As for me? I'll wash the cups.

Good Morning, Christmas Eve! 

Unfathomable to me that we bid adieu to Advent today, and hello to the season of Christmas -- twelve days of it!  Someday, maybe when I'm 80, I will have a party every day of the Christmas season.  For the moment, it is rather top-loaded.  And though I - come hell or high water - leave my tree up faithfully through Epiphany, by the time the drummers start drumming the Christmas holiday is long gone, and I am engulfed in the work that wasn't done and the inevitable go-go-go of the new year. 

But for today! 

May I say and be thanks.

May I breathe through the final tasks on the list.

May I get a little work done.

May I be with friends and family fully -- not in exhaustion or in fellow boot-camper fatigue.  May I greet them at my best, because they are what is best.

May I think a little bit of you, whoever you are and whenever you are reading this.  May I remember to send you some white light and a bit of love, and remind you that you are a soul who indeed is worthy. 

And may I remember the small things. 

When we throw or host a dinner party, I like to set the table and pull out the nice stuff when I can, for otherwise it will never be used.  I confess that the hours leading up to guests in the home are generally not my best hours, but I think we always end up pulling off a nice evening for ourselves and our friends and family. 

Generally at the end of the evening, the family skitters off in happy exhaustion to collapse before a book or movie.  I like to tidy up as best I can -- sometimes that night, sometimes the next morning.

I save the best for last.  The cups!  Most I do by hand.  I used to think of this as a complete hassle - but now, I've changed it up.  I like to think of each of the people we were with for that meal as I wash the cups.  It's my little meditation on them, and my small form of gratitude.  I hope there is some karmic grace that balances out the crazy woman I was before they all arrived.  And, I like to send some goodness back once in a while.

A small thing - gratitude and grace - but what an impact. 

Thanks for journeying along for the small ride!  Lots of Advent Love to you and yours!

Be Thank You

This is a post from Anne Lamott's Facebook page.  She is one of my favorite writers - her journey with addiction, recovery, faith - and just true to the bone living constantly inspire me.  She has a way of speaking her truth boldly, but not leaving people out of the conversation...you just cannot deny her truth.  I recommend following her on Facebook - it's a great glimpse into a complex but beautiful person, and some nice writing to boot.  Enjoy!  Here's to more holy, less hard...

 

We did it we did we did it! It's December 22: we are within striking distance of December 26. That means there shalt be parking spaces again. There shalt not be any more bell ringers, or Rudolph, or Almond Roca. No more chocolate covered Peppermint Bark, barking its way past our clenched teeth. No more deeply unhinged people beaming at us with a rictus of holiday mirth, wishing they had a gre...nade. No more young children shaking wrist bells at us, plotting our overthrow.

Now, by the same token:

It IS the last Sunday of Advent: let there be light, and let it begin with me. Let others see the Light inside me, through my cracks and dents. More Light! Each day will be a tiny bit longer; the Spring is coming. We are so much closer to the Spring the we were in the glory days of September. it's time to plant bulbs. No, no, you didn't blow it--it's never too late. We plant them in the cold and dark, in rocky soil that nicks our fingers, and yet when they bloom, daffodils and paper whites, each one is like a candle with a stamen, not a wick. They remind us that nothing--nothing!--is ever lost. It just may not be its time to appear yet. Bulbs and then...wait...wildflowers.

Once on a cold dark mid-December's day, I happened to be at the Book Depot in Mill Valley with Wendell Berry, who said gently, "It gets darker and darker and darker, and then Jesus is born." I love that so much.

But at the same time, I wish God had consulted me when God thought up December. I would have said, "Dawg! Don't do it." Seriously, it's one of those thoughts that you have at 2:00 with a bunch of other cokeheads, that seems like a good idea at the time--which will be the title of my autobiography. It Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time. Really, if God had thought to ask, I would have put the kabosh on December, snakes, and tonsils. Ixnay on the ats-ray, too, Dude.

