There’s a memory I hang onto when times are hard and I find it difficult to feel grateful. I’m 24 years old standing in a bathroom no bigger than a linen closet, staring at my bloodshot eyes in a mirror.
As Beth and I trudged up slippery hills and plodded through leaf-lined puddles, we talked about our day, our election jitters, and how good it felt to be outside. Time in nature has been my saving grace throughout the pandemic – a daily ritual I rely on to keep me healthy, strong, and sane.
I woke up this morning to a cloudy, gloomy day and pulled the covers back over my head. I’d much rather stay here, I thought to myself as I searched my mind for remnants of dreams that visited during the night.
I sat quietly in my office staring out the window at a red-tailed hawk sailing overhead. The wind carried her far above the tree line and I imagined what it must be like to float so effortlessly. I gently closed my eyes to start the day with a meditation.
Today I’m finishing up a new writing project. I’m transforming my “Self Care Cards” deck into an updated version of helpful, healing messages so I’m sharing a blog I wrote last year about one of my favorite things – books.
Last week I received an email from a longtime reader who wanted me to know she was unsubscribing because of my newsletter about Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She was polite. She expressed appreciation for all the years of support my words had provided.