nonna. I grab my vacuum and my cloth, and I get to work. I am certain that my efforts would not be up to her standards, but as someone whose relationship with cleanliness and mess has oscillated between extremes throughout my life, my time with Nonna has definitely instilled in me an appreciation for clean, orderly spaces.
When things are wiped down and put in their places, things feel right somehow. Peace and order are restored.
So, every year, around the Spring Equinox, sometime between the last snowfall and the world turning green, birds singing, and fruit trees blossoming, I feel a surge of serotonin seep into my synapses. The glow of the sun melts into my skin like butter on warm toast. Vitamin D levels lift. The world is new again, and so am I.
The light, the warmth, the energy uplift me, and I find myself with a renewed sense of resolve. I want to shake off the heavy, lethargic blanket of winter and dive into health and well-being. I make resolutions. I think about nutrition, I commit to moving more and getting outside. This year, I got back into yoga.
This year, I got honest with myself. I stopped committing to doing things every day, as in, “I’m going to do yoga every day”. Instead, my inner resolve sounded more like “I’m going to start doing yoga regularly, like 4-5 times a week, letting myself miss a day or two, but maybe not too many in a row, in the evenings for about half an hour, or more if I feel like it.” Consistency over perfection.
I started booking appointments: bloodwork, osteopathy, and finally dental (I’d been straight-up avoiding this one). I straightened up my supplements, finishing bottles of stuff, paring down. Now I’m on a few things, like iron, fish oil, magnesium (and some herbs, and a quercetin and vitamin C supplement to get me through this allergy season). Actually, thanks to this regimen, I think my pollen allergies have been pretty mild this year.
I started journaling every day. Or, like with the yoga, most days. I try to write about three pages in a stream-of-consciousness style without stopping (Julia Cameron’s “Morning Pages,” except done at any time of day). And sometimes I do stop, leave it, and come back to it—actually, I started writing this piece in the middle of 1/6th of today’s journaling session. It’s helping me think clearly and breaking down the dam of writer’s block.
The words are flowing again, and with them the debris of doubt. I’m confident the clean water will wash that away in time.
I started dancing and singing more (my poor neighbours).
And then, it was time to clean. Spring Cleaning often calls for a deep clean. Every few years or so, I like to do big purges, a seasonal detox of sorts. I can be ruthless in my aims to eliminate as much as possible, donating garbage bags filled with things that no longer bring me joy. My discrimination against items that have never borne me any ill will, except maybe threatening clutter, can be quite brutal.
I’ve lived in my place for almost seven years, which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere since university, I think. Moving is a forced exercise in getting rid of stuff. One year, with emotionless abandon, I donated all my childhood books and toys, even my Princess Diana Beanie Baby (I know, I know… I traded it for a bottle of homemade wine from a guy who was expecting his first baby).
So, there has been regret, but mostly I often feel peaceful afterwards. I’m lighter, less overwhelmed, and less buried by Stuff (in my head, I say the word like George Carlin did in his famous bit).
This year was different, however. I didn’t embark on an elimination frenzy. I found myself moving more slowly. I went through my apartment, one room at a time: sometimes just an area or a basket. I opened things up and took objects out. I held them, looked at them, and I touched them.
Some things I donated. Some I threw away (not a whole lot, though). Mostly, I cleaned things. I put them back, or somewhere else, or found a new place for them.
I helped my things find their homes.
Some of the places I decided to keep things were weird (my batteries are in a bathroom cupboard). I worry my future self might not remember where I put stuff. But I think I’ll eventually find what I need when I need it. I trust the good sense of my sorting self.
I’m not a hoarder, really (thanks to the purges), but I do have a lot of lip balms scattered all over. Some were just empty jars or tubes. Many were new. I collected them up and put them together, like a squirrel piling up his nuts. Practically, this reduces waste. I no longer have to keep buying lip balm, thinking I need more.
