In The Moment
Tuesday Tidings #21
Something shifted in me in March. Or maybe late February? No, definitely March. Not sure how, but just yesterday I felt it, really felt it.
I had just finished taking the neighbor’s dog for a walk. It was warm enough that I could get away with only wearing a t-shirt. With a full dog poop bag in my hand, I walked up the block, down a staircase to the street down below, across a short section of sidewalk, up a different staircase, to a semi-circle of benches in-between which is the one public trash cans I had scoped out ever since I started walking this dog (they do not have trash cans on the street corners like they used btw).
After I deposited the poop bag into the receptacle, I did not rush back to the apartment like I normally do. It was nice out and I was not in the mood to be indoors. But I had work to do. Specifically, I had this post to finish. Then I realized, “I can finish my writing right here.”
Because I have learned a lot about how I write, I have found ways to accommodate what works for me. I need to get up, step away, clear my head, and come back to it later. So, after I write the first draft of my post (or anything) at my desk, I copy it into my Notes app. That way, wherever I go, whether I am on one of my walks, sitting on the couch, or running errands, I can make changes without needing to be in a specific location. I can clear my mind, let the ideas bubble up, and make the edits from anywhere.
Which is why, I decided to sit down on the bench, catch the sun streak through the treetops, and feel the breeze on my face while I made edits to my post in my Notes app. In that moment, I felt totally at peace. I felt free. Not because any of life’s circumstances had changed. I had changed.
No, I had shifted.
Maybe it was all the mulching I did in early March—along with all the digging in the flowers bed and clearing out of debris. Maybe it was all the conversations I had about authority, ambivalence, and leadership that led me to examine some old ideas about myself that sit underneath. Maybe it was coming to terms with and admitting, out loud and in full view, my struggle with the current shape of my body. Maybe it was recognizing all the ways in which I seize up in relationships today because of old fears that took root in old relationships. Maybe it was all the Reels I made about letting go (my other creative outlet). Maybe it was as a simple as the warmer temperatures thawing things out in me. Maybe it’s as complicated and complex as current world events.
Maybe maybe maybe.
Either way, curious about the reason for this shift into what I can only describe as an unbelievable ease and comfort, a level of serenity that feels different and certainly new, I wanted to find the “aha!” moment, something that would make it clear to me exactly how I got here (so I could repeat it some time in the future when, inevitably, I find myself in another contraction).
My journal was the obvious place to look. As a practice, I write in it every day at least once. In the mornings, I turn to the next blank page, making sure both the left and right side are empty. In green ink, I date the top of the left-hand page, make a note of where I am (i.e. which city or state), and transcribe key parts from my daily pull from Alana Fairchild’s 333 Oracles of Heart Wisdom. On the right-hand page, in black ink, I note the same date at the top, and jot down anything that comes up, such as key happenings or struggles. Sometimes, I even write a kind of prayer.
That’s how I process whatever is going on. It also means I can go back at a later date, revisit ideas I had that were not ready yet, or refresh my memory of something that happened six months, a year or two years and so on ago.
But when I flipped through my current journal, there were no clues. Well, actually, there were clues. But not in words. Just numbers. Specifically, a time of day. A time when all the digits were the same. (Some may call that “God Time”).
Turns out, starting on March 1, the only real notes I made for almost the entire month, were those numbers. And some days, I did not even do that. I left the right-side page completely blank.
And you know what? Those mostly empty pages tell me everything I need to know.
For someone like me, who tends to overthink, gets stuck in (paralyzing) fear, tries to prove my worth to someone else or, more likely, prioritizes someone else’s comfort over my own (that fight, flight, freeze or fawn response is deeply engrained), those pages of nothing except the notation of specific moments in time, tell me a whole lot of something. I am living, more and more, in the moment. And that is the big shift.
It can be helpful, informative even, to look back at key moments. I can learn from them and see how far I have come. But sometimes my overthinking mind will take that and create expectations that set me up for future frustration. I am either in the past to plan for the future, or in the future deconstructing the past.
Which brings me back to sitting on that park bench. Right after I typed the last edits into my Notes app, sat back, and felt more of the sun on my face, a bestie called to say hi.
As we chatted and caught up, the breeze picked up. My hair fluttered around my face. And the joy of stillness in motion settled in without me trying.
Because over those four weeks, while I changed up my production schedule, let go of my book and my podcast, and practiced living out “what if I do less, not more, and relax, not push harder” (something I did chronicle through March in my weekly posts), I surrendered.
And that is what makes these sparse journal entries so amazing. They reveal an experience of being in my life without realizing (aka understanding) or making sense of it while it was happening.
I am not sure it matters much why or how that happened. What matters is that by simply saying yes to life on life’s terms, I have been where I am now—in the moment—without thinking much of it or about it. I have established a new baseline for this life I spent almost six years building, moment by moment, for myself.
Sometimes it’s not important how I got here. What matters is that I am here now.
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Meals Out: Ya’ll, I find it ironic and also not surprising, that when I am in NYC, I cook more than I eat out. After all, when I am here, I am with someone else. It’s way more fun to make food and eat together than it is to go out. Not that I mind going out. But, in this moment, the nesting vibes of eating in feels so good.
Plus, on Sunday, I was missing Barbara (for ya’ll who don’t know, she was my spiritual mentor for almost 20 years and passed away in 2024) so it felt important to honor that moment and to prepare one of the things she insisted on showing me how to do really, really well: French toast. So, double win—nesting and healing by making brunch to enjoy with someone I love while remembering someone I will always carry with me in my heart.
Listening (voice): No podcasts this week! Between working, hanging out, and otherwise being in the moment with others, I have not had any desire to listen to a podcast. It’s been a nice auditory break.
Listening (song most likely on repeat): Heard this song Stillness in Motion by Lulu & Mischka (link to Apple Music) nat the end of yoga class last week and felt it most fitting to share here. It says all the things I could spend several more weeks trying to articulate. (It’s a long one and perfect if you want or need an extended rest.
Watching: Over the last week, I watched The Madison (Paramount Plus). OMG. It is so good. Tackling the vastness and complexity of grief well is not an easy thing, and Taylor Sheridan really nailed it. Plus, Montana is gorgeous. So is NYC. Ok, all the visual elements from the backdrops, interiors, and clothes (in each location) really augment each moment, big or small, as they play out. It is gorgeous all around.
Most Hours Logged Doing: I did a lot of walking over the weekend. And I loved it. I felt so very rooted in the moment as I quested up and down streets in a neighborhood that now feels like mine and in which I know my way around without needing to pull up the map on my phone.
Tuesday Morning Meditation: 3.31.25
When I notice that I want to escape my body or wrestle with my mind, I will step back into the current moment and make note of the time.
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