When Gratitude Finally Beat Zillow
As I’ve previously shared, I have a worrying nature. And with it comes a deep craving to control what may—or may not—happen. It usually starts from a well-intentioned place: genuine care, empathy, and concern.
As I’ve previously shared, I have a worrying nature. And with it comes a deep craving to control what may—or may not—happen. It usually starts from a well-intentioned place: genuine care, empathy, and concern.
Yesterday, during an annual retreat day, I spent several hours in mediation, Qi Gong, and breathwork — modalities that invite sensations forward and thoughts aside.
This week, I’ve been spending time with a book that quite literally found me — Being Nobody, Going Nowhere by Ayya Khema, discovered in a quiet bookstore on an ashram.
This week’s theme in my own practice — and in my work — has been awareness. Not the lofty, enlightened kind. The everyday, slightly embarrassing kind.
This week, I’ve been spending time with a, perhaps common, post-New Year’s question: Why can’t I just make a positive habit change, like getting up earlier? Why can’t I “Just Do It” like the Nike commercial says?
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.