The Art of Slowing Down: What Relearning Cursive Taught Me

 

When my kids were starting elementary school, way back when, I was excited for them to learn cursive and to have the opportunity myself to relearn the letters that I was never good at making and having them flow in a series of beautifully curved lines. I imagined getting those lined pieces of paper and practicing one letter over and over and gradually connecting them in a word. It never happened.

At the time, it saddened me to learn that writing in cursive is no longer taught in public school. I also thought I would have the chance to improve my basic math skills and relearn history which long ago left my memory. I think the information was only temporarily there for each test, but none of it sank in deeper. As an adult, I would actually be interested in history now (math not so much), but this, too, never happened. I'm not sure what I was thinking. When did I imagine sitting down with them and doing this? 

That's not the case anymore. I actually have the time to do these things. So this past December when I walked through a local gift store with a friend and found a book for adults to learn or relearn how to write in cursive I bought it for myself. Through the winter nights, before I went to bed, I would spend time with those ready made lines working on one letter at a time. The uppercase letters that stumped me as a child stumped me again now. What unexpectedly delighted me about this practice was that it is truly a mindful practice. It requires that I slow down and stay with the pen on the paper. The more concentrated I am, the more elegant the letters turn out.  It also proved to be a helpful before sleep activity. 

Now when I write in my journal planning an exercise for A Mindful Life, I try to write solely in cursive, not the mixed-up form I was using. It still slows me down and keeps me in the process rather than hurrying to get to the end of the word or sentence. I feel the flow of the word. The practice is meeting me at just the right time as I relearn the art of just being  --  the way young kids get absorbed in what they are doing and aren't trying only to achieve something. Even though I am trying to capture my thoughts in words on paper, I can enjoy the act of doing it. I am also learning about the part of me that struggles to not know how to do something -- and to not be in such a hurry to get it right. Once I get it "right" what then, anyway?

My invitation this summer is to choose an activity that you must deliberately slow down and be present to do. Something that keeps you in a process and gently asks you to stay. It could be an art form, maybe in movement, a craft or hobby. It might simply be reading a novel, but reading it in such a way that savors each descriptive sentence rather than trying to get to the end to know what happens. It doesn't have to require a lot of time. I spent about 10 minutes in bed a night with my letters. See what you learn from it. Let yourself open to the spaciousness that comes when you sink into something fully.

We don't want to rush to the end in life. We can strengthen the muscle that stays in the process and in the moment. Everything today works against this way of being, so know that it will take deliberate action to do it, just the same way it takes intention to practice meditation. We set aside the time and show up. Life starts to feel different from the usual striving and the belief that we need to get somewhere. If we have nowhere to get to, we live in the present. 

Warmly,
Jean

P.S. One major piece that gets in the way of being in the present moment with whatever we are doing is our phones. I am thinking of facilitating a month long book group/workshop based on the updated version of How To Break Up With Your Phone by Catherine Price. We would meet once a week with the intention of changing our relationship to our smart phones and devices. If you don't like the way you are attached to your phone and the habits that have been formed, let me know of your interest and I will see what I can create. Send me an email here. I know so many people don't like the way life has become due to these devices. I do believe we can change it and it would be a lot more fun to explore it together (even if you read the first version when it came out in 2018).

When Calm Becomes Your New Normal: Noticing the Shift

 

It used to be that I would arrive at my studio after getting the kids off to school and knowing I needed to shift gears, I would take the walk from my car in the parking lot to the front door slowly. It was a way my nervous system could know that I could let go and relax more. The kids were where they needed to be and I was where I needed to be and all was okay. Those steps were in such contrast to everything else that went on in the morning prior to arriving. They felt gently resetting. Once inside, having the chance to meditate felt like the next deeper layer of moving out of what often felt like overwhelm. It was so nice to feel the change. This sounds odd to say and more odd to notice, but I don’t feel that anymore. Most days, the contrast is no longer there to feel. I don’t start out in overwhelm. How weird to say, but I miss that feeling of “ahhh”, of relief. 