But at the same time, we've done it--we've come through. It's like coming through labor, where you realize midway that you don't like children but you push on. The holy days are a mixed-grille: holy and hard. Yet when the motley group of relatives and riff-raff that we call "our family" gathers for a meal, here is what we may note, if we remember the priest who said, "Sometimes I think that Heaven is just a new pair of glasses:

We'll see everybody at their best and worst, meaning well, sharing what they can. Trying not to drink so much, trying not to nag so much or provoke; trying to be better than they are. We will see people who used to hate each other passing and receiving the gravy, and that is what grace looks like. We will see stingey people who have spent too much on our children. Along with the horrible sweet potato dish and Almond Roca wrappers, we'll see good will. Good will--Wow. We'll see relief on the faces of the old, that the family is intact, ish --and that is a miracle. We will see hope in the talented teenagers. We'll see too many people squished in at the table, because we invited people who had nowhere else to be. It will be the loaves and the fish and the terrible sweet potatoes. And wonder of wonders, we'll see forgiveness marbled throughout it all. Hammarskjold said that Forgiveness is the answer to the child's dream of a miracle by which what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is made clean again. Or at least, broken things that work well enough again, against all odds.

I would fall to my knees and say thank you, if I could, without risking seriously body harm. So I am not going to say that prayer today: I am going to BE it. Thank you.

Fourth Sunday of Advent -- Love!

Oh my, and the beat goes on!

I have fallen apart in joy over the last week.  It has been a whirlwind of gaiety (as Laura Ingalls Wilder would say in These Happy Golden Years).  Last week was the final week of school and its accompanying teacher gifts, contests, field trips, piano recitals, choir concerts...plus a very  crazy busy week of work as seemingly the whole world was preparing to take this week off (sauf pauvre moi).  We have seen some great live performances, had many delicious meals (out and in), tried to clean and do laundry...

Oh I know - the list is the same with so many of you.  Except you few who had it all done before Thanksgiving. I long for that. 

So I find it fitting that the last Advent candle represents love.  Indeed! That's what it is all about -- this frenzy of family, friends and frivolity.  I was reminded powerfully that it is the relationships that we celebrate at this time of the year.  For some of us that includes our "higher power." 

And it's funny, no matter how many Advent stories I read, blogs I write, tips I give - I always struggle with that.  People, not presents.  Resting not racing. 

None the less, I have just a couple of other "small things" for this year's Advent blog, so I do hope you'll come around and enjoy. 

May you feel love in these last days of the year. 

Joy and Sorrow chapter VIII, by Kahil Gibran

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

Khalil Gibran

True North

May joy -- in its depth and breadth -- be with you today.

Third Sunday of Advent - Joy!

I love this thought by the wonderful Chris Heeter:  "Joy is not the same thing as happy.  Joy has depth and breadth and has the capacity to hold great sorrow as well as abundant goodness." 

I find it so easy to get caught up in the "race to joy" as we participate in end of the year holidays and festivities.  "May I please not race," is my thought for the week.  I also must remember the deep sorrow that many people feel during this time of the year -- amplified by the rest of the world's quest for joy. 

I can't help but share this fabulous poem by e e cummings -- I always think of it when I think of joy and I do believe I have published it in past Advent blogs.  But alas, here it is again. 

Happy 3rd Week of Advent!

XAIPE, 65

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of allnothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

-e e cummings

Let's Laugh!

This is not a peaceful post.  This is a great irreverent but funny video for a weekend.  And a good preamble to the third week of Advent with its theme of "Joy!"

Peaceful Practices, Episode 3

It is the second week of Advent and the theme is Peace. 

This week I am focusing on small things that bring me peace and I will share a few of these small things each day.  Right away, I want to reassure you that I have in no way, shape or form mastered the art of finding peace.  It's my ongoing quest.  But I have run across some small habits that, when I remember to implement them, bring me back to my core.

