I really struggled with today's post. (It’s not the first time, and I know it won’t be the last time). Maybe I was still adjusting to being home after ten days on the road. Maybe I was still processing all that happened during those ten days. Maybe maybe maybe. Then I thought, well, I could write about the age hangover (not a drinking hangover, but an “I’m caught off guard by how not thrilled I am about being middle age” hangover) that I woke up with on Sunday. Except, by the time I sat down to write, I had already had already worked that through—I got out of the house and took a walk through the neighborhood (aka my tried and true mental health regime, regimen, whatever you call it). Along the way, I made a Reel about my age hangover and let go of being mad (wtf, am I really fifty-two?) and then sad (yes, I am really fifty-two, wtf) and then mad about being sad (snap out of it! look at your life! stop complaining!) and then sad about being mad (why are so you hard on yourself? be sweet to yourself). So yeah, once I gave it voice, and turned it something fun (it’s actually the editing and finding the places to cut from here to there and back again that gives me the greatest joy), I no longer carried all that junk around with me.
And no sooner did I hit “share” on that Reel, than my bestie, with whom I had made tentative plans the night before, texted me to ask if I still wanted to go for a walk. It is a Sunday tradition we started in the early days of Covid. For months, and ultimately years, almost every Sunday, we walked for at least an hour and a half (usually two hours or longer) through various old town neighborhoods and discussed all kinds of things—architecture, local (non)happenings, my divorce, his work, what this whacky, wonderful world we live in was coming to, art, design, and even politics. But then Covid ended, life got busy, and those Sunday walks became less routine. And until we met in the downtown parking lot, I had not realized how much I miss those walks.
So, it was a real treat to have a leisurely, extended walk and talk in the unseasonably cool, delightfully sunny, cloudless blue sky August afternoon.
When I got home around 3pm, I made a few phone calls, and puttered aimlessly around the house. Finally, around 4pm, I stopped procrastinating and sat down at my computer to write. But I still had no idea about what. I looked around the studio covered in notes, outlines, and plans scribbled on various big and small post-it notes, and thought, “Hmm, I could write about one of the bajillion ideas that I have on my wall.” I scanned around and stopped on a big post-it note hanging to the right of my desk. On it, I had scribbled, essentially, “when I recycle the resentment, I become bitter, not sweet.” But when I scanned my full mind and body, I realized I did not have any resentments. Wow. Really? No resentments? Yeah, right now, I have no resentments. All the willingness to drop the ones I had as recently as three months ago paid off. That meant if wrote about that now, I would need to make sh*t up or dredge up something I have already released. But that’s not what I do. Today, I say what I mean, mean what I say, and choose to live happy, joyous and free (especially when that choice is entirely up to me. It also does not mean I always wake up happy, joyous or free…see above).
Today, I say what I mean, mean what I say, and choose to live happy, joyous and free.
With the resentment idea crossed off the list, I thought about writing about how I almost canceled the birthday party I had on Saturday night. Oh, yeah, that happened. On Monday, after sleeping in my own bed for the first time in over a week, I was really tired. The thought of cleaning up my house or organizing anything was too much. Really, it was a good excuse to isolate. But when I said as much to one of my besties, she responded with, essentially, “Yeah, no, you’re not canceling. We’re having this party. So, I will come over early on Saturday and help you get things set up.” I did not argue with her. Then I confirmed with everyone else, let the week unfold and allowed myself to unfurl.
I am so glad I did not push back, argue, or say “no” to the love. Because on Saturday, ten people showed up. They brought food. They brought drinks. They brought laughter. It filled me with me with gratitude and my home with community. Not just any community. The kind of community that loves you enough to call you on your crap. And the kind of community that shows up when you want to pull back.
The kind of community that loves you enough to call you on your crap. And the kind of community that shows up when you want to pull back.
As good as all that sounded, I did not think I needed a whole post to write about that. Really, that last paragraph pretty much says it all. So I sat, at my computer, for almost an hour, and struggled. Really struggled. I looked up old drafts of stuff I had written some time ago but that none of that made sense. It was no longer real. None of it felt relevant to who I am right now. Then my brain roared through a massive rolodex of things it had to force into being or make up, and that did not interest me in the least. The truth was I had nothing to say about anything. I was out of ideas.
And then I looked across the room, past the work out area and through the windows into the back yard and thought, “It's beautiful outside, and I don't want to sit at my computer. I don't want to edit audio, and I don't want to type. I don’t want to any work. I don’t want to do anything.”
my view from my desk.
I get up, walk out to the back patio, and pull my Costco wood chair thingy majiggy up to the little brick wall along the edge of one of my pollinator gardens. The chair, weather-worn to match the untidy (aka messy) patio, is very low to the ground and much more comfortable than it looks. The sun hovers behind the trees in that perfect angle so it does not hit your eyes while it illuminates the whole back yard with patches of bright light in between shadows cast by the full, leafy trees. It is an awesome 78 degrees with no real humidity. And, crucially, there are no bugs.