I noticed something similar when I stopped being a massage therapist a few years ago. Back then I would get a pedicure and sit in the massage chair and bask in the feeling of the automated flapping and kneading. I never understood why some women next to me wouldn't use the feature on their chair. For me it was a treat for my tired back muscles. But now that I don’t do that kind of manual labor, when I get a pedicure, I put on all the same chair settings and it doesn’t produce the same kind of bliss. At first I thought maybe I was going numb. 

So what is happening and what does it mean in terms of my practice if I can no longer feel these deep shifts in my state of being?

I’m not sure I have the answer yet, but ultimately, I think it is a good thing that my nervous system isn’t so desperate to feel calm. It’s not that I never rush or make myself late – sometimes I do, but it’s not the norm anymore as it was for so many years. Thankfully, that level of cortisol pumping through me on a regular basis is just not there. What hasn’t changed is my worrying mind. The stress of my thoughts has yet to make such a dramatic shift. I am embracing that this is where my next level of “work” lies and it is actually exciting to recognize.

I started making progress last week when I saw how much I was “adding on” to whatever thoughts arose and how I can so easily make a story out of something that isn’t factually true. I started catching it and saying, “stop believing the story that you just created, Jean.” I’ve been trying to state facts instead and letting go of the rest. It’s not easy and it doesn’t seem to let up, but it feels more empowering than worrying. And of course, a loving voice helps – to bring compassion to the fear. 

My invitation this week is first to notice what changes you have made where your nervous system doesn’t get as taxed over things as it did in the past. It’s worthy of recognition. I can’t say how many people in my A Mindful Life groups point out how much they have changed over the years. It’s really important to notice so that our brains take in the difference. 

The second invitation is to be honest in seeing what hasn’t yet changed in terms of your stress levels and see if there is a willingness to go there and be proactive in doing something different. What would it look, feel, sound like? 

The first invitation will help the second one know it is possible. We need to feel successful to keep moving in a direction. The only way to feel successful in the realms of our own stress management is to note when it changes. No one else can do that for us. So give yourself credit when you recognize that maybe you don’t rush so much anymore, or you used to be itching to get up when you meditated and now you can stay still, or you used to be angry more of the time. These are big shifts. And then… welcome the next step, the more advanced course and embrace the challenge. Why? Because it will give you the next level of “ahhhh”.

Happy June to you!

Jean

None Of The Above

 

Have you had an experience like this one? You've been asked to fill out an intake form for a new doctor and it asks mental health questions where none of the options fit your response. Instead, you are thrown back in time to taking standardized tests where no bubble was the right one to fill. (I know I am dating myself with pencils and bubbles). Questions like: 

In the last two weeks have you felt nervous, anxious or on edge?
In the last two weeks, have you found yourself worrying too much about different things?
In the last two weeks have you felt down, depressed or hopeless?

The options are: 1) Not at all 2) Several days 3) More than half the days, or 4) Nearly every day.

These questions and answers left me curious about what is considered a "normal" amount of worry, anxiety, or feeling down. I'm not sure if I know anyone who doesn't worry about more than one thing throughout a day, let alone two weeks. And most people I know, including myself, have anxious moments daily. Does that say something about me or does it just mean I am human? 

At a Saturday morning meditation just after I filled out this form, I shared a daily contemplation from Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh's book Your True Home, which felt like the perfect response, if only it were an option on the intake form. In it he says, "For forty-five years, the Buddha said, over and over again, 'I teach only suffering and the transformation of suffering.' When we recognize and acknowledge our own suffering, the Buddha -- which means the Buddha in us -- will look at it, discover what has brought it about, and prescribe a course of action that can transform it into peace, joy, and liberation. Suffering is the means the Buddha used to liberate himself, and it is also the means by which we can become free." It was a relief to hear these words. They remind us that suffering is a natural consequence of being alive. Not something "wrong" and not a reason to have to be fixed but something we can work with. It is a part of life. It becomes a problem when we think it is "wrong" to be feeling what we feel.

