All of Them.
I’ve started to notice more of nature’s gifts and metaphors during my evening walks. There’s one lemon tree in particular that always catches my attention. Its branches longingly ache and reach over the fence on the street that I walk, and both juicy ripe lemons and rotting black ones dangle above me. It’s quite a sight, the mixture of both vitality and death on the same single tree.
This lemon tree illustrates how life offers us both experiences. It’s not always either/or. Sometimes it’s “Yes, I feel this, and I feel this” simultaneously. We can feel both suffering and joy. We can feel grief and hope. My pastor passed away on Good Friday and on Sunday, his wife created a beautiful video tribute thanking the church family for walking with them throughout the years of his cancer. Her message was one of gratitude and joy that he is no longer suffering from chemo and radiation, and yet mirrored in her words and voice was also a deep grief and sadness for the loss of someone we all loved and admired.
I’ve started to soften and appreciate the full spectrum of my emotions. It feels better not having to decide between one extreme or the other. We are allowed to feel them all simultaneously. Let them hang and grow and exist together because they all have lessons to teach us. Sadness and joy. Grief and hope. Our hearts are big enough to hold them all.
The Promise of Spring.
Here’s to hope and the promise of spring. Also, I loved this message so much that I decided to make these into cards…coming soon to my shop!
Enunciate.
I played piano on my church’s worship team throughout junior high and high school. We practiced together every Friday night and early Sunday mornings before the main service. One Easter Sunday before service we were practicing the song “He’s Alive” when Dwight, our guitarist and worship leader, stopped us.
“Enunciate. We all need to enunciate better when we sing,” he said.
It’s the difference between singing ‘He’s alive’ and ‘He’s a lie.’”
That lesson has always stayed with me. The importance of articulation. The importance of enunciation. It can make a world of difference. In some instances, life or death.
Happy Easter. He’s alive.
Still I'll Rise.
A moment in time. Captured with gratitude this afternoon.
“Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.”
Finding the Melody.
There’s so much noise right now in the news. Being inundated with so much information can feel discombobulating and overwhelming.
The message I teased out in today’s blackout newspaper poetry.
Practice the art of distillation. Filter out the excess until only the essential remains. Learn how to sift through the cacophony and listen for the melody. Find it. And sing.
Balance.
The Plate model that I often refer to in my nutrition coaching sessions also doubles as a visual model for the ways to live a healthy and balanced life. Especially during this time. I illustrated this today as a tool to help you see the connections as well.
What are the ways you’re cultivating more balance on your plate or in your life?
Simple Growth.
I attended a retreat in February and one woman named Maia (who happens to be a gardener) generously gave each of us a packet of seeds as a parting gift. The seeds were either red lettuce, arugula, or poppies. Holding the small bags in our hands, we all felt mixed feelings of hope coupled with inadequacy. We were capable of running our own companies, speaking in front of hundreds of people, putting together spreadsheets and business plans, but could we grow something from a seed? Other retreat participants were equally grateful, but there was a common air of concern and caution in the questions that were asked. “How do I plant these?” “I don’t have a green thumb.” “How am I supposed to grow these? I can barely keep succulents alive.”
Maia smiled. Her response was gentle, full of empathy and understanding. “Just find some soil, plant them an inch deep, and make sure they get some sun and water.”
Day 3.
Day 7.
Day 15.
She made it sound so simple. Simple enough to try without being drowned by the overwhelming fear of failure. Maia gave us the gift of being a beginner again. She reminded us through the act of planting seeds how to surrender and trust the process. To stop overcomplicating things.
My nourish bowl that I made today- full of roasted veggies, miso-glazed brussel sprouts, garbanzo beans, avocado, and home-grown arugula.
Today I harvested some of the arugula and added it to my nourish bowl. There is something so satisfying about growing something from a seed.
But isn’t that the foundation of everything we know and do? It starts out with us rummaging around in the dark, feeling buried, but holding a seed of hope. Rooting ourselves in the fertile soil of our experience. Positioning ourselves to face the sun, soaking in water and love. Trusting the process and being patient enough for harvest day.
It really is that simple.
Isolation Creation.
Creativity thrives with constraints. This time, more than ever, we are dealing with constraints. There’s a hashtag on Instagram #isolationcreation which highlights the amount of creative projects that are being birthed in a time when we are forced to stay at home with everyday items, food, old board games, puzzles, and most of all, ourselves.
