RAINing on My Worry
This week, as I prepare to begin a new year of mindfulness practice, I’ve been reflecting on something simple — and surprisingly freeing. I have a worrying nature.
This week, as I prepare to begin a new year of mindfulness practice, I’ve been reflecting on something simple — and surprisingly freeing. I have a worrying nature.
I’m away this weekend, traveling lighter than usual — and by lighter, I mean I forgot my laptop charger. Suddenly, the lack of such a seemingly small and simple technical support device throws me all off my game.
This time of year has a strong gravitational pull toward home. Going home for the holidays. Decorating our homes. Traveling to other people’s homes. Remembering former homes — childhood ones, family ones, ones that now live mostly in memory. It can be cozy…and complicated.
This week carries us to the solstice and, for those of us in the northern hemisphere, the day with the greatest darkness. Also, the turning point in our gradual journey toward greater light.
The topic on my calendar this week was Wintering Well — finding rest, quiet, reflection, renewal. Which sounds lovely, poetic, right? Except for the small detail that December is, for many of us, a two-week sprint disguised by twinkling lights.
December has always felt like an in-between space to me — a transition between the year that has been and the year to come. A kind of quiet bardo. In Pema Chödrön’s language, the bardo is the place where things “come together and fall apart,” where certainty dissolves, and something new has not yet formed.
With Thanksgiving approaching, I’ve been reflecting on the different forms of gratitude—the kind that is cultivated in various greetings and gatherings, and the kind that appears spontaneously when we witness something deeply touching.
This past week, I’ve been working with what feels like an evergreen challenge in both my practice and my life—Letting Go and Letting Be. I have a frequent inclination to cling to whatever feels transformative or awe-inspiring.
This week, I’ve been appreciating wonder — that childlike state of curiosity that reawakens our senses and lets us see the world with fresh eyes and deeper appreciation. Maybe you’ve felt it too with the recent Beaver Supermoon— an uncommonly brilliant phenomenon shining down on all of us.
We had just arrived in Florida. After several weeks of professional and personal busyness, and with the northern weather starting to change, I was looking forward to a few quiet (and warmer) days of transition — unpacking, reconnecting with my space here, enjoying a sunset or two, before finding my rhythm again.