My invitation this week is to meet your undesirable feelings with ordinariness. If you worry, have anxious thoughts, feel sad, or down, doubt or have low energy, you belong. You are human. You are alive and experiencing all of what it entails. No one is exempt from loss, from suffering. What we do with it is what matters and where our true freedom is found. When we feel these things, that's when care is needed. Not to fix it, but to listen to what it wants us to know. There is always something. In that something lies our deepening and is where the gift can be found. Again and again throughout our life, we will be presented with suffering and the gifts of freedom as we find our way through.

If you get a form with questions like this I invite you to smile and remember what the Buddha taught. However you answer the questions, there is nothing wrong with you, simply an opportunity to take a pause with any suffering that might be there and let it have a place at the table without adding on to it. 

Warmly,
Jean

An Empty Nest and an Unexpected Guest

 

(This is not a parenting story).

My first empty nest year has come to a close. It's hard to believe that my kids have completed their first year of college. "Hang on," I want to say as they and all their stuff return for the summer. I'm still processing this change. It seemed more straightforward at first. I wasn't in any turmoil over their leaving. I welcomed the peacefulness of a quiet house and the calm. Oh my gosh, the calm. The simplicity! There was no coming or going at all times. No coordinating schedules, meals, wheels, and no worrying about what was or wasn't happening. No more rushing. Two gone at once and it was like spacious fairy dust had descended on my life. It wasn't until months into the school year that I found myself a bit more turned around.

It wasn't their leaving or their not needing us, (for much of anything!), that displaced me. It was the many changes that were running into each other and compounding which gradually left me in unfamiliar territory. Looking back, in a year and a half my mom had passed away (I was now parentless), we moved, the kids left, and when I looked in the mirror, I wasn't recognizing myself. I had gradually changed my hairstyle and its color is doing its own thing. My body's shape is shifting, but deeper than all of that, I was picking up on something else in my reflection.

Looking at myself at 51. No longer a daughter to anyone here on earth. I'm still a mother, but the role has changed significantly, as if there was a reorg in the corporation. My body is doing the middle-aged thing. I'm aware that the milestone events to come in life are not "mine" anymore. Of course there will be some notable things, but it will be my kids, my niece and nephews, and friends' kids who I will largely be celebrating. It's the natural progression. I see that, even in the fullness of what I do, I am more of a minor player than a major one. Yet, it is still surprising. It seems like just yesterday when I was in my twenties trying to figure out my dreams and plans, with what felt like a long, open path ahead with people older than me cheering me on. Here I am now, settled, no longer striving to get somewhere. There is something wonderful about it and something less wonderful that I still can't quite find the words for -- this is what was surfacing months after the kids left. As I looked in the mirror, beyond the lack of recognition, I saw a sadness in my eyes, something heavy. And so, I started leaning in to understand.  

My vocation is still rich with meaning and purpose. My relationship with my husband and kids is as loving as ever. I live in a house I absolutely adore. My health is strong. There is nothing externally I am in want of. But what I am recognizing, that the mirror couldn't hide, was that Loss had come to visit and she made herself a room in my house a couple of years ago. I hadn't really acknowledged that she moved in -- more like a squatter than a guest. With the kids' rooms empty, this visitor became real and she has not told me when she will depart. 

This is an email about grief. Try as we might, we can't get away from it in life. When we lose what we love -- a person, a relationship, a dream, what was giving us purpose, our connection to something vital, Loss takes up residence in our house of self and she will stay as long as she needs. I knew that intellectually before. But, now I really know it. Sometimes she brings with her all the past losses that have yet to be fully dealt with. They, too, are asking for recognition, a seat at the table. 

I share this for any of you who have experienced a significant loss, change, or disappointment and haven't been the same since, and if it is happening at the same time that your life is changing in other ways, just know it's ok if you feel something you can't even name. We don't have to fix anything, but we do need to listen if we want reconciliation. Reconciliation with ourselves, which involves acceptance, forgiveness, compassion, understanding, love. There is nothing wrong with us. We all face a lifetime of letting go of things. If we have the courage to look, of course, who we see in the mirror appears different. Life has changed. It will change again. But, for now, it's like this and it's where we need to be. 