Rest: Ask the insomniacs and parents of small children -- nothing is better than rest.  Replenishing, filling, nourishing.  My mind meanders when I am overtired.  Even two full moments of eyes shut in the middle of the day restores me and grounds me. 

Be Grateful. Do Grateful:  Remembering all that you have, being grateful -- YES.  It's a good way to slow down.  But I love to say thank you, to write thank you.  To do it all the time and try not to forget.  When I plan events at work, there is an army of people helping me behind the scenes from housekeeping to law enforcement officers.  I send gushy emails the day after -- because everything is always smooth as silk and I have worked where events are disastrous.  But also because, as one of my colleagues says "my team works hard all of the time and doesn't often get thanked." I don't think you can say thank you enough -- because there just isn't enough thank you in the world.   There are comment boxes, complaint lines, and no hesitation when the job is done poorly.  But when things work, we need to say thanks.  And, it feels good.

Fresh air:  Once a day.  Ten minutes.  As consistently as you can.  One of my favorite nuns, Sister Mary Regina, walked outside every single day all year long.  In her 80's when I knew her well, it was most often just to the peacock pen (about 100 feet away from the door).  But she never missed a day and she never regretted it. 

Walk at the Airport:  Since I don't fly that often, there are many elements of traveling by air that are a novelty to me.  Instead of sitting and waiting, I walk the terminals and see what's around.  I've seen some cool art, discovered Vosges Chocolate at Chicago O'Hare (Their mission? "Peace, Love and Chocolate."), and found all sorts of "tributaries" at Denver/DIA.  Pulling a suitcase or walking with a backpack enhance the aerobic workout as well.  Just go!

Turning Away

"The world goes on as it must," says the poet Mary Oliver in her poem Today.   And so it must.  But must I? 

Long walks at my fall retreat at Subiaco included stops at various benches set up along the wooded paths.  One stopping point overlooked a bog, and not far behind the bog was the almighty Interstate 94 with its constant whir of traffic.

Being close to a freeway may not seem like much of a retreat.  But I was content.  It actually felt quite "Benedictine" to me.  The Rule of St. Benedict is filled with references to living holy as you are, where you are.  Holiness, goodness, and all of the other "small virtues" are not just found in the church, on retreat, or when you are away.  Benedictine rule emphasizes the importance of practicing these works at all times, wherever you are:  at work, at home, in the community, etc.  So to me, the freeway in the distance was as it should be:  I was apart from the world but in the world.

That freeway and its constant motion captured me for some time.  I found it fascinating to see how the traffic never ended.  I kept waiting for a pause in the vehicles coming into my view.  But no pause ever came. 

I think that my attraction to the freeway was connected to how I was feeling about my life that weekend.  Part of my life is a non-stop freeway of things to do, places to go, lists to write, and schedules to keep.  Surely that was part of what brought me to Subiaco in the first place. 

But how does one stop the freeway?  Cars, trucks, vans? They just keep coming.  Soccer ends, and skiing begins.  One work project winds up and another hustles in to take its place.  A graceful exit from one volunteer activity is quietly replaced with another.  Caught up in one arena in life, then suddenly behind in another. 

The freeway would not stop.  Nor can the pace of life. 

I rose up from the bench and turned back to the woods.  I turned away.

Turning away was my way to stop the freeway.  I wasn't running away, or turning my back, or leaving that bench in contempt.  I simply bid farewell to the freeway for a bit - accepting its constancy but choosing to step away. 

I am finding small ways to turn away in my everyday life, and moments of peace often follow.  Sometimes it means leaving the phone in the drawer when I head to a meeting.  Sometimes it means rearranging schedules to be home for dinner.  Sometimes it means a quick hug to one of the kids for no good reason at all. 

The world goes on as it must.  But must I?  Must you?

Peaceful Practices, Episode 2

It is the second week of Advent and the theme is Peace. 

