“Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches on the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all …”

Emily Dickinson

 
One of our most beloved poets—a woman who had so much to say about nature, religion, law, music, commerce, medicine, fashion, and domestic life—lived most of her own life in isolation. While she created enchanting images surrounding the wonders of nature and love, she was considered an eccentric in her hometown of Amherst, Massachusetts. Emily chose to dress all in white, reluctantly greeted guests in her home, and later in life, chose to not even leave her own bedroom.
 
Yet, she describes Hope as something that perches on the soul and never ceases.
 
Every year, I select a word at the end of December as a mantra or inspiration for the following year. Believe, Breathe, Sparkle, Kindness, and Bloom are some of the words I have chosen. A few years ago, I selected HOPE as my word. Well, one thing I’ve learned is that choosing words like that dares fate to throw things in your path to thwart you in supporting that practice.
 
It’s like Patience … pray for Patience and things come at you to challenge you in maintaining it. Those challenges are designed to help you grow and become more patient. Or, so I’ve been told.
 
But, no matter the stuff that came my way, I held fast. I didn’t give up Hope. I lit a candle and nurtured that thing with feathers.
 
This year, it has been tough to keep hope strong. I had high expectations for 2022 … after all the drama of 2020 and 2021. This was going to be a great year with lots of promise. And, it started off fabulously. Fun New Year’s Eve with family and friends, and a few days later I was cast in a lead role in a play. But, the very next day, I lost my job. While I’ve since started a new job, far better than any I left behind, the year continued on a similar path … ups and downs, hills and valleys, mountain tops and crevices.
 
We put a lot of pressure on “The New Year,” with resolutions embedded in its white as snow promises and clean slate. When it disappoints so quickly into the new year—like it did in 2020, Hope flies south for the winter, along with all the other birds.
 
This year, people I love and care about are struggling. I have a difficult time nurturing and choosing Hope when I see sadness and depression—when I witness devastating loss, unkindness, and illness. I become Angry at God for not stepping up to the plate and for allowing people I care for–and people in our world that I don’t even know–to struggle and suffer.
 
But, that’s the thing about praying with Emily Dickinson, the recluse with such insight about Love who never truly experienced its magnitude. Have you read the full poem? It continues like this …

 “And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.”

Hope, Emily tells us, is there in the Gale. Hope, she writes, keeps flying in the storm. Hope keeps us warm even when we struggle. Hope perches on our very soul. Hope asks nothing of us but to let it fly.
 
Hope is a thing with feathers. You can’t catch it. You can’t grab at it and hold that thing with feathers too tight, or you will crush it.
 
No, for Hope to sing its song, you simply need to let it fly and trust that no matter how dark the day, it will continue to Soar.

July 20, 2022

That was the 53^rd Anniversary of the Moon Landing.

I know the date because I was born on that day. I was 3 when my birthday cake featured a rocket and my parents kept me up to watch the moon landing on our black and white television. I remember it. Well, I remember what they’ve told me about that day and thus created a memory to draw on.

A few years ago, the film First Man was released. Did you see it? It featured Ryan Gosling in the role of Neil Armstrong. My son Jarod and I watched the film. He’s always been fascinated by the space race and moon landing. I can take a little bit of credit for introducing him to Apollo 13 and numerous docudramas about the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo years. But I can’t take credit for his continued interest. He was six when my husband Doug and I took him and our 6-week-old daughter Paige to NASA. The fascination still seems to stick—as it does for me.

In the film, there is this one pivotal moment that really resonated with me. Neil Armstrong is all alone. Radio silence. The lunar module had to travel around the dark side of the moon. There would be no contact from earth or the capsule. Just Armstrong alone in a place where there were no “befores.” No comforting words from Mission Control. Just him in this small metal box … billions of miles from home. No idea if he would really every make it back. Oh, what was supposed to happen had been theorized and outlined on paper. But, before that actual moment, had not truly been tested.

The film creates a chilling atmosphere. There’s no background music playing. Nothing. Just Armstrong’s breath. The silence emphasizes how alone he was out there in space.

Life is kinda like that. The theories and plans are there. But … will they work? We can fill our calendars and look ahead, but we cannot predict life. We are alone in the world … with all sorts of plans.

And, as we hurtle through space – like that Apollo 11 rocket hurtled through space – what will we find when, and if, we land? Will be find ourselves without communication, on the dark side of the moon? Where exactly WILL we land? Will it be on solid ground? Will we make a return trip safely? Will the travels change us? And, will that transformation be for the best … or not?

So … Neil Armstrong. Silence. Alone. Descending steps from the lunar module onto the surface of the Moon. A place previously untouched. No human had every attempted anything like that. Each step down was a step into the unknown. Each leap across the surface, was a leap in utter silence and into the unknown. And, when he eventually climbed back into that capsule after the life-altering time exploring the Sea of Tranquility, he had to wonder would the capsul really leave the moon and dock with the Command Module … and would it safely return on earth?