I found spices, truffle oil, vanilla, and other fancy foodstuffs that were not yet past expiry that I’d forgotten about. Finding these treasures created little surges of dopamine. I found a little basket for them.
Instead of removing items, this was very much an exercise in keeping things. In nesting. In loving my things. Marie Kondo (whose book I skimmed) suggests ridding oneself of cards and letters. “Your writing always inspires me,” wrote a colleague on a postcard as part of a workshop we attended in 2019. Another year, I might have read it, held gratitude in my heart, thanked the writer, and then tossed it.
But I thought of my friends, sitting with the blank cards before them, holding them in their hands, thinking of me, and our friendship, deciding what to write before finally putting pen to paper. This year, I touched and read each one. I put them all in a purple folder.
My home is by no means clutter-free; in fact, to the casual visitor, the place doesn’t even look that different. There’s an area in my home that looks like a surf shop: bags of swim toys, swimsuits and wetsuits, pool noodles, surfboards, and sauna hats. It’s still kind of a mess, even after I went through everything.
I love that corner.
I recently unearthed the bin of the few very special childhood toys that survived the Great Donation of 2014. Talkin’ Bubba was in there. I won him in a contest when I was 8 or 9 years old. Do you remember that toy—a bear with sunglasses and wild hair who talks when you press his hands and nose? My niece wants to hear him talk. He needs batteries. I’m not sure what kind, but I know they’re in the bathroom cupboard.
Oh, my dad and I washed my car! We vacuumed, polished, and washed the mats and exterior. We gave her a tire and oil change. I felt so much joy and gratitude for my car, seeing her all fresh and polished.
I moved on to my mental space: finances, budgeting, investing, and savings. Filing taxes in April already brings finances to mind and forces me to review my spending for the year. Not just the money, but the things, services, and experiences that money bought me. Even though taxes suck and no one wants to do them, how much of the year might be forgotten if not for taxes? I have to touch every expense, remember it, catalogue it, and file it.
Confronting anxiety and uncertainty about finances is helpful. I know a lot of us are carrying stress in our bodies and minds about the economy and the affordability of life, and I’m no different. Finances are a common concern in individual therapy sessions with clients, as well as in discussions among colleagues during supervision. We’re all feeling stretched and stressed over the state of the world and our futures.
Facing the stress head-on has been helpful. With a little organization, planning, and intention, I feel more in control and at peace with things. It’s like practicing breath holds for the next time a big wave hits.
I turned to the business and creative space. Thinking about frameworks, streamlining systems, reading books, taking courses and attending supervision. What is next for me in the world of naturopathic medicine and psychotherapy? What would be helpful to add to my practices to better support clients and patients? Maybe you have some ideas on this, reader.
I’m de-emphasizing social media. I set a 30-minute limit for the main social media apps on my phone.
I’ve been reading more. I’m thinking about learning to sew and embroider.
I went through my arts and crafts supplies. I have so many tools: what do I want to make? Maybe my niece and I can make something. I’m playing in the space of creative movement: dancing and singing, finding rhythm, tone and pitch. I’m not good, but I don’t care (again, my neighbours might have a different opinion about this).
As far as spiritual and relational spaces, I tend to keep these parts of my life private. Ultimately, they involve spending quality time with the people who are important to me. Focusing on connection, presence, embodied awareness, and time in nature. Yoga and journaling are helpful.
I have friends who are diving into astrology or attending religious services again. Personally, I’ve been focusing on nervous system regulation, informal meditation, and connecting with a sense of awe and reverence for beauty through walks in nature.
This may all sound intense, and at times it has been. I’ve spent some moments running around like a caffeinated bee, sweeping and scrubbing all the flowers of my belongings. But there are also moments when I sit on the floor, windows open, gentle breeze and warm sunlight coming in, surrounded by things, reading them, turning them over, putting them into piles. My niece and I sorted my shell and beach glass collection in this way.