This week I am focusing on small things that bring me peace and I will share a few of these small things each day.  Right away, I want to reassure you that I have in no way, shape or form mastered the art of finding peace.  It's my ongoing quest.  But I have run across some small habits that, when I remember to implement them, bring me back to my core. 

Find a library:  No doubt about it, I am among friends when there are books around.  From my youth to adulthood, I find comfort, solace and rest inside a good book.  On a recent work trip, after my fill of colleague dinners, hotel TV, etc., I sought out a library and one night went to check it out.  I left a couple of hours later after some quiet reading.  And I felt nourished, not cluttered.

Talk not type:  Email, texts and messages - super convenient but every once in a while it's easier to just pick up the phone and talk to people.  I find this especially true when there is much to be done.  I can usually accomplish in one conversation over the phone the same as I can after several emails back and forth.

Get away:  For a short walk, run, or trip...somewhere just for you.  Some days, that means leaving my desk to join colleagues for an AM coffee run or a PM walk.  Some times it means a weekend away with my sisters, mom and niece. Changing things up brings fresh perspective. 

Get there early.  For many of you, this is just how you are.  Randomly, this is how I am.  I only know it is one of those things I never regret.  Especially if I have something to read on hand.  And one caveat:  never early to a party. 

Meditate

I have always been a fan of meditating, though I have not ever really been able to do it consistently. 

I recently read an article by Greg McKeown about stress reduction.  He profiles a CEO type, Bill Rielly, and chronicles how he was able to reduce his constant anxiety (despite tremendous success).  It's a great article if you have time.

There were five things Rielly learned to do to reduce stress: breathing, meditating, listening, questioning and purpose.  At the end of the article, McKeown notes "An important key for Bill in all of this was starting small—very small. It’s important because you can’t take on stress in a stressful way. Often we try to bring about change through sheer effort and we put all of our energy into a new initiative. But you can’t beat stress using the same techniques that created the stress in the first place."

I liked what he had to say about meditating and breathing.  It started with taking three deep breaths at his desk each day when he arrived, and over time evolved into a longer meditation.  He also practiced various one minute meditations throughout the day.  These "mini meditations" helped him stay grounded and feel more present.

Ever the seeker, I googled "one minute meditation" and found myself watching a sweet video by Martin Boroson on one-minute meditations.  I am including it here.  You'll notice immediately that the video on one-minute meditations is five minutes long, but -- oh well.  I think the context was helpful.  I watched and it has me interested in trying more, while reminding myself to start very, very small.

Peaceful Practices, Episode 1

It is the second week of Advent and the theme is Peace. 

This week I am focusing on small things that bring me peace and I will share a few of these small things each day.  Right away, I want to reassure you that I have in no way, shape or form mastered the art of finding peace.  It's my ongoing quest.  But I have run across some small habits that, when I remember to implement them, bring me back to my core. 

One Event:  This is probably the most difficult thing for me, but it always brings me the greatest reward.  When faced with two or more events or activities at the same time, I try to choose one.  This is instead of arriving late to one event, then leaving early, then arriving late to event #2, etc. etc.  This applies to work events, family events, holiday gatherings, etc.  I have found that even when I can make the logistics work, if I have more than one event planned, I am never really fully anywhere.  I am simply "one with the clock," constantly worried about when I should leave, when I will arrive, etc. 

Iphone Away:  Another tough one for me, but helps clear my thoughts, even for a short amount of time.  My iphone serves as alarm clock, flashlight, phone, email source, text source, entertainment, running timer and more.  The problem is, that if I "quickly check" for something, then I "quickly" check email, texts, facebook, and suddenly am I sucked in to phoneworld (or the "Digital Now").  Occasionally I will turn off my email or hide my Facebook icon -- and when I can actually just leave the phone somewhere else, I find I can focus a bit better on the moment at hand. 