The scientists had theories. But the scientists weren’t out there. They were back at their chalkboards, biting their nails and hoping all those mathematical equations were correct.

Each day, we live through that. Silence when life is rough. Often we face difficult moments alone. We don’t truly know what will happen as we rise from bed. Oh, we make lots of plans. But, those are just … guidelines for what might actually happen.

No. As we drift through space like Neil Armstrong, all we truly have is Faith that we are not hurtling through space alone. Faith that we will make it to the moon, that we will walk safely across its surface, that we will climb back into our little rocket and that we will make it home safe to our family, friends, and faithful cat in one piece.

One small step for man. One giant leap for mankind. It’s all about Faith. Every step and every leap … be they small or be they giant.

“And the Lord God said, It is not good that man should be alone;

I will make him a helper comparable to him.”

Genesis 2: 18

I’ve written quite a bit about Yoga, Barre3, and exercise. So, you are probably thinking this will be another honorable mention of these themes. And, you’d sort of be right.

In all forms of exercise, there are “props.” In Yoga, there is a mat–perhaps a block or a strap. In Barre3, there is also a mat along with a core ball, resistance band, and–if you choose–weights. If you are a runner, there are special running shoes. Skaters need skates. Yes, I could go on and on.

Looking at this from my theatre perspective, actors use “props” on stage. Perhaps a book, a skull, a can of whipped cream or a special glass. Props help performers create a specific persona or image, supporting their actions or character with a physical item.

Get the idea? Props are useful items that help us out.

But they aren’t just “things.” Sometimes, they are people. Like in Genesis…God created a “helpmate,” (aka a Prop in the form of a person) to support and help Adam because it was just no good for him to go it alone.

So, it that’s a truth–that it’s no good for a person to go it alone–why do we so often try to live that way? I mean, if you want to climb Everest, you don’t just grab a coat and pair of boots and then start up the mountain. You do some thinking, planning, and outreach. You form a team. You ask question of those who have climbed before. You spend time gathering supplies and preparing for your adventure. You don’t make the climb until you have aligned and gathered all your resources–all your props.

Like Barbara Streisand once sang: “People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.” And, people DO need people. Oh, not all the time. I mean, being alone is good for us. I’m an introvert myself and not only require but enjoy alone time. It allows me to be quiet, meditate, think, write, or dig deep inside and find a clearer sense of self.

But when I have big decisions or face challenges, I gather my props and people who support me. People who can offer opinions or thoughts. People who can “prop” me up when I’m struggling. Heck, I have no problem going to a movie or a coffee shop alone. But, it can be a lot of fun when you have someone with you–someone you trust, enjoy spending time with, or who just brightens your life in some way.

We are not created to deal with the struggles of this existence all on our own. If we learned nothing from Simone Biles and her opening up about anxiety–or Michael Phelps who looked to us all like someone on top of the world but who struggled with depression for many years–we know that help cannot come only from our selves. We need others to shine a light when our tunnel gets dark, and we no longer have the strength to lift the flashlight all by ourselves.

There are times, yes, I choose to be alone. But, when I am struggling to hold Half Moon pose, it’s a lot easier to kick my leg up when I have a block to help me. (Okay, are you satisfied? I gave you a yoga reference!) I can balance better if I grab the arm of the couch when I go up. And, if nothing else, when I start to fall, I can lean against a wall and regain my balance. These are all “props”… In their own unique way, they help me stand tall or find my strength to keep balanced.

It’s not weakness to ask for help. It’s not lack of strength to phone a friend, or a minister, or a therapist. It’s not weakness to walk away, despite everyone’s eyes on you and the expectations surrounding you. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is call that friend and say, I need help.

It is not good for us to try and navigate the challenges in our lifetime alone. We need people. We need our props. They are there. Dust them off and Use Your Props.

My son and I recently took a trip to visit family in central Indiana. It’s about a 5 hour drive by car. I can make the trip solo and handle all the driving. But Jarod enjoys sharing the driving, which works just fine for me. I’m able to snag a little nap and he’s able to do the same, when we’re not behind the wheel of course.

At yoga today, the instructor suggested we pay attention to Transitions during class–that moving from pose to pose is just as important as the pose itself. What an intriguing concept. I must admit that I don’t typically notice much in the process when I flow from pose to pose. The instructor tells us to move to the next pose and I do just that, focusing more on what happens when I get there–on my stance, arm, leg, hip or whatever I’m stretching. The how I arrive in the pose isn’t something I really pay attention to…

Honestly, I don’t think I’m too far off base if I suggest that many of us are more focused on getting TO the next thing than on HOW we get there. I mean, the drive on the freeway is a means to an end. It’s how we get to the place we want to be. I’m focused on getting to my destination. I watch the mile markers as they go from higher numbers to lower ones, indicating I’m nearing the exit and “almost there.” Oh, I pay attention to my speed and the mileage to the next rest area. But, the drive hasn’t been my favorite part of the trip, at least not until recently. Today, I recognized that “the drive” was actually another example of a Transition, and I was missing out on some good stuff that I could instead savor along the way.