The person I see in the mirror is still Jean. I've matured. I'm not as light and carefree as I'd like to be right now. But I am real. I feel grounded. I am learning that being a good host means I will keep making a place at the table for Loss until she chooses to depart of her own accord. I doubt I'll even see her walk out the door. It won't be dramatic. More likely, it will be a subtle, gracious departure that I will sense one day when I am looking in the mirror as I wash my face and smile.

In the meantime, I am taking in the spring. Delighting in the trees and flowers, the return of life in the house with everyone home. While Loss is here, my goodness, so is Abundance. 

Warmly,
Jean

What if breathing was your most comforting friend?

 

How do you feel inhaling? How do you feel exhaling? Do you prefer one over the other? These are just a few of the questions I have been asking about breathing lately in my groups. I ask them to encourage everyone to be more aware of this fundamental physiological necessity in being alive -- an activity that just happens without our having to make it happen, but one that we can control. How we breathe might be one of the most critical pieces of our health and happiness, and yet how often do I hold my breath when I am doing so many activities in a given day?

I can hold my breath reading a news article, driving in traffic, or reading my email. I'm really good at it! As a child, I would see how many laps I could swim underwater before I would come up gasping for air. It was insane. Didn't anyone look at the pool and wonder where I was? That's for another email, I suppose. I can hold it in and I can hold it out. I prefer exhaling to inhaling. Exhaling feels like a relief; everything relaxes. Inhaling feels effortful, as if I am trying to fill air into a long, narrow balloon—the kind you twist into animal shapes. I prefer to be like a big, round, red balloon like the one I let go of too early in the late '70s on balloon day at school. I cried. That's for another email, too. Thank goodness there aren't balloon days anymore. The poor earth. What we did to it. Back to the breath… what are we doing to ourselves by not being aware of it? It might be just as bad as 100 kids letting balloons with notes on them into the air in pre-school in 1978.

James Nestor, a researcher who wrote a book called Breath (one many of us concurred we read almost to the end but didn’t quite get there), makes many crucial points about why our breath is so important. You don't need to read the book unless you are interested in hearing all of his adventures and experiments; instead, you can watch this short YouTube video of his that captures some of the crucial points. It is worth the 12 minutes. After that, what I want to offer to you is this inspiration: how you breathe can change how you feel in any moment. We often think we have to change our thoughts to change how we feel, but coming from the body to change how we think and feel is just as powerful, if not more powerful. The breath has this power.

If you pay attention to your breathing, it will slow down. It is hard to be aware of the details of anything when we move fast. If I follow my breath in—not just the beginning, but the whole path in and the whole path out—if I notice the transitions between the inhale and exhale, and exhale and inhale, and don't rush to get to the next one, my breathing will slow down naturally, and it will be deeper and more nourishing. And my goodness, who doesn't need to be nourished more? When we feel nourished, we approach ourselves and the world in a softer, more open way. Why cheat ourselves out of this experience because we are grasping to get to another experience? Often in my meditations I will say, “Don’t be in a hurry to get to the next breath; enjoy this one.” One breath at a time. It is all we can take. We don't have to rush it. It brings grounding, calm, and ease. It nourishes all our cells, organs, and muscles.

My invitation, not just for this week but for all day, every day, is to let your breath be a source of comfort, nourishment, grounding, and safety. When you feel yourself holding your breath, no worries—you get to exhale once you realize it! There is nothing wrong with you. We can retrain ourselves. And often we need to. We go through some pretty big things in life, and sometimes, if we have been in fight-or-flight mode for an extended period of time, it becomes a habit to breathe shallowly. It's okay if you have been doing this your whole life! It’s not the end of the story. Start now.