Pet the Animals:  This was a surprise to me.  Sometimes I wake up with a bit of anxiety or worry about what the day or week will bring.  Most mornings, my dog Finn and my cat Millie come and sit on the couch with me and want some attention.  Petting them almost immediately lowers my anxieties and calms me.  Also, because they can't talk, I imagine they are the most unconditional and supportive little beings.  I am sure most of the time they are like "hey, when are you going to feed me?" but I have just decided that they are happy to see me and to help me out. 

Jazz and the Dishes:  Like the ever-present mountain of laundry, the cluttered kitchen and end of day mess is always there.  After hearing a speaker talk about how Jazz is a great example of community, improvisation, and building on each others skills to create art, I have become interested in Jazz.  So now, when it's time to put away dishes, clean up for the evening, etc.  I put on the Jazz/Traffic station (88.5 FM in the Twin Cities).  It changes up the feel of the time and makes it a bit more fun and a bit less of the drudge. 

Second Sunday of Advent

It's the second Sunday of Advent, and the theme is Peace.  This week I'll be departing from the (somewhat) usual format and offer small ways I have found peace.  I truly deeply and madly would love to hear how you also do small things to find peace in your life -- small things.  Share in the comments here, on Facebook, or message me if you want to share!

The Digital Now

One of my new "small things" in 2013 was listening to TEDtalks while cleaning, running, driving, etc.  As many of you know, I am perpetually conflicted about technology.  I love the convenience/I hate the convenience.  I can't get enough/I don't want any more.  It is the dawn of the new era/it is the ruin of civilization. 

This talk was great food for thought, and I thought the concept of the "digital now" helped me parse out the part of technology that gives me pause. 

The video is twelve minutes long -- so if now isn't the time to listen, carve out some time down the road if you can. 

Kindness

I don't know much about George Saunders, but my sister linked me to his commencement speech from June of 2013 earlier this year. It's long, but a lovely read.  Simply put, he advises graduates to, above all, be kind.  A small thought that gives me hope. 
 
------

Down through the ages, a traditional form has evolved for this type of speech, which is: Some old fart, his best years behind him, who, over the course of his life, has made a series of dreadful mistakes (that would be me), gives heartfelt advice to a group of shining, energetic young people, with all of their best years ahead of them (that would be you).

And I intend to respect that tradition.

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?” And they’ll tell you. Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked. Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you.

So: What do I regret? Being poor from time to time? Not really. Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?” (And don’t even ASK what that entails.) No. I don’t regret that. Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked? And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months? Not so much. Do I regret the occasional humiliation? Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl? No. I don’t even regret that.

But here’s something I do regret:

In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class. In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.” ELLEN was small, shy. She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore. When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.

So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing). I could see this hurt her. I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear. After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth.

At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.” And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

And then – they moved. That was it. No tragedy, no big final hazing.

One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

End of story.

Now, why do I regret that? Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it? Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her. I never said an unkind word to her. In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.

But still. It bothers me.

So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.

Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded…sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly.

Or, to look at it from the other end of the telescope: Who, in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most undeniable feelings of warmth?

Those who were kindest to you, I bet.

It’s a little facile, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but I’d say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.

Now, the million-dollar question: What’s our problem? Why aren’t we kinder?

Here’s what I think:

Each of us is born with a series of built-in confusions that are probably somehow Darwinian. These are: (1) we’re central to the universe (that is, our personal story is the main and most interesting story, the only story, really); (2) we’re separate from the universe (there’s US and then, out there, all that other junk – dogs and swing-sets, and the State of Nebraska and low-hanging clouds and, you know, other people), and (3) we’re permanent (death is real, o.k., sure – for you, but not for me).

Now, we don’t really believe these things – intellectually we know better – but we believe them viscerally, and live by them, and they cause us to prioritize our own needs over the needs of others, even though what we really want, in our hearts, is to be less selfish, more aware of what’s actually happening in the present moment, more open, and more loving.

