Do one less thing

Sometimes I think life is a rotation between the two sides of the same advice coin, a back-and-forth flip that is sometimes quick, like both in one day, and, other times, we’re on the same side for some time. Before, it was Do this one thing. Right now, it’s: Do one less thing.

Do one less thing, make one less plan, make one choice less, say one less thing, deliberate one time less. There’s a peace that comes in granting that, I’ve found. A space for settling, and for something to naturally shift.

Never turn your back on the waves

I started the day in the ocean. Fully submerged, a baptism of a new week, an appreciation for the nearby beach that I consider to be my front yard, and a cold, salty (in the best way) full-body refreshing reminder that I feel very lucky to live where I do and how I do, that this could be every day and any day for me.

When I plunged underwater the first time I had the gleeful feeling of being a teenager again, down at Belmar, the Jersey Shore, with high school friends, bobbing in the waves, diving directly into the biggest of them, and on those very-big-wave days, letting them throw us where they wanted to, wherever they would, when the next one came too soon. We always came up laughing, swimsuits twisted, always better, happier and more hopped up on life for having taken the ride.

The second time I went under I remembered my dad laughing, and telling me how, when I was younger and we were at the beach (I’d probably just learned how to swim), I told him I was going to teach him how to swim in the ocean. He grew up in Acapulco, Mexico, and spent more days than not in the ocean. It was, of course, actually him who taught me to swim in the ocean, and he always, always told me: “Never turn your back on the waves.” Face them, see them, be with them. Dive into them or ride them, but never turn your back on the waves.

The past week, week+, has felt more emotionally intense for me. Because of things that unexpectedly arose, as (expectedly) so often happens, and because it’s just sometimes like that, full of feeling. It was a reminder, an opportunity, to me to just be with it. To not try to change it, to not force into a direction or a feeling or a time constraint, but to surrender it to fully feel it and let it go, to let it wash over me. It was a reminder of how so much comes in waves, even when part of the same experience. I’m proud of myself for facing it, for facing the waves, and so appreciative for close relations like friends who, with heart-centered kindness, openness and invitation, were there, encouraged me to share, went deep with me and, also, let me be.

For my dad, who showed me how to be with the waves and play through life at all ages, and always with joy

Ask for what you want

I’ve been thinking about how it’s really such a gift to know what you want. For one to know what one wants, and in any moment, really. Because it doesn’t always come through clear, and sometimes it’s actually what other people want, or what we think other people want, or what we’re expected to want so we’ve accepted we want.

To know what we want takes introspection, reflection and connection to ourselves. And it also takes recognition and acknowledgment that it may come in an unexpected form. Like, knowing what we don’t want, or something we don’t want; that’s also knowing what want. Or, not knowing what we want about something big (something we really feel like we want to know what we want about) may take us on a path realizing many little wants that leads back eventually to knowing the big want, even if they seem unconnected. Like what we want for breakfast.

The best way to honor that gift of knowing what we want, I think, is to ask for it. Ask for it in its true form, too; not some version we think is going to be more palatable, or easier, or more “attainable.” Because we don’t actually know that the more (“)convenient(“) compromise we’re proposing is actually convenient or even desirable anyone at all, because we don’t really know what other people. And it’s definitely not for us, because it’s not what we actually want.

Asking for what we want takes courage, and that comes from the heart. The heart chakra, too, is conveniently connected to the throat chakra. A direct line to asking for what you want.

Posted on 8/8, the Lion’s Gate of 2022

Tendency is not destiny

One of the smallest and most empowering changes I’ve made is to realize I do not have to identify myself with my behaviors, nor write my future that way. We may do something, but it does make us that. Being is at the base of doing.

Because we have acted a certain way in the past, does not mean we have to continue to do so.

Just because I’ve done that before does not mean I will do it again, not if I don’t want to. Not if I take time to understand why that occurred, and to change it.

As Eckhart Tolle says, it’s “The Power of Now.” Tendency is not destiny.

Drafted July 25, and thought I posted then. (And the light in my living room just flickered on unexpectedly.)

Let yourself have this

This phrase of invitation, allowance and permission often comes to me when I first sit for meditation. I tend to fidget, wanting to find the “perfect” seat (reminding myself that “perfect,” is always; perfect is what we create, what we allow to be), something probably related to a pattern in our capitalistic society of wanting to, feeling like we need to, Always. Optimize. Everything. (Anyway!)

“Let yourself have this,” I find myself guiding myself in response. Just let yourself have this time to be in this moment, this meditation. Let yourself have this, whatever is pulling, whatever is presenting. If it is a slower week, if you’re desiring more rest, if you find something seemingly silly and nonsensical to be bringing you joy, or something feels good and makes this easier. (Like, I recently got a fidget toy to help me focus when I’m working!) Let yourself have it! You deserve it, all of it.

So, let yourself have this, too. Slowness, stillness, a burst of energy and excitement, or some other gift of emotion coursing through. Let yourself have minutes to space out and dream, to visit memories, other places in your mind and create other realities and timelines. Let yourself have this, whatever it is.

Let it be light

In the last half-day, I’ve heard the phrase, “It’s not that deep,” in a few moments. Said in a show I was watching, shared in a TikTok that found me, mentioned in a memory to myself. Rather than dismissive, it’s been it a welcome reminder. It’s also had the power to gently dissolve the intensity or heaviness that often accompany something “deep” for me.

I’ve followed it up and filled it in automatically for myself, too, with a reminder I had on repeat about a month ago: Let it be light. Let it be light—”it’s not that deep;” it doesn’t have to be. It’s not that heavy; it doesn’t have to be. It’s not that intense; it doesn’t have to be. Something can be light and easy and still have impact, still have resonance.

Let it be light. Let it it be easy; let it be with you; let it lift off you. Let it leave you, and let it return to you, if it’s meant to. Let it be light. And, in being light, it can also illuminate.