The First Thing I Notice

Today I'm writing in the morning.

A new decision. 

The first thing I notice is it's hot in the kitchen with the morning sun streaming in. I have the shades down so my view is of closed shades. Except for the window in the middle of the wall of windows. The one in the door. There's no shade there. So no wide-open view of sky for me today. Although...if I look up to my right I can see the sky from another window. And trees framing it. But I don't move my chair to make that my primary view because I don't want to look at the house next door. 

So, writing much earlier in the morning will give me a cool room with a view.

On summer days I tend to move through the house with the sun, opening and closing shades to moderate the temperatures. I don't use air conditioning unless I absolutely have to. I prefer fresh air. 

I've opened the shade with the view of the treetops framing the skies. The sun has moved enough that I can do that. So it just may be a good time to write after all. View wise.

I know people who put their writing desks against walls that they either leave blank, fill with a vision board, rotate a curated collection, or have a single, lovely piece of art. I have always had my writing desk in front of a window. I like to look outside into a beautiful, natural scene. When I lived in a home I owned, I usually sat outside to write in a beautiful natural setting. When I go away for a writing trip, I set up so I can write in nature. 

Writing for me is not so much work as it is an extension of my belonging to the natural world around me.

So I have to be honest here. I haven't put fingers to keyboard in more than ten minutes. That insight has caught me by surprise. And I'm finding myself wanting to sit with it awhile. I'm just not really sure what to say after that. I'm noticing myself applying my Natalie Goldberg writing practice skill of "keep going, keep your pen moving" tool. Even if it means writing what's in your head about your process rather than what you were writing about. The idea is that what needs to come will eventually come. 

But something within tells me it's time to stop and to just let that be. That this part of my writing today is finished. 

That I've found what I came for today.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Seeing in the Dark

I'm still writing at night.

The sun set about a half hour ago and the sky is beginning to darken. It's as if my writing self has turned on and I'm primed for time here with the blank page. There must be something for me in these evening forays so I'm going to go with it. I've noticed recently that writing at night messes with my sleep. I don't get to bed by ten, so I'm up even later than I might be because of a second wind I get when I'm not on my way to dreamland by ten. Writing opens my mind up like a lens aperture. 

A bat just flew across the darkening sky.

These days I'm writing at my kitchen table because this room has walls of windows and my view is of the tops of trees and wide open sky. As the sun goes down, the skies are filled with wild color that gently fades into softer colors. Right now there are the most unusual shades of blue-grey that paint the whole landscape. 

Who could imagine there could be so many shades of blue-grey?

The trees are barely discernible now, but I can still see them. I can see the clouds. Everything looks like a canvas of shadow.

I'm wondering if this night writing is training me to see in the dark.

To discern subtleties.

Even now as we are almost at full dark, I can discern the shapes of what is familiar. The trees that frame the sky. All of this framed by my window. And as I look up, I notice many layers of framing that take me into a deeper focus of a wider vista. 

This feels like a true metaphor for the writing life. 

There is a river beyond. I can't see it when the trees have their leaves. But in winter when everything is stark and bare, I can stand at the window and watch the waters flow by in the distance. A shimmering blue-grey ribbon. At night, the lights of Trenton illuminate the dark, and the traffic that flows by on the road by the river creates movement in an otherwise still seasonal landscape. 

It's interesting to notice that what you can see in one moment is different than at another. How our view is defined by the movements of the sun, the moon, the stars. Tonight the night still feels moonless even though a slender sliver of crescent moon sets just after the sun does. I didn't see her tonight, but I know she's there. 

Over on the other side of the house, below the treeline. 

This writing journey is taking me into some of the lesser-traveled landscapes of my soul. Perhaps even some of the darker edges. The quality of the dark is as subtle as the early summer sky in the hours after sunset. Liminal space. I am between one thing and another. 

Perhaps as the moon's light waxes over the next few weeks, I'll be able to see the features of this landscape more clearly. 

Until then, I'm seeing in the dark.   

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Notice I Stopped Saying I and Me

Writing at night cuts into my sleep.

That puts me at odds with my health goals. It's an interesting thing to notice, this dance I do with myself. And this time, at least this part of it, is about noticing. Without judgment. I'm trying to learn something about myself. We may think that we know ourselves well, but life can bring circumstances that change us. Or, at least, offer us the opportunity to change. Sometimes we take ourselves for granted. Sometimes we don't pay very much attention to ourselves. And then one day we wake up and find that we may not know ourselves at all.

As I think back over my life, much of it has been spent attending to other people. I've been moving along in the flow of that, not really thinking much about myself. These days, I have a lot more time to think about myself. This started about six years ago and it was so stressful for me that I worked hard to create circumstances where I could fall back into that pattern of attending to others and not paying myself much attention. I had another such disruption in my life about 33 years ago and I found myself doing the same thing. Creating circumstances where I could attend to others and ignore myself. 

When life-defining, painful circumstances arise, there's a real opportunity for us, if we have the courage to seize it.   

It requires willingness, and the tenacious act of seeing ourselves. 

It's a radical thing, to truly see ourselves.

The only way we can bear it is to sink into compassion and non-judgment.

Try going thirty seconds without some self-judgment. It's hard to do.