I take my seat, prop my feet up on the brick wall, and think, “I'm just gonna sit here and do this.” Because truly, what else is there? This peace, serenity, and joy—this is what I have spent the past five years building into my life. And the love I have…not just where live, but kind of everywhere…I mean, all week, starting days before my actual birthday, I got phone calls and texts. And gifts. And dinners. And people fussing over me—in all different kinds of ways. “So why not just sit here, soak it up, and enjoy it?”
This peace, serenity, joy, and love—this is what I have spent the past five years building into my life…So why not just sit here, soak it up, and enjoy it?
Then I remember a quote someone I love sent to me via Instagram earlier in the day. It said, “Stop asking what’s next. If you can’t find God in washing a dish, you won’t find Him on any mountaintop.” (It is kind of random, as in very unexpected and therefore highly noteworthy, to receive this kind of quote from this particular person, so I know that means something as in pay close attention to what this says to you).
Right. My mind is a complete blank slate. That is not a bad thing. It is a great thing. And you know how hard I had to work on that? Really, really hard. Like twenty years hard. Like “I spent many years filled with hectic days, long nights, and painful hours making countless contrary-to-how-I-felt decisions to change the thoughts in my head and then actively choose to not think about anything when I wanted to obsess about everything” hard. So today, when people ask me, “what is it you're trying to achieve,” or “what is it you're trying to do,” I answer with, “I don't know.” I cannot think of a goal as in a destination that I want to reach. I am already there. (Don’t get me wrong, there are things I want, but that’s a whole other conversation.)
My toes wiggle on top of the wall. My back leans deeper into the chair. Off in the distance, two monarch butterflies dance together above the sunflowers. Again and again, they swoop down, and, in a circular motion, they zoom back up into the sky. In the flower bed on the other side of the wall where I sit, the tall, purple coneflowers frame in the fuchsia garden phlox. Out of nowhere, the Black Butterfly appears. It flies around my head a few times, and then settles onto one of the phlox blooms right in front of me. Patiently, it drinks the nectar, and slowly, opens and closes its wings.
(for anyone who is a regular reader, you will know about the significance of the Black Butterfly…it always appears to confirm something I already know even if I do not yet know it. The below is a link to the last post in which it makes an appearance at a key moment).
Everything I need (to do), and all the things I want (to have) will come when it is time. Right now, I get to take in the Black Butterfly sitting on top of the bloom, and the monarchs dancing in the air, while I do nothing, think nothing, and say nothing.
Because I already found my God, and I already sit on the mountain top. And from here, there is nothing else to do but to enjoy the view.
Meals Out: As I already mentioned, I went to Water Street Kitchen (again) for brunch. Otherwise, I enjoyed an amazing collection of homemade foods brought for the potluck birthday party, including some amazing cupcakes decked out in discoballs.
While I’m on the subject of podcasts…please check out my podcast, The Stories That Sparkle Podcast, and share it with two friends you think might enjoy it. Oh, and did I mention I am taking the podcast on the road in September? Well, I am—for a whole month! I will drive across country and back. To keep up with all that, including the lead up, subscribe to my Substack. Want extras? Consider becoming a paid subscriber.
Listening (song most likely on repeat):The Hardest Part. Olivia Dean is a new discovery for me. Found this track scrolling around and snap listening to a bunch of “new to me” songs. This one stood out so I have been listening to it quite a bit ever since (also a big fan of her other songs, Nice to Each Other, and Ok Love You Bye, either of which I almost picked to include here today). (link to Apple Music, embed to Spotify)
Watching:The Gilded Age on HBO Max. This show has been a (guilty) pleasure watch for me and I have hung with it even when I wondered why. Last night’s penultimate episode of Season 3 (I will not spoil it) tipped over a kind of edge—everything came together for me. For the first time, I looked past the lush sets, gorgeous costumes, and (sometimes) hokey vibes to notice that some of my favorite characters had been given more depth over the course of the season and I was now legit invested.
Most Hours Logged Doing: This weekend, thanks to the incredible weather, I took four different walks of various lengths along several different paths, sat in a bestie’s back yard for a glass of wine, hosted a joint birthday party (another one of my peeps and I share a birthday…the actual day), and sat in my chair on the back patio.
Monday Morning Meditation: 8.4.25
I do not need to worry about, ponder or plan for what’s next. I also do not need to push the river, climb over boulders, or scale up sheer cliffs. All the places I want to get to are already here.
Is there a topic you would like me to write about in a Monday Missive? Cover in a podcast episode? I am curious about what you are curious about and would love to hear from you so leave a comment below or drop me line.
Thanks for the reminder that joy is found in each moment, in the here and now….. that it can be found on this rare cool rainy day in my sunroom drinking delicious coffee still in my pjs. Thank you my friend. Oh! And the black butterfly! Wowzers!!!
Thanks for the reminder that joy is found in each moment, in the here and now….. that it can be found on this rare cool rainy day in my sunroom drinking delicious coffee still in my pjs. Thank you my friend. Oh! And the black butterfly! Wowzers!!!
How ironic, needing to be good/ok in the serenity. Good work my friend.