I can hear those of you with full-time work, families, and all the rest of it (if you’re still here) groaning at the time-consuming work of it all. “Ugh, not another reminder about cleaning the garage,” You might be thinking. I hear you, because I talk every week, if not with you, then with someone in your situation. We’re all stretched thin, overstimulated, and overwhelmed.
But, I know that most of you know I’m not talking about cleaning, so much as touching things with curiosity, taking them out one at a time, like the poem of the Holy Wounds.
And I lift them / one by one / close to my heart / and I say / holy holy.
Maybe Spring Cleaning involves turning towards something that’s been nagging at you for months (Okay, for me, it was the dentist, and it was years), reaching into the depths of the clutter, taking out a box and unpacking it.
In therapy, we use the metaphor “to unpack” all the time. Through non-judgmental conversation, we take things out, touch them, hold them, and decide what to purge and what to keep. We examine these thoughts, feelings, parts, beliefs, distortions, assumptions, memories, and schemas, and we find them new homes. We grieve what we’ve lost or what never came to be.
We love our clutter because our stuff carries people and parts of ourselves. Most of all, we take out only what we can manage. And then we put it back, sometimes changed in some way.
I think it’s important to note that even during sorting and cleaning, dirt and clutter continue to accumulate. The work is never done. But I’m touching everything I own with awe, appreciation, gratitude, and curiosity. My dog and I still track dirt onto the floor every day. Nonna would not be pleased. But, I vacuum it, Nonna, I swear. Tomorrow: we clean.
And, after all this, it’s worth noting that my closet doesn’t look like an IKEA catalogue: beige items sorted into aesthetically calming grid-like shelves and bins. Closets like those don’t usually have boxes filled with their dead dog’s ashes.
Mine does.
Mine is real.
Happy Spring Cleaning, everyone!
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | May 24, 2015 | Art, Balance, Canadian College of Naturopathic Medicine, Creativity, Education, Exercise, Family, Finding yourself, Happiness, Healing Stories, Health, Ideal You, Letting Go, Listening, Medicine, Meditation, Mental Health, Mind Body Medicine, Mindfulness, Motivation, Patience, Personal, Psychology, Relationships, Self-care, Self-reflection, Stress
According to James Altucher, author and entrepreneur, it is possible to reinvent yourself in 5 years. In his book, The Power of No, he tells us how to reinvent our lives by first saying a big, fat No to all the things that don’t serve us—toxic friendships and relationships, stagnant 9-5’s, harmful behaviours, negative thought patterns and, well, just things we simply don’t want to do—in order to free up our lives for greater happiness, abundance and creativity.
It is now the end of May. For me, May has been a month of reinvention. For the past 10 years it has been the month of closing and good-byes, specifically the end of the school year. The Canadian College of Naturopathic Medicine class of 2015 has graduated, as I did last year. Last week my Facebook feed was infiltrated with pictures of flowers, long black gowns and tearfully heartfelt thank-yous to the friends and family that got my colleagues through their gruelling 4 years of naturopathic medical education. Last year that was me—I remember the black gowns, the face-ache from smiling, drinking a little too much at grad formal and winning an award (“Most Likely to Write a Best Seller”—complete with misspelling of “bestseller”) while eating Portuguese chicken at my house afterwards with my friend F and his family. This year, one year later, I watch these events from afar. May 2014 offered new beginnings and chance for reinvention. I was dating, enjoying the sunshine, looking forward to a trip to India, looking forward to beginning a practice as a naturopathic doctor. Mostly, last May was about the death of one life—that of a naturopathic student—and the birth of a new one: a complete reinvention.
This year the rest of my life stretches before me like one long expansive road. My career is underway. My dating life is stagnant. The next steps are more like small evolutions rather than massive, monumental milestones. I most likely will not don a black gown again, but I can reinvent myself by following the 20 steps below. I can always check back into these practices when I’m feeling stuck, alone or afraid. When life is not going my way, there is always a chance to begin a reinvention of some sort. And, I remind myself, my current reinvention is likely well underway. Since I graduated last May, I have been in the process of reinventing: just 4 more years left until I complete my obligatory 5. While 4 years sounds like a long time, I know from experience that 4-year cycles turn over within the blink of an eye.