Meditation is a time for you to do just this, but don't stop following your breathing when the meditation ends. Follow it into your next moment and your next moment. And then start again when you drop it. It shouldn't feel effortful, but wonderful.

Wishing you a week of joyful breathing.

Warmly,
Jean

It Feels So Much Better

 

It has been many years since I watched the Winter Olympics. Something about this particular winter drew me to them. What has it brought me? Tears. Seriously. I find myself in tears.

When it happened the first time, as I watched one of the figure skaters finish their program, I was surprised at myself. But then it happened again and it keeps happening. Tears fill my eyes, and then I laugh at my own over-the-top emotion. What is this welling up of feeling? My family laughs at me. But I welcome these tears. 

There is something about seeing the intimate facial expressions of these athletes at the moment they finish their event. It is brief but unmistakable. The tremendous expressions of relief, or joy, or disappointment have been so moving and deeply needed for my soul. To see genuine, uncensored, unabashed feelings caught up close for us all to witness is a gift in these hardened times. 

In this winter segment of A Mindful Life, which just began, I chose a theme that felt a bit clunky to name: nourishing the qualities of gentleness and softness. I chose it because I know I need it and because the world is anything but that right now. The tendency, in the face of harshness, is to follow suit -- to respond to aggression, dominance, force, distrust, anger, and fear by hardening, contracting, and closing off. It makes logical sense that fight or flight mode sets in, or we shut down (freeze). It takes conscious effort to counteract that energy, but we can and that's what I am focusing on. Doing the opposite of what is coming at us.

Allowing myself to share in the undeniable feelings of these athletes, whether they are young and have years ahead to compete, or the ones who will be doing this for the last time, is such an honor and a gift. What it does is soften me. This is my invitation to all of us this winter -- to keep tuning into that which helps us to soften. That which helps us feel and connect. It might not be Olympians for you, but what softens you? What helps you feel warmth, connection, tenderness -- the joy of someone's joy, the pain of someone's pain? What helps you to move more gently through your life? 

Our nervous systems are all playing off each other. If I help myself to generate warmth and kindness I will be helping you, too. Isn't this what we need more than ever? It is so much nicer than hardening. My body knows that. It would rather exhale and let go than tighten and brace.

All day long we have opportunities to soften and open up. When we do, we receive so much more. It comes in the smallest of moments and actions and sends a different message to our brains. How I pick up an object, open a door, how I walk on the earth, how I drive my car, or put away the groceries. The tone of my voice, the way I see, the pace of my movements and my words all send a message to our own nervous systems and to everything around us. We have power over this. What an amazing thing.

I recently heard a teacher say how mindfulness is a very forgiving practice because there is always another moment. I love the simplicity of that truth. If I harden, as I will at times, I have the next moment to meet differently. Moment by moment we have opportunities and what we do affects the next moment and what we receive. In my touch, in my words, in my movements and actions, I can bring care, kindness, and warmth. I can handle things gently and it comes back to me. To meet everything with reverence.  Why wouldn't we? I know I don't when I am in a rush or when I am fearful. But isn't it exciting, isn't it a relief, to think we don't have to be hard or rough to be in this life? 

This week, may we all enjoy the endless opportunities to soften and open and to be aware of the difference so it grows in us. Remember it is a forgiving practice; there is another moment. Together we can change the energy that is here -- starting now. 

Warmly,
Jean

Working With Our Reactivity Changes What Happens Next

 

I try to be a grounding source. I prefer to not add to hysteria or speak in extremes, but I’ve got to say it. It feels like we are at some critical edge in this country and in this world. And because of that, it means that we are also at a critical edge individually.

Civilization is awash in so much distrust, anger, fear, conflict, violence, greed, and self-interest. Lawsuits, threats, riots, the dismantling of systems and alliances that humans painstakingly built to protect us, the Earth, and to keep peace, are being thrown out. Among so many leaders, the value of working together, of seeing that our wellbeing is dependent on the wellbeing of all of those around us, has been dropped. Hubris abounds. It is hard to watch what we took as steady and solid now crumbling. It’s like watching a train wreck that could have been avoided. If you feel the weight of these times, you are human. I am with you in feeling like things are not okay. And yet, this is what is. It’s not about fair or right, but our human situation doesn’t feel okay. It will change, one way or another. We have gotten here for a reason, and we have choices we can make. We can react or we can respond, and the two are very different. One is also a lot harder than the other.