On the trip to Carmel, Jarod and I talk. We debate ideas, share concerns or thoughts, play music and discuss songs or artists we enjoy. Sometimes he works on his computer and shares updates about work or things he’s doing. During those 5 or so hours, we discuss all sorts of different things. It’s really a fun aspect of the trip that I look forward to more and more.

Driving along the freeway, in between Home and the Place I’m Going To, I’m learning that some pretty great conversation happens. Moments that I truly value and enjoy are created. Sometimes, that 5 hours passes before I realize it.

In January, my position was eliminated. Bring on the Job Search. Fun … NOT! How many people enjoy that process? I mean, really? Can we bypass the hassle, the applying for unemployment, the updating of the resume, the job search sites and filling out numerous applications, the scheduling of interviews, the networking, etc. and just move on to the offer, the next gig, the work, the paycheck, the routine?

No. Not how it works. If you want to find the “Next Right Thing,” you have to pay attention to the Transitions. Slow down the process a bit. Think about what you truly want to do–and where you want to do it. Notice what fills your bucket and supports your spirit. Consider what does NOT fit who you are today because, something I realized this time around, what we want and who we are in our career DOES change. Choose to apply not to everything that pops up on Indeed, Monster, LinkedIn, Career Builder etc. but to selectively identify positions and companies that speak to you. The ones that offer you something in the work that resonates with your own personal style, goals, ideals, values, and needs.

It takes a little time. You have to allow for the layoff shock to wear off before you decide where you want to go next. At least, I do, But, in the Transition, you can find strength and refined clarity. By slowing down and staying focused in the moment, I made time to reflect on what I wanted and also identify what I didn’t want. I surprised myself a bit there. As a bonus, during the additional hours I had each day, I made lists and created routines to keep myself focused and busy. I connected with friends, was available for my family to handle some day-to-day and even more urgent stuff that I might have missed had I rushed the process, and I enjoyed settling in before I rushed to get back out. Two months later, after several interviews, many conversations with people I trusted, and much introspection, I found the right fit–the next right thing for the person I am today. But, it took time and consideration.

It required me to lean in and trust the Transition.

In this lifetime, so many of us are in a rush. And when we rush, we miss the now. The typing of this blog on my new MacBook Air and the patter on the keys as I try so hard to focus a thought is just as important to me as the end result. It’s also pretty enjoyable, otherwise I wouldn’t spend the time or energy writing it.

Inhale. Exhale. Knit. Purl. Turn the page and read slowly. Notice the trees as you take a walk. Call a friend and listen to the conversation without doing something else at the same time. Make dinner and savor the preparation. Rehearse the play, and revel in the process.

Pay attention to the Transitions. The in-between moments.

Today during yoga, I moved slowly from pose to pose. I felt the stretch and the tightness. I eased myself from one move to the next. Today, I sat and listened to my sister as she spoke. Today, I petted the cat while we waited together for the vet to come in, leaving my phone in my purse. Today, I texted a friend since we didn’t have time to get together and engaged in fun banter for a few minutes. Today I typed and enjoyed the texture of the keys and the flow of thoughts from mind to page.

I invite you to join me in becoming more Mindful of the Transitions. Because, like the drive in the car and conversations with Jarod along the freeway, that’s an important part of the Adventure. Why rush the process? It takes time to get from one place to the next. Five hours to get to Indy from my house. Take a breath, instead. Discover enjoyment in each mile you drive along the highway of your life.

“Be strong and of good courage. Do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord is with you wherever you go.”

Joshua 1:9

Two years ago I fell on the ice while I was skating. I haven’t been back to the rink since.

Not sure exactly what happened. Perhaps I lost my balance or was distracted by something. Perhaps my toe caught on an irregularity or a bump of ice or I leaned too far forward. But there I was, face down. My knees hit first, and I bit my lip falling. There was lots of ice on my red sweater and jeans. And a drop or two of blood on the ice.

The rink was empty. No one saw, which was good for my ego I guess. But it also meant that no one could help me up. Oh, I wasn’t injured. Just a bit dazed in the surprise of the moment. The fall was unexpected as I’d been coasting so nicely for a good while.

But there I was. Fallen down.

Lately, with the Winter Olympics front and center, I’ve been watching the skaters. When they fall, they bounce up really fast. Quite impressive since when I went down, it took me a bit of time to regain my footing and climb back up on my skates. But I did. Dusted off more than a little ice too.