With all this time spent indoors, more people are walking and running and jogging outside to get some fresh air. People who look like they haven’t jogged in twenty years are out there, huffing and puffing with sweatpants and tennis shoes. It’s for our own sanity and desperation. We crave fresh air, and movement allows us to connect with our bodies, our breath, and nature.
In a letter to his brother Theo, Vincent Van Gough wrote, “Always continue walking a lot and loving nature, for that’s the real way to learn and understand art better and better.”
Lately with all the walks I’ve been taking, I’ve found this to be particularly true.
Found some flower pedals and included them in today’s art.
Today’s #isolationcreation art is dedicated to our healthcare workers who are working tirelessly around the clock on the front lines with a shortage of PPE and doing everything they can to save lives. You will (and always will be) our true heroes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Monday Reflections.
Leaving the house for the essentials- fresh air and movement in nature.
I remember riding my bike through the vineyards of Napa and thinking I only had 10 miles to go until I returned to the car. But my friend shook his head. He had miscalculated the route and led us down a wrong turn which unintentionally added miles to our route. 20 miles, to be exact. I was furious. Running low on water and being completely self-supported in the heat made me anxious, antsy, and exhausted. In my mind I had allotted just enough willpower and water and Clif bars and positive motivation for 10 more miles, so spanning this across 20 miles felt nearly impossible.
The extensions for shelter in place through the end of April feel similarly. Just when I thought life would return somewhat back to ‘normal’, hearing we had another full month of no hugs, social distancing, cancelled vacations and working from home was like staring at the large hills in front of me on the bike and knowing I had 1/2 water bottle and limited patience to ration.
“The days bleed together
Run-on sentences
No period in sight.”
To provide some structure and break up the monotony in my day, I have intentionally added evening walks around my neighborhood. It is spring, and there are a plethora of flowers that decorate the yards. Cherry blossoms sprinkle the driveways and fall like snow on the hoods of cars. Daffodils line the porches, white tulips welcome guests to the front doors. Walking helps me stay present and think. My steps follow the rhythm of my thoughts- methodical and slow. I wander into new cul-de-sacs and enjoy the variety of architecture and landscaping of the houses. There are lending libraries in some neighborhoods. I’ve started to notice how the books change out. New ones arrive, others get borrowed out. These small wooden boxes full of books are a living example of the give-and-take of our community. How we learn and share and return our knowledge back into the world so others can benefit.
I’ve started to recognize families. The dad with the 2-year old son who rides the scooter with a blue helmet and the 6-year old daughter with the pink helmet always happen to cross Gloria Circle and Seminary Drive at the same time in the evening as I do, and now we wave and smile from afar. I pass by the house with the daffodils and see the message “Kindness is Contagious” written on the driveway in thick, bright colored chalk with pink roses circled around it.
I return the next day, but it has rained that morning and the message has been washed away. The roses now lay in a small heap.
Life is transient. This moment in history is teaching me to cherish and learn lessons from both joy and sadness as they come, knowing neither will last forever.
I’ve started to notice the different flowers and how they are all so unique. Slowing down has allowed me to see things in a new way.
Saw this on my walk, fallen from the tree.
This is what I saw in my mind’s eye when I noticed the flower. I came home and immediately painted it.
The gift in this season is taking the time to slow down. To notice the details of our world and see things in a new way, from a new angle, with a different appreciation and perspective. The days may still feel like they are bleeding together. But I have learned that each day is still worthy enough to take out the thick colored chalk and write “Kindness is Contagious” in big letters on the driveway. Even if the rain will wash it away the next day. You’ll never know who you blessed in that simple moment.
Sitting with All of Them.
This zigzag life is beautiful and messy and uncertain and hard.
Instead of ignoring and stuffing away the different emotions that arise during this time, I am learning to name them. Acknowledge them. Offer them a seat and sit with them. Just be with them.
When we begin to embrace all these different feelings with compassion and empathy, we also acknowledge and learn to befriend the light and dark parts of ourselves in a profound way. This perspective allows us to reframe difficult experiences as gifts.
Rather than resisting the uncomfortable emotions that surface, learn to embrace them with compassion. Sit with them. Listen to what they have to say. They can be our teachers too.