What stage are you on in your own personal reinvention? Wherever you are, follow these steps to reinvent yourself:
1) Say no. Say no to all the things that you don’t want to do. Say no to things that cause you harm: emotional harm, mental harm, physical harm, loss of time, loss of money, loss of sleep. We need to say no first before we can free up the time and energy to say yes to the things that we actually want. In fact, say “no” to all the things you aren’t saying “F#$% YES!” to. Read this article for more information.
2) Re-examine your relationships. Who doesn’t make you feel good? Who makes you doubt yourself? Who do you feel will reject you if you act like your true self around them? Gracefully begin to distance yourself from these relationships. You might feel lonely for some time, but loneliness is sometimes a good thing.
3) Clear out your junk. Get rid of everything you don’t use, don’t like and don’t need. Marie Kondo, in the Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up, tells us to donate, trade, sell or dispose of everything we own that doesn’t bring us joy. I think that that is a wonderful litmus test to decide what we should be holding on to. Personally, one thing that did not bring me joy was an awful old desk in my room. It was uncomfortable and ugly. I replaced it with a free desk someone I knew was throwing away. I also donated 7 garbage bags of things: books, clothes and keepsakes from when I was a child. Since then, I feel like my room has been infused with a little bit more joy. Remove all your joyless items from your life and observe how your energy changes.
4) Sit in silence. This could be meditation, staring at the wall, chanting or simply breathing. Do it with eyes closed or open. I start at 20 minutes of meditation—a meditation teacher I had told me to always use a timer to increase self-discipline—and work up to 30 some days and an hour on really good days. Start with 5 minutes. Sitting in silence helps to quiet the mind and bring us back to the present. You’ll be amazed at what you discover when you sit in silence. Read some books on meditation or take a meditation course for specific techniques, but simply sitting in silence can offer amazing benefits as well.
5) Explore the topics that interested you as a child. When I got back into painting in 2008, after getting a science degree when I’d always been interested in the art, my life changed a little bit. I started a blog in 2011; it happens to be the one you’re reading now. Get back into whatever you were passionate about as a child, even if it’s just a cartoon you used to watch.
6) Start a gratitude jar. Once a day write down something that you are grateful for—use as much detail as possible—and toss it in a jar or shoebox. When you’re feeling low, open up the jar and read the messages you’ve left yourself. I also tried a similar exercise with things I wanted to manifest or achieve. A few months later I read my entries and realized I’d achieved every single one. It’s amazing what kind of energy glass jars can attract.
7) Read. According to James Altucher, you need to read 500 books on a given topic in order to become an expert on something. You have 5 years to reinvent yourself, so start your reading now. Read one book and then, from that book, read another. It’s interesting where reading trails can lead us. I read one book, which mentions another book, read that book and then end up in a new world I never knew existed. I personally feel a little anxious when I don’t have a book beside my bed, but if you’re new to reading, start small. There are two books that I’ve already mentioned in this blog post; start from either of them and then go from there. The next on my list is The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron, which was mentioned in The Power of No. Who knows where that one will lead me.
8) Get 8-9 hours of sleep a night.
9) Eat your vegetables, especially leafy greens. Avoid sugar, moderate alcohol and caffeine. Eat healthy protein and healthy fats (if you don’t know what those are, welcome to my blog! browse more of my articles on healthy eating or book an appointment with a naturopathic doctor like me!—shameless self promo).
10) Exercise. Enjoy some movement every day.
11) Exercise your idea muscle. According to James Altucher, creativity is a muscle that we need to exercise lest it atrophies, like any other muscle. He recommends getting a journal and writing 10-20 ideas in it every day. They don’t have to be good ideas, just any ideas. Removing the filter of self-judgement is important for allowing creativity to flourish. We need to strengthen that muscle.