The next step… resuming what I had done before the fall. Skating. And not just to the nearest exit. But taking at least one more circuit of the rink. Otherwise, all I would remember was the fall. All I would remember would be the bruises on my knees and the slightly fat, bloody lip. My confidence was rattled, and I was tempted to just head out.

But I didn’t. Not how I wanted the day to end. Instead, I skated around the rink three more times before calling it quits.

But, as I said, that happened two years ago, and I haven’t put my skates on since. I haven’t gone back to the rink. Oh, I can give you a list of reasons. Covid. Full time job. Too busy. Other things happening. Don’t like to skate with too many people around. Reasons? Perhaps. Excuses? Probably.

As I’ve stated before, every time I put on my skates and venture out on the ice, there is a little fear. A little voice in my head cautioning me and trying to convince me to do something else with the time I’d decided to dedicate to skating. I mean, all I do there is skate in a circle. No tricks. No leaps or backward maneuvers. No cross overs with the feet, like I was so good at when I roller-skating in my youth. Nothing fancy at all. Just one slide in front of the other with the intention to stay upright. Those were my goals during the 30-45 minutes I’d dedicate to this activity.

But, after that fall, I found myself feeling even more tentative. Did I really want to get back on that ice again? Did I want to dust off the skates stored so neatly under my desk and sharpen the blades? Or, might it perhaps be time to choose something that doesn’t come with that kind of mental, emotional, and physical challenge associated. Something safer. I mean, there are lots of things I enjoy doing. Maybe the time had arrived to choose differently…

Perhaps I’m not just talking about skating… Perhaps this is more of an allegorical questions. I’m asking here what you do when you “fall down” and wonder what you should do next. What do you do when you’re faced with the question of whether you should tie on a pair of ice skates or instead choose to keep two feet safely on solid ground? Do you risk going out on the “ice” again, venturing courageously into something that has delighted you but also challenged you and caused you to tumble a few times? Something that caused you to question your abilities and whether you should skate at all? Or do you seek the nearest exit, box up your ice skates, and choose something a little less demanding? I mean, there are other fun activities–activities that are a bit easier to do and still rewarding.

But then… this Bible verse reading from the Daily Bread devotional reminded me to “be strong and of good courage.” To remember that I’m not alone on the ice–or anywhere else. That the Lord is with me. That there are people who support and believe in me. They won’t give up on me because I took one tumble–or seven. They’ll help me up. And they’ll cheer me on, if what I want is to “step back onto the ice.” I just have to find the confidence in myself to resume the circuit.

Ice skating puts you on unsteady ground. There are lots of aspects of life that do that. When you fall, you might feel–like me–a bit shaken. Determining the “Next Right Thing” is a slippery matter.

I’ve hit more than a few bumps in the ice in my life. I’ve zigged and zagged and tumbled more times that I would have liked. There are people and situations that tripped me up. Times when I stumbled and lost my balance. But after these “falls,” I didn’t pack up my skates and go home. Well, I did a few times when I had to regroup and reset. However, I eventually tied those laces back up and found my stride. But now– after so many falls I’ve lost count–I find myself gazing out on the newly polished, glassy ice and wondering… is this the moment I hang up my skates for good and opt instead for something a little gentler on my body and spirit? Is it time for a safer choice?

I’m probably not alone here. When bad things happen and we take a tumble, it’s very tempting to consider a different or less demanding route. And, sometimes, that’s a good choice. Oh, I know who I am. I know what I’m good at. And while I’m no great skater, I do love the sound of the blades cutting through the ice and the crisp, cold air on my face. Yes, I know that I took a fall on both the literal ice and a more personal “ice rink” two years ago that shook my confidence and made me question whether I will ever put my skates on again. I mean, there ARE other things to do.

But… it comes down to this. I enjoy skating. I enjoy my time on the rink. And, I’m pretty good at keeping it simple, going around in a circle with a delighted smile on my face.

As I consider my next steps, I refuse to be afraid. I don’t want to avoid challenges. I want to do something that makes me happy. Something that excites me, challenges me, engages me mentally and emotionally, and inspires me to get out of bed and make a difference in my world.

Okay, maybe I’m not just talking about skating…

So, even after falling, one thing is becoming increasingly clear. I’m not done on “the ice.” I want to put my skates back on and head to the rink for a few more loops. I enjoy it. It makes me happy and gives me a feeling of accomplishment every time I circle the rink.

And when I finally hit that stride, I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

There is not much I enjoy more than a good book and a good bookstore. I’ve gotta admit this, I’ve had moments in the Fiction Aisle that I will not only never forget, but treasure. Memorable moments amidst books are precious to me.

Around words and stories, I feel more alive than almost anywhere else. When my son moved out on his own after college, we converted his room to a Library. I spend hours in that room… reading, writing, studying lines, and even napping. Words for me are comfort and discovery, adventure and romance, life and breath.