So, the second million-dollar question: How might we DO this? How might we become more loving, more open, less selfish, more present, less delusional, etc., etc? Well, yes, good question.

Unfortunately, I only have three minutes left.

So let me just say this. There are ways. You already know that because, in your life, there have been High Kindness periods and Low Kindness periods, and you know what inclined you toward the former and away from the latter. Education is good; immersing ourselves in a work of art: good; prayer is good; meditation’s good; a frank talk with a dear friend; establishing ourselves in some kind of spiritual tradition – recognizing that there have been countless really smart people before us who have asked these same questions and left behind answers for us.

Because kindness, it turns out, is hard – it starts out all rainbows and puppy dogs, and expands to include…well, everything.

One thing in our favor: some of this “becoming kinder” happens naturally, with age. It might be a simple matter of attrition: as we get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish – how illogical, really. We come to love other people and are thereby counter-instructed in our own centrality. We get our butts kicked by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be. We see people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long time from now).

Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving. I think this is true. The great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.” And so, a prediction, and my heartfelt wish for you: as you get older, your self will diminish and you will grow in love. YOU will gradually be replaced by LOVE. If you have kids, that will be a huge moment in your process of self-diminishment. You really won’t care what happens to YOU, as long as they benefit. That’s one reason your parents are so proud and happy today. One of their fondest dreams has come true: you have accomplished something difficult and tangible that has enlarged you as a person and will make your life better, from here on in, forever.

Congratulations, by the way.

When young, we’re anxious – understandably – to find out if we’ve got what it takes. Can we succeed? Can we build a viable life for ourselves? But you – in particular you, of this generation – may have noticed a certain cyclical quality to ambition. You do well in high-school, in hopes of getting into a good college, so you can do well in the good college, in the hopes of getting a good job, so you can do well in the good job so you can….

And this is actually O.K. If we’re going to become kinder, that process has to include taking ourselves seriously – as doers, as accomplishers, as dreamers. We have to do that, to be our best selves.

Still, accomplishment is unreliable. “Succeeding,” whatever that might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you hike it), and there’s the very real danger that “succeeding” will take up your whole life, while the big questions go untended.

So, quick, end-of-speech advice: Since, according to me, your life is going to be a gradual process of becoming kinder and more loving: Hurry up. Speed it along. Start right now. There’s a confusion in each of us, a sickness, really: selfishness. But there’s also a cure. So be a good and proactive and even somewhat desperate patient on your own behalf – seek out the most efficacious anti-selfishness medicines, energetically, for the rest of your life.

Do all the other things, the ambitious things – travel, get rich, get famous, innovate, lead, fall in love, make and lose fortunes, swim naked in wild jungle rivers (after first having it tested for monkey poop) – but as you do, to the extent that you can, err in the direction of kindness. Do those things that incline you toward the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you and make you trivial. That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality – your soul, if you will – is as bright and shining as any that has ever been. Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Teresa’s. Clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place. Believe it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits tirelessly.

And someday, in 80 years, when you’re 100, and I’m 134, and we’re both so kind and loving we’re nearly unbearable, drop me a line, let me know how your life has been. I hope you will say: It has been so wonderful.

Congratulations, Class of 2013.

I wish you great happiness, all the luck in the world, and a beautiful summer.

A Favorite Poem...

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Find Art

During this last year, I have tried to experience more art.  It is less about finding shows, exhibitions, and paid art adventures - more about seeing art wherever I am. 

As the year has unfolded, I am pleasantly surprised by both how I see works of art in many places and how I find art in the world around me.  Not a piece of art, but something beautiful -- like yesterday's huge fluffy snowflakes.  The extreme jump from Fall in the morning to Winter in the afternoon was a bit jarring (as it is every year), but those large luscious flakes (before they morphed into icy sleet) were a thing of beauty.