12) Get some psychotherapy. Start dealing with childhood wounds and meeting your inner critic. Address your erroneous beliefs about yourself, the world and the past. Contact me to learn where to get quality psychotherapy in Toronto at an affordable price.
13) Expand your social circle. If you find that after following step 2 your social circle has gotten smaller, start to find ways to expand it. My favourite way to reinvent my social interactions, and thus begin to reinvent my life, is to look up a meetup.com group and start attending. If you’re not sure about a meet-up group you’ve attended, give it 2 more tries before deciding not to go back. In 3 tries, you’ve either made new friends and connections or decided that the energies of the group aren’t right for you. Online dating is another cool place to start meeting people outside your social sphere and getting over social anxieties.
14) Establish a self-care routine. What would someone who loved themselves do every day? Try to do at least some of those things every day. It could be going for a 15-minute walk before doing the dishes. It could be doing the dishes rather than leaving a messy kitchen for your more tired future self. Think about what things will make you feel good and then do them. Most of the time this involves bubble baths—light some candles while you’re at it. Read this article on self-care to learn more.
15) Write a Have-Done List. Instead of writing a list of things you have to do today—your standard To-Do List—write a list of things you’ve done at the end of every day. This fills people with a sense of accomplishment from looking at everything they’ve done. It definitely beats the stress and anxiety of looking at the list of things that must get done looming before them.
16) Treat other people as if it were their last days on earth. We’ve all been told to “live each day on Earth as if it were your last.” But what if you lived as if each day on Earth were everyone else’s last? You’d probably treat them a little more nicely, be open with them, be honest with them and not gossip or speak badly about them. You might appreciate them more. The idea is James’, not mine, but I like it. I think it’s a good rule for how to treat people.
17) Pay attention to what you’re jealous of and what you despise in others. The things we are jealous of in others are often our disowned selves. If I’m jealous of my friend’s Broadway debut I’m probably disowning a creative, eccentric and artistic side of myself that it’s time I give love and attention to. The things we’re bothered by in others often represent our shadow sides, the negative things we disown in ourselves. I used to tell myself the story that my ex-boyfriend was selfish; he took care of his needs first. However, maybe I just needed to start taking care of my own needs or come to terms with my own tendencies towards selfishness. Our negative emotions in relation to others can provide us with amazing tools of enlightenment and prime us well for our own personal reinventions.
18) Let go of the things that were not meant for you. Past relationships, missed opportunities, potential patients that never call back, “perfect” apartments, etc. Say good-bye to the things you don’t get. They’re for somebody else. These things are on their own journeys, as you are on yours. If you miss one taxi, know that there are other, probably better, ones following it. So, rather than wasting time chasing after the missed taxi, meditate on the street corner until the next one comes along.
19) Listen. Ask questions. Show curiosity. When someone finishes speaking to you, take a breath and count to 2 before responding. It’s amazing how your relationships change when engaging in the simple act of listening. I love the Motivational Interviewing technique of reflective listening. In reflective listening, we repeat back the other’s words while adding something new that we think they might have meant, looking for the meaning between the person’s—your friend’s, patient’s or client’s—words. I find that this has helped the person I’m speaking with feel truly listened to. If I get the meaning wrong, it gives the other person a chance to correct me and thereby ensure that we’re really communicating and understanding each other. This one simple tool—reflective listening—has transformed my naturopathic practice and interviewing skills.
20) Be patient. Personally, I’m terrible at this. But, like you, I’ll try working on the other 19 steps while I wait for the next stage of reinvention to take hold. I’ve ordered my next book from the library. See you all in 4 years.
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | May 8, 2015 | Balance, Canadian College of Naturopathic Medicine, Clinic, doctor as teacher, Emotions, Finding yourself, Personal, Reflections
It seems like the only thing I can focus on right now is negative space.