In recent weeks in A Mindful Life, we have been working with non-reactivity. How to strengthen our ability to not react habitually so that we can make more empowered, mindful choices in what we think, say, and do. So much destruction, misunderstanding, and suffering comes when we react habitually—when we can’t find the space to step back, listen, sense, and feel so that we know the most beneficial way to respond. Developing that ability is hard work and not something to master. Looking to be free of reactivity isn’t the goal. If there is a truck coming at us, we want to react. But most of the time, that’s not the situation. So how do we practice non-reactivity?

I find that there are 4 components that change our habitual reactivity. They sound obvious, but they aren’t easy! When practiced regularly, they become habits we want. And habits like these I do think change the world. They change what happens next, and that is a powerful thing. I think we could all use something that reminds us that we have an impact in times when it can feel like we don’t. These 4 interconnected practices are:

~ Mindfulness Meditation (staying in the present, observing, and finding space)
~ Slowing down (in every way—words, actions, the breath, thoughts firing)
~ Being more embodied (connected to your body and what’s arising in you)
~ Being curious (when we get curious, we aren’t reactive)

They take repetition, dedication, and reminding. Especially in our world today, when each of those go against the norm. Everything comes at a fast pace. Screens and devices have taken away our ability to sense and feel and be connected to our body. We rely on apps that tell us all our metrics rather than develop an inner listening and inner guide. And when we can’t slow down and listen, we can’t get curious. When we can’t be curious, we can’t learn, understand, grow. We can’t be creative. When there is a complex situation, we need these abilities.

Knowing this is good news! We can start practicing right now.

Meditate Regularly: We practice meditating and staying in the present so that we can strengthen the muscle to not react to thoughts, feelings, and sensations as they come in. We can name what arises, and when we do, we step back from it. We create space. We do it again and again so that in our daily life, it becomes easier to do. If you aren’t meditating regularly, or you got away from it, can you recommit to yourself? (If you need help, reach out.)

Slowing Down: Everything moves fast today, but we can make the choice not to. When we slow down, we have more presence, awareness, more choice; we savor more, and we get to choose what we do. That doesn’t mean we move like a sloth; we are just more present. And when we are more present, we take in so many wonderful things that we would normally miss. Life is too short to miss out. I’ve been asking my groups if they enjoyed their shower that day. Unless you only have cold water, what’s not to enjoy in a shower? So this week, notice when you are moving, talking, driving quickly, and just see what happens if you shift gears and slow it down. How much more do you see and receive when you aren’t fast? Driving slower is especially fascinating. When the car is moving fast, we are moving fast, and our nervous system picks up on it. If we are feeling anxious, why add to it?

Being Embodied: If we are in a hurry or not present, we also can’t listen to ourselves. If I am not aware of what’s alive in me, I will respond in ways I might regret, or I won’t take care of what I am needing, which leads to more suffering. How often in the day do we know what we are feeling? We can check in with ourselves often and ask ourselves, “what am I feeling?” And, “what am I aware of in my body as I do this, or listen to this?” Being aware of ourselves gives us choice. It will inform what we do next.

Being Curious: Lastly, being curious is the opposite of being reactive. When we are curious, we are open; we want to learn and have humility; we seek understanding; we aren’t attached to outcomes or to knowing it all; we aren't judgmental. And to be curious, we need to be present, to slow down, to sense and feel (the other 3!). I had my groups call up a time when someone was truly curious about them—not to get anything from them, just pure interest in who they were. You can think about it for yourself. It is such a nice feeling and, as someone pointed out, when someone is curious about us, it sparks our curiosity. It is so true. We can all be that person. We can create that goodness and be that open. It will bring us together.

