It’s a beautiful day here in the Northeast with a pale-yellow sun high in the sky and the temperature at a balmy 42 degrees. I’ve just returned from a long walk around the lake, where I spent time contemplating the end of a decade and the start of the New Year.
If you’ve been with me for a while now you know I believe in the power of group mind. Years ago, my wise mentor, Nanna, reminded me of this power when I talked about my concern for a group of people who were suffering.
In February of this year I gave my husband Michael a special Valentine’s Day gift. I arranged a private salsa lesson with Piotrek, the owner of a local dance studio. Piotrek is a spiritual teacher disguised as a salsa instructor.
This morning, while reflecting on my last unpleasant visit to a doctor, I wrote a letter in my journal as a way to work through my frustration. A letter I wish I could send to every ‘checked out’ healthcare provider.
I love rituals, especially this time of year. Whether we’re getting together with friends, placing candles in the windows, decorating the tree, or putting holly on the mantle, these activities make the holidays feel festive and special.
My friend Debbie Ford passed away last week after a long battle with cancer. I still can’t fathom the idea that I’ll never hear her voice, enjoy lounging on a hotel bed like schoolgirls conspiring to balance work and play, or watch her deliver a wise and wild talk on stage. The world won’t be the same without her sweet presence.
After my dad died last November, I made a deeper commitment to my own health. Watching him go in and out of hospitals treated by well-intentioned, yet overburdened caregivers, made me vow to do whatever I could to stay out of that system.
On Friday night, my husband Michael and I had dinner with two friends who are healthcare professionals in private practice. During the meal, I asked how their patients were doing given the stressful political climate.