A few years ago, I heard about a woman who looked at the same piece of art every day for a year.  I think that would be amazing.  I come close, as there is some great art in the building I work in.  There are a few pieces that always draw me in, and each time I look, I manage to find something new. It is usually something small, but it can often be very illuminating.

Real Simple Magazine has a great compilation of short essays on savoring the moment (November, 2013).  Here are thoughts from Kirsten Swenson, an art history professor:

"My job requires me to think hard about why good art is effective.  When I see exhibitions, I need to be mindful of how the art engages my physically, emotionally, and intellectually.  Art work doesn't reward the quick glance.  It requires long, careful looking to be fully understood, even if it appears at first to be very simple.  How do I do that?  By paying attention to the details.  I rely on my sight over my other senses.  Nothing is insignificant, from the texture of the paint to the relationships of colors and lines."

I love that:  "Nothing is insignificant."    Just like life - it doesn't need to be big to be significant.  Every stroke, print, cut -- all of it adds up to a work of art. 

This is a piece I see a few times a week at work.  I can't tell you the name of it, but I catch my breath every time I see it. 

First Sunday of Advent

Subiaco

In August of 2013, I had wonderful opportunity to take some time away -- an extended leave from work.  The month was a great gift that, in many ways, I still feel like I am unwrapping. 

I was able to schedule a solo retreat at Subiaco Hermitage at the St. Benedict's Monastery in St. Joseph, Minnesota the final weekend of my leave.  My stay at the hermitage lasted two days and two nights - I was alone but filled with the friendship of nature.  The towering trees of the monastery woods, the fields, the paths, and the sounds of night were my companions. 

I also was on the edge of a college campus, allowing me to sneak into a church of sorts: the library.  While browsing the shelves, I came upon the work of a poet I always enjoy encountering:  Mary Oliver.  I found this gem below in her book A Thousand Poems. 

The time at Subiaco was wonderful trickling stream of simple activities. Walks in the woods, small meals at my small little table, building a day around what to read and when to read it, and a winding drive home off the beaten path (i.e. the freeway) were my small things that weekend.  The collection of these simple activities created a powerful and moving experience for me.  Oliver's poem below, Today, felt like just the right way to describe this time away. 


Today

Today I'm flying low and I'm
not saying a word.
I'm letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

The world goes on as it must
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.

But I'm taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I'm traveling
a terrific distance.

Stillness.  One of the doors
into the temple.

-Mary Oliver

2013 Theme: Small Things

 

Mid-November already, and every time I am out and about, décor for the end of year holidays abounds. It goes from Halloween straight to Christmas in the world of retail, whether we like it or not.  Writing the Advent blog has become a nice antidote to the commercialism, and a helpful way to keep me grounded as the excitement and emotion of the holidays come more sharply into view.

I spent a weekend up north with my Mom in October, and while we were together, we checked the weather each morning. And not just our weather, we also checked the weather in: Bemidji, Minnesota; Columbia, Missouri; Keystone, Colorado and in Charleston, South Carolina. Do you also have multiple cities you check daily? If the answer is yes, I suspect you check because people you love are in some of these cities. Or, you check because these cities are special to you and a quick check of the weather connects you for a fleeting moment to that place and or those people. This small gesture, shared with Mom that weekend and often completed on my own at various times on a given day, brings me joy. And it’s a way to make me feel connected to my brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and special places (NYC baby!).

This year’s theme is “small things.” In times of waiting, the way through it is often found by moving from small moment to small moment. And, when all is said and done, it’s often the very smallest things that bring us the greatest joy.

That said then -- the 2013 blog will include many small things -- poems, pictures, pins - and some of my favorite videos and articles that I have come across this year.  I may even throw in a little bit of short story this year.  As always, your contributions are welcome as the blog is a dynamic work.  Though I have mapped out the entries, I am constantly editing and shifting as the season progresses. 

"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." (Carl Sagan)

Looking forward to the journey ahead!

-Amy