I’ve always loved a good book, a good story, a good read. I choose mostly fiction, though I’ve begun dabbling in non-fiction in recent years. And, I have a habit of reading more than one book at a time. This year, I’m reducing the number of open books. This year, there is method to my reading madness. Currently, I’m in the midst of one Audiobook, one Fiction, and one Non-Fiction. Guess I’m trying for a little more balance in my reading habits.

I was raised in a home where books were important. My mom, especially, was an avid reader. In recent years, since his retirement, my dad has also been drawn in by books. As a child, I was offered the option of reading before bed or going right to sleep. As I remember it, I could go to bed at 9:00 with lights out or go to bed at 9:00 and read til 9:30. What child wouldn’t opt for the later time? My parents were clever.

I remember my father reading to me. Mother West Wind stories were among the books he chose. He read them to my kids as well. Something about those tales and the way he shared them was comforting.

My Fourth Grade Teacher Ms. Townsend was considered a terror by most students at Cooks Corners Elementary. But, she read The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler to every one of her classes. That book now resides on my bookshelf, and I read it to both of my kids. Books transcend time and connect generations.

Growing up, there was a bookstore my parents took me to at Marshall Field’s when we’d travel in to see the windows and lights of Chicago at Christmas. There was also a small bookstore on the square of downtown Valparaiso–and a Library. No matter the space, I loved browsing the aisles and finding new tales. I recall times when I was certain I too could find my way to Oz or help Nancy Drew solve a mystery. A place with books is magical.

One of my favorite things to do when I visit my brother is to visit the used bookstore. Indy has this great option called Half Price Books–it’s a chain, actually, with numerous locations. Jeff and I have been known to visit every one on a given afternoon.

I treasure these trips to Half Price. We enter those hallowed walls and separate… we each tend to arrive with lists or ideas of categories and books we are seeking. Otherwise, I’d get lost. And, every time I leave the store, I score something special–a script from the film version of Much Ado, an Agatha Christie I haven’t read, an acclaimed author with a release I missed. And, while I’m there, I’ve been known to strike up conversations with fellow readers intent on finding that special sought after book too. We lose time in the aisles. But when Jeff and I depart the store, at least one or two books heavier, we talk through our discoveries on the way home. See, books Connect people.

With Jeff, I have found some amazing reads. We choose different types of books, but most importantly, we both treasure a good story. I introduced him to Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather, hooking him into Discworld. He pilfered my copies of C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series–returning them a decade or two later. And he introduced me to Neil Gaiman, Christopher Moore, and most recently Taylor Jenkins Reid.

It began with another one of her books, really. Daisy Jones and The Six. Jeff said it might be his “book of the year.” And that’s saying something since he, like me, reads a lot of books in any given year. I picked up a copy at Half Price and was drawn in by not only the story but by Taylor Jenkins Reid’s style of writing. I was curious what else was out there by this clever author.

And, I was answered when my niece Abby mentioned The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo.

I’m a sucker for a good title. I’m a sucker for good cover art or a unique font. And this one had both. But it was unavailable at Half Price, so I turned to my next resource… the Royal Oak Public Library. A few months went by before this elusive and apparently popular read became available.

I couldn’t put it down. The story drew me in and pushed me out. The crafting of the book layout fascinated me. The tale absorbed me and kept me reading late into the night. The philosophy on the pages had me taking photos of text or writing down special quotes. So many thoughts resonated with me, especially this one:

Intimacy… connection. A good book offers that. It reaches into your soul and your imagination and sparks a meaningful relationship. One you can share even after you close the book and return to the world, changed, thoughtful, and inspired. One that can continue sparking intimacy as you share discoveries, adventures, and ideas uncovered on the written pages with important people in your life. People like a good friend, a brother or sister, or your children and grandchildren. Perhaps even your 4th Grade Class.

Unlike a movie, a book relies on your imagination to create the images of the characters, the sounds of their voices, the way they dress, and the places they travel. Losing yourself in a good book invites you on an adventure to a place you’ve never been, but suddenly begins to feel familiar. And Evelyn’s story, well, I’m not offering any spoilers. But it’s a rich tale that transports you to the glamorous early days of Hollywood and shares a glimpse into the lives of its rising stars. Yet, it’s more than a fictional tale. It offers questions where the answers and how you respond/react evolves. Like the cover of a good book, it teases you, reminding you that what’s hidden inside may be more complex and messier than the cover art or font choice imply.

I’m lucky to have a brother who talks books with me. Who loves to explore bookstores and find gems within pages of cardboard and paper. Who also created his own home library that provides a special haven for him. Books like Evelyn Hugo offer philosophy as well as a means to escape. They inspire and teach.

And if you’re lucky enough to have a brother–or a friend–to explore a bookstore with, you might just find your way into the magical Land of Oz after all.