Like the obsession with the space between a model’s waif-like thighs, affectionately termed the “thigh gap”, I have seemingly been attributing way too much time and attention to the lack of things in my life. Life is up in the air right now—a freeze-frame of dust particles that someone has stirred up, and we all wait breathlessly to see where they will settle on the ground.
That’s it: I feel unsettled.
And this unsettled feeling has the tendency to sharpen the focus on the things I don’t have in life. The search doesn’t need to go far. I lack stability in my career, a romantic relationship, my own apartment—the typical signs that life is moving forward. I don’t know what two months will bring, let alone the next few years and, as someone who spent all but two years of their waking adult life in academia, not having a future laid out before them in the form of assignments, tests and other externally imposed milestones leaves me feeling uncontained. There is no one conducting evaluations on my life but myself.
And what an astute evaluator I’ve become:
How am I doing? The best way for the masochist to answer this question is to look at how other people are doing. There are plentiful points of comparison if I want to feel fully inferior. Everyone seems to have more patients than I do, nicer apartments and fulfilling relationships. They seem to be moving somewhere. I just feel stuck, not at a crossroads, but at the edge of a cliff. Am I just supposed to jump? Did everyone else jump? Or did they end up hitching a ride on some lucky parachute that happened to pass by a few minutes before me? Why are they lucky? What are my eyes closed to? When will it be my turn? Or am I simply cursed? The mind stirs up more dust. Sense of personal injustices prevail.
This unsettled feeling can’t last.
So I strive. The answer must lie in working harder. After all, it’s what we’re told to do. Push on. Move forward. Just do it, as Nike says, sweat beading on foreheads. There’s always sweat beading on the foreheads of the mentally unsettled.
I hand out business cards, but no one calls me. I try calling them. I look for other jobs that are poor fits. I take more shifts at the day-job I’m holding on to for secure cash. I go to business networking meetings that I don’t connect with and try to convince myself that I should just force myself to make it work. I search desperately for an apartment, and despair when I don’t get the one I finally love. I hold on to past relationships well past their due dates and complain and obsess and analyze what went wrong to my friends, whose patience can’t possibly last much longer. I notice myself compromising my values and dreams in order to get away from the edge of the cliff.
Still I get nowhere.
So I turned to the only thing I know how to when the mind is desperate and despairing and the spirit is looking to the future for salvation—I turn to the present. The dust in up in the air, so to speak. Everything is unsettled. And yet, how am I? I’m more or less alright. I’m warm. I’m fed. I’m rested. My plight is ridiculous when compared to tiny Vietnamese hands sewing buttons on Banana Republic blouses. Who taught me this sense of entitlement?
I have a place to live and some money coming in (the longer it takes me to find an apartment, consequently, the more I end up saving). I have friends who are genuinely concerned about me and a generous, loving and supportive family. I have hobbies and social events to attend. The blessings in my life are numerous.
Why am I so intent on speeding down the highway of life? What will happen when I arrive at my destination? When I have a beautiful apartment, patients booked months in advance, when I’m in a wonderful, loving and passionate relationship with someone who inspires me, what will I do then? Once the dust is settled, won’t I eventually, decide to stir it up again? If I can’t be content in the present, when will I ever find that elusive contentment that always seems to slip out of our grasp?
Most of all, I ask myself, what is behind my longings? Are the reason I long for these things pure? Or, like a perfume or Coca-Cola ad, do I really want what’s behind what they’re selling me: the beauty, enchantment, lightness, freedom and magic that life often promises us but we seldom encounter in the places we’re told to look.
I wonder if, with eyes closed and mind settled, I’ll be able to breathe clear air again. Perhaps then I’ll find a path down from this cliff, a creative alternative to the already available options: jumping, backing down or sitting and waiting for a magical parachute to come and save me.
Between all the wants, needs, dreams and aspirations, between the striving is space. In that space I might find a little room to breathe. But who can really breathe with dust in their lungs?