We all have the capacity to do these things if we want to.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have heard inspiring examples in my groups of the moments when people made small shifts in these areas and how profound they can be. You will have them, too. I am certain of that. All we need is micro-moments throughout the day of coming into presence, slowing down, feeling connected, and getting curious. It’s a lot more calming and peaceful, even in times like these. There will always be suffering and the conditions for joy at the same time. We can meet all these moments. We are all at a critical edge where we must choose how we want to be in the world to affect what happens next, because whether it feels like it or not, we are all affecting what happens next.

Warmly,
Jean

P.S. It's the last week to sign up for the winter session of A Mindful Life (Feb/Mar)! Some groups are full, but the Monday Zoom and Friday in person groups have some space. 

Making Space

 

Dear Friends,

As we journey through January, I am feeling a strong pull to clear away the thick web of news, events, constant self-talk, busyness. Instead I am drawn to slowing down and feeling myself simply breathe. In everything I do -- simply breathe. It is as though something in me knows there is another way to be in the world, in this time. In this season of winter, in this season of so much worldly disruption. I am being pulled toward the wonderful open feeling of space that is right here when I don't fill it. I write that and I worry it sounds too lofty or overly blissful. Or maybe it sounds disengaged from the realities of what is happening in the world. It really isn't and I am fully aware of what is going on. Much of which is more disturbing or unsettling than not. To not read more news than is necessary, to stay off of social media as much as possible, to enjoy the sound of the wintery wind, to not think of improving, but to rest in whatever this place is -- this has been my siren call in these first days of the year. I share it because embracing it feels so right and I know from experience that if I am feeling this call, most likely so are others. 

A dear friend gave me a book by Thich Nhat Hanh, one that I haven't yet read. It has short daily words of wisdom. One paragraph or two. In the past, with the overwhelm of the busyness of life, I might not have enjoyed the brevity of these passages as I am now. Just taking a line or maybe just a word from it and letting it awaken something in me feels like all I need. Choosing to let it. That is enough these days. Simplicity in a time that is far from simple.  

I stuck to my intention of removing Facebook from my phone on New Year's Eve and don't regret it. I imagine myself going more and more in that direction. Embracing more quiet. The world doesn't need my fight. At least I don't think it does. I'm not a fighter, though I know it is possible for me to be one. It is in me. What I know is that my output is more useful in other ways. It always has been.

The universe desperately needs beneficent energy. Don't you think so? To be a force of steadiness and calm? To be present and therefore, grateful? Isn't that what we need? Too Pollyanna? My critic might say so, driven by fear, but not the part of me that is more connected to the whole of life -- the part that understands impermanence, humility, connection, grace. This part of me knows how powerful it is to be able to clear some space and be present. To enjoy the simple. To stop insisting on having my way or fighting because it is not going my way. You want to go faster than me on the highway, I'll move over. "You go ahead," I say. There is plenty of space. 

What does it mean to you to allow space in your life? In your daily movements, in your interactions, in your thoughts? How does it change your experience to slow down and do just one thing? To receive just one thing?

My invitation this month is to welcome space, which often means we need to clear a space of anything extra that takes away from our experience. Remove the clutter, the extraneous, the opinions, the chatter, the improvements, the lists and just be. You'll still get what is needed done, but it is likely to be a lot more fulfilling. Simpler. Just take one thing and enjoy that one thing. Let your eyes open to enjoy what's here because there is so much that is wonderful to behold, to see, to feel.

The perfect lines in the shadow on the wall as the sunlight streams through the blinds. That is wonderful. The sun rising behind the mountain, casting a pink blaze behind the bare trees in the distance. That is wonderful. The calm voice of my meditation teacher. That is wonderful. Recalling someone's smile. That is wonderful. Can you give yourself the gift of making space to experience these things? How might you clear space so that you may be filled?

I'll close with this poem by Martha Postlethwaite:

Clearing
Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself to this world
so worthy of rescue.

Warmly,
Jean