“Winter is a time to slow. To grab hold of that wheel that spins your days too quickly and give it a firm tug. To let your thoughts catch up with your body. To pin down that idea that’s been circling your mind for months. To remember that life isn’t an emergency.”
— Kelsi Turner

Today is one of those February days that seem to occur more rarely than I recall during the winter months of my childhood. A day where local meteorologists portend doom and gloom, warning us that the sky is falling so we should beware. Today there is a “Winter Weather Warning” with the potential for not simply a few inches, but over a foot of snow.

Schools are closed. Businesses sent employees home early. I baked some bread–which makes the house smell good–and now sit here happily with a cup of tea, feeling as though I’m immersed in a snow globe that someone has vigorously shaken.

This Warning hasn’t affected me too much. I did Virtual Yoga, instead of attending a live class. And, I was able to get both to the grocery store–the store shelves a bit barer than usual–and to my daughter’s doctor appointment–which was rescheduled so the office staff could go home early.

Like I said, the sky is falling.

Outside, I’m beginning to hear the tell-tale sound of shoveling, and I wonder if I should pull out the snow blower and clear the first layer of wintery mix from my driveway.

However, I decide to remain indoors, cozy in my sweats, cardigan, and slippers. The snowfall is so quiet. Snow blankets the world in white and demands one very obvious thing when it arrives so dramatically.

It demands that we slow down. It demands that stay indoors–or, if we go out, it requires us to be more mindful as we drive on the roads or walk on sidewalks. Snowy days offer an excuse to snuggle under a blanket with a book or watch a movie. Snowy days invite us to relax and take it easy–inside.

Nope, can’t go out … too much snow and nowhere to go!

Curious that we need a winter storm to do something that is ultimately so good for us. Slowing down, settling in, taking our time, giving ourselves permission to rest, read, write a blog, or take that nap.

Our lives are so busy. December is a whirlwind of activity and events. The month is consumed by Holiday plans with family. Concerts. Baking and cooking. School and work commitments. Shopping. Our to-do lists are massive, our calendars are full, and our stress level is off the charts. Then come January and February–and Winter. The temperatures drop and the weather becomes more unpredictable, as though it realizes that we are ready for a long winter’s nap. That for our well-being and mental health we need a little chilly time. That for our own well-being, we need an opportunity to hibernate, even if only to get ready for whatever comes in the spring months.

When I encounter days like today, I intuitively recognize them as invitations or opportunities to slow down. To be honest, though, it takes me a bit to unwind. I’m quick to pop up after a page or two of my book, to notice some dust that needs my immediate attention, or to think of something I need to do other than settle my body, mind, and spirit into a little stillness and quiet. I actually find it’s necessary to give myself permission to stop and rest. I’m still coming to terms with the knowledge that rest is good for me. Necessary. Helpful. Needed. Nurturing.

I mean, there are numerous other “things” competing for my attention and calling me to action. Probably the same can be said for others. Stillness does not come easy. But, I’m recognizing that this stillness I create helps me manage the tumultuous ocean waves that stir beneath the surface.

I’ve started meditating, which teaches me the importance of finding a few quiet moments and focusing not on my to-do list but on my breath. It’s becoming more natural to begin my day with a meditation practice. And, there are benefits to this slower, more mindful morning activity. I find that no matter what comes my way, I’m a bit more patient with myself and others after meditation and breath work.

Slowing down is good for me. And good to me. It gives me time to check-in. To see how I’m doing and take steps to better care for myself.

Today is a Snow Day. They happened often when I was a kid thanks to lake effect snow. I loved them then. I love them now –especially when I have nowhere that I truly have to go and can make the most of the time to slow down. It’s a day where we can nestle in to enjoy those inside projects or choose to go outside and discover our inner child, perhaps build a snowman or make a snow angel.

In the quiet, I restore … Snow Days are good. Think I’ll plan one again. Next time perhaps I’ll plan one when there’s no snow.

“La Vie En Rose … It is the French way of saying ‘I am looking at the world through rose-colored glasses.'”
–Audrey Hepburn

I read once that finding peace of mind and creating lasting relationships becomes more likely when you choose to apply three key principles:

1. Unconditional Acceptance
2. Lowered Expectations
3. Positive Distortion

Not easy they are, say I in my best Yoda-speak.

See, when I flip my calendar to July each year, I have great expectations for this important month. It features a traditional holiday as well as my birthday, so what’s not to like? And this year, July would include the release of my very first, long dreamt about (by me) book “Taking Yoga Off the Mat.”

Do you have it yet? If not, what’s the hold up? No time like the present! Click HERE and you are all set 🙂

Sorry for the commercial break and shameless self-promotion. July to me is supposed to be Thirty One-derful days. There will be cake, presents, paddle-boarding, yoga by the water, and celebratory times with my family and friends. But when things go south on July 1, you know you’re in for a bumpy ride.