I see different things about myself in the day and in the night. This is probably a gigantic generalization, but I think that, for the most part, it holds true. This morning the sun rose on a beautiful day, a nearly-perfect early summer day with sunshine, breezes, and cooler temperatures. I spent the morning at the Princeton Farmer's Market. I didn't really need any food, but I love spending time there. It's one of the real joys in life. I brought home a beautiful bouquet of flowers - golden yellows, deep pinks, and golden salmon pinks and oranges. I brought home lavender-infused chocolate. I brought home a freshly made Indian sauce to which I need only add protein and veggies to have a great meal. I brought home organic strawberries, asparagus, fennel, and garlic scapes. I sat down at a table on the square and listened to the bluegrass band that was playing. I read a magazine that I bought a week and a half ago and haven't been able to find time to look at. I wrote in my morning journal. I sipped tea and lifted my face to catch the breeze. 

Had I written shortly after coming home, and I did have time to do that, it would have been very different writing.

But here I am, deep in the night, ethereal music playing in the background. On a moonless night I am thinking deep thoughts with gravitas rather than the light, buoyant thoughts that reflected my mood in the early afternoon. 

Perhaps all of this is unfolding as it is meant to do. But the other day, I flirted with the idea of setting a writing time as a discipline. Making this writing practice the priority of my day. Prioritizing it that way would probably mean writing early in the day. I still have not made a decision around that. 

Do I want to keep my options open? Or do I not want to look at myself enough to know what I really want?

Is it too stressful to know what you want? Might that require too much change? Too much of a move out of your comfort zone?

Notice I stopped saying I and me. 

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months of thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are. 

New Moon Manifesto

It's new moon today.

I found myself going through my morning journal this morning, looking at what I've written on the first day of the last few months. That's my conscious reckoning with what needs to open up for me, what I want to work on, what I'm manifesting. New moon is the unconscious flow of energy that carries it forward through the rising energy of the waxing moon to the full moon, with its culminating energy. I seem to have a pattern of noticing when it's the first day of a new month and checking in with myself around things.

In June, for example, it suddenly occurred to me that nearly half a year had passed, and I did a survey of my accomplishments and what I'd still like to do this year. I talk about that in the first piece of writing in this series. That self-reflection led to this Summer of Self-Love journey I began that day.

In May, the first day of the month was the last day of an incredible trip abroad. That day in my morning journal, I made a simple list of what I called, "Take-aways from the Trip." It was a distillation of what I learned while engaged in an extraordinary adventure.

I also popped back to the entry from April 1st. There wasn't one, actually, because it was Easter morning and I was phenomenally busy. But I did write on April 2nd, and that is noteworthy because the Monday after Easter is a day I rarely do anything but rest. Holy Week is a wholly busy time for me and by the time Monday rolls around I'm down for the count. On that day, I did a deep dive into soul landscape and noted several questions for further reflection. I'm going to study that writing in the coming days, but what is alive for me today is the list I created May 1.

It's a manifesto of sorts.

Merriam-Webster notes that a manifesto is related to the word manifest. A feature of it is "to be easily seen or recognized." "Readily perceived by the senses." And there is a public facet to it as well. It is a declaration.

Here's mine.

Time to thrive.
Check your expectations. Cultivate flexibility.
Be open to receiving.
You can do what you think you cannot do.
Remember the lessons of the Medicine Walk.
You are a sprinter - not a long-distance runner.
Life is beautiful.
Visit wild and beautiful places.
Spend time with friends.
Do not be afraid.
Break the blister.
Drink the wine. Eat the scones. Buy daffodils.
Schedule my retreat time - to read, to write, to dream.
Ask - what feels nourishing today?

This is not only what I discovered while adventuring late in the spring. It's what I believe in.

The days following new moon are such a great time to set intentions. And the time just before is a great time to go back through journals and to remember what has been alive for you, to check in with that and to see if it's still alive. To figure out some ways to manifest those things. If it's not still alive, then what is?

I'm excited to work with these things over the next lunar cycle. 

How to make them my life.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months of thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like it's an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

A Decision to Do Something Else

There's nothing a little sun, sand, and sea can't cure.

Exhale.

I had a bit of a meltdown this morning. One that let me know I needed a news fast, as Dr. Andrew Weil calls it. Too many stories about children being ripped from their parents' arms at the border. Of our country. I don't really want to write about that right now. And on the heels of so much communal sadness around the suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain and so many others whose names we may or may not know. Someone posted a photo of a small child in a cage crying. That was it for me. It's one thing to read about it, but quite another to see it in living color. 

We are inundated with so much sadness and so many situations it seems we are helpless to impact. And after awhile our circuits overload and it's time to power down for a bit. So that's what I did today. 

It's the loving thing to do.

I drove down to the shore to spend the day with a friend. We were completely unplugged and sat out by her pool on the deck, surrounded by greenery and birdsong. Her decks are surrounded by honeysuckle that gifted us with occasional sweet fragrance on the breeze. We pulled drops of nectar from the blossoms as if we were little kids. And we tasted it. It was so sweet. When I walked onto the deck I thought the honeysuckle was a sign I'd come to the right place. I waxed poetic about that mighty vine in last night's writing. 

A synchronicity.


We had