In the midst of the global pandemic, my cat Ellie–who truly has been a key, unselfish support system and morning coffee buddy for me and featured so prominently in much of my writing–became very suddenly ill. We rushed her to the doctor, who found her severely anemic and sent us promptly to an emergency center. We handed her over to the doctor in her crate and waited for the results in our car. Covid, you know. We waited for 4 hours before they told us she needed an emergency blood transfusion and they would need to keep her overnight.

The doctors expected it was some kind of infection. They would do an ultrasound and call us in the morning. But when they called, the news they gave us the next day was news you don’t want to hear. Unexpected, awful news. Our family was devastated, but we brought Ellie home. The doctor told us that by putting her on prednisone, we might enjoy a little more time with our beloved Ellie. So that’s what we did… showered her with love and enjoyed every moment. We shared the news with only a few people–it was too hard to talk about–who provided much needed support during this difficult time.

Well, seven months passed, July 1 arrived, and Ellie was still with us–sassy as ever! The doctors and my friend Eileen called her a Wonder Kitty. We prepared for our annual July 4th Holiday trip north–Ellie loves it up by the woods and water with the sites, sounds, and smells (and we do too!)–when suddenly my daughter Paige noticed that Ellie’s eye was watering.

We wiped it a bit and continued to pack the car.

And it got worse. Her eye started to look like it was melting.

We called the doctor, who sent us to emergency. There we found out that the prednisone she was taking had caused her cornea to blister and rupture (a condition called bullous keratopathy). She needed immediate eye surgery. Know what else they found during this testing? Her red blood counts were normal. No anemia at all. And the terminal cancer they told us that she had… oops.

This was July 1. The month was screwed.

Ellie came home wearing a cone, ravaged by the medicine that was supposed to be temporary but ended up causing damage to her beautiful green eyes. There were eye drops and medicines, doctor appointments, and steps taken to keep her safe and confined to the main floor. My daughter was a rock, finding strength she didn’t know she had to help her cat. She helped me find that too. And Ellie took eye drops like a champ!

See, Ellie is a fighter. And now… six weeks after the surgery… she’s cone free, sleeping nights at my feet (or sprawled out on my husband’s side of the bed staking her claim), and regaining her Muchness. She’s under doctor supervision (a NEW one!) as we wean her off prednisone. And we remain hopeful that whatever happened in December–no one really knows just what that was due to the misdiagnosis–doesn’t return. Oh, the veterinary ophthalmologist found something else going on in her eyes, keratoconjunctivitis, and prescribed a new med. But, the good news IS she’s running around, going up and down stairs with ease, and showing signs of her normal and even her pre-December 30 self.

So, I started this post by talking about three concepts that support lasting relationships and peace of mind. I started by talking about my book, the one where I discuss using techniques learned in yoga to unequivocally state that we CAN do and handle hard things and that the awful stuff that comes along is only temporary anyway. I started by talking about how the month of my birthday I expect wonder, joy, cake, fun with friends, and sweet spot specialness.

Well, throughout July 2021 I did my best to lower my expectations. I did my best to accept unconditionally what came my way and release the stuff that I hoped would happen but, well, just didn’t.

I did my best. Really. But I fell short. Guess I need to re-read my book!

But where I really missed the mark was employing Positive Distortion. I misplaced my “rose-colored glasses” and felt like the sky was falling more days than I care to admit. My book release, my vacation plans, my ease on the mat, and even my celebratory birthday joy were greyed out by worry and fear.

Yet, I made it through. And, I’ve not only found a new pair of Rose-Colored glasses, I’m reminding myself to actually put them on.

Life may disappoint. People may not do or understand or play the role that I had scripted or hoped for them. Cats might get sick when the car is packed for vacation. People may cancel plans or not show up when and how you want them to. But… when I lower my expectations, when I unconditionally accept what is happening and the people around me for who THEY ARE (not who I want them to be) and what THEY CHOOSE to offer me, and when I remember that a little Positive Distortion can brighten the darkest moments, well, I find strength, peace of mind, joy, and true contentment, no matter what.

On July 2, all I wanted to do was get through the month. Well, it’s Friday, August 13, and I did. Ellie is stronger. I am stronger. And there were lots of amazing moments in the middle of it all. No, maybe not Thirty One-derful days. But, all in all, pretty darn good.

–-Jenni

… Moments so dear. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. How do you measure? Measure a year. “Seasons of Love” – Rent

One year ago, do you know where you were? Do you recall who sat next to you when the NBA announced that it cancelled its remaining season? Do you recall who told you March Madness was Players Only? Or when you heard that this traditional tournament was cancelled altogether?

One year ago, what were you doing? What was the last movie you saw in a movie theatre? What was your last live entertainment experience? Where was the last restaurant you visited? What were the final classes or activities you enjoyed before doors where locked?

One year ago, did you pack up the desk at your office and initiate work from your “home office”? Did you have a college student home on Spring Break, learn he — or she — would not be returning to campus? Did you have a child in public school begin the indefinite learning from home education experience? Did you go to the grocery store and take a photo of the empty toilet paper aisle?

One year ago, had you ever heard of Zoom?

It’s been quite a year. So much has changed since Friday, March the 13, 2020 … the day we truly discovered that this COVID-19 Pandemic thing that we’d heard about happening in China was a little bit more significant than something taking place on the other side of the globe. It’s been a year since the term “Social Distancing” was first uttered. It’s been a year since we started wearing masks. It’s been a year since the run on toilet paper and hand sanitizer sent our country into a full-scale panic mode.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes ago would you have anticipated the loss, the separation, or the change in our country, our activities, our habits and our relationships? Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes ago would you have had the same priorities that you have today? Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes ago — if you had known the toll the COVID-19 pandemic would take on you personally, is there anything you might have chosen to do differently … something you neglected, put off or failed to do before March 13, 2020 changed the way we lived?

I wear a mask everywhere now. I have assorted, stylish masks with filters. A friend of mine knows someone who makes them, and I’ve ordered a few custom ones. Since I’m back out in the workforce full time now, I prefer to wear a new one daily. It’s not fashion, really. It’s the practicality of something clean on my face each day. (Okay, it’s a little bit fashion/style-driven.) A year ago, one mask was going to be all I needed. I mean, how long could this pandemic thing really last? A couple weeks? Surely we’d be back to normal by summer?

By the time the kids when back to school?

By the Holidays.

Who could have foretold that we would still be sitting, separated by a minimum of six feet and wearing a mask, five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes later?

Um … well … here we are.

So, I ask you, what’s changed? Who have you lost? What have you lost? What do you miss most? How are you handling it? For people I know who could not bury or attend funerals for those stricken by this pandemic, my heart bleeds for you. For people whose loved ones were sick, but they couldn’t visit them in their hospital room and hold their hands as they passed on to their afterlife, my thoughts are with you. For young people who can’t go to school or enjoy activities that nurture and help shape them as they grow up, I am sorry you are missing out on these formative experiences. Too many people’s lives, careers, activities, families and day-to-day existence have been negatively impacted during these past 365 days. Nothing will ever erase that fact.

Each day arrives in a package. It’s wrapped up and tied with a ribbon. We do not know what to expect as we open it. But, today, after five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, we should at least know to find ways and time to appreciate the package as well as the people, activities and experiences that we care most about.

Since March 13, 2020, I personally have grown closer to the people most important to me. I have weekly FaceTime Happy Hours with a friend who I hadn’t honestly seen much of “before.” Our busy schedules and the distance between our homes got in the way of regular get togethers. That’s changed. We see each other weekly — Thursdays at 5:01pm — and somehow never seem to run out of topics. Meanwhile, my brother and I are doing a “book group” — well it’s not really a group since it’s just the two of us — but you get it. He lives five hours from me, so he’s not in my “bubble.” We FaceTime and discuss each section. I see his face on my iPhone, since we haven’t met face to face since October.

Over the past five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, I’ve determined what’s most important to me — and who is most important. And I’ve become more deliberate in making sure I stay connected to them. In many ways, these connections are richer. I appreciate our moments. I intentionally keep those people and the activities that truly matter to me more top of mind. And I’ve let go of chasing relationships, situations, habits, activities and situations that truly don’t serve me.

Why did it take a global pandemic and five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes of separation to teach me to treasure the people, the places, the projects and the experiences that mean the most? I don’t know.

But, during the past five hundred, twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes I’ve slowed down. I’ve added daily yoga and meditation to my life. I’ve attended five virtual Josh Groban concerts — what an amazing treat — and even shared one concert — virtually of course — with my brother and sis-in-law during Valentines Day. I’ve added activities into my life that I forgot how much I enjoyed — like changing the American Girl dolls into new outfits each month, doing puzzles, and spending afternoons with a cup of tea and a good book. I knit up a storm — gifting handmade items to people I care for. And, I’ve discovered the joys of giving myself permission to binge TV shows under cozy blankets on cold winter nights and enjoy a glass of wine while I do so.

I’m a restless spirit. Slowing down doesn’t come naturally. But loving the people dearest to me,. making the most of our time and not putting off ’til tomorrow what I can do today, that resonates with me.

Things are different five hundred, twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes later. Our world is different. I’m different. I wish it hadn’t taken a pandemic to slow our world down enough to enjoy smelling the roses. But it’s Spring. We have a vaccine. We’re getting our lives back. I know there have been devastating losses. We can’t forget them. But I believe they would want us to learn from the past year and look forward with hope.

And as we do, five hundred, twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes later, I wonder what will be different in how we return to “normal.” I wonder what we’ll choose differently after a year “socially distant.”

How will you measure the next five hundred, twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes?

My circle is smaller. But I see a few friends in outside locations, dining in “bubbles” or sitting at the assigned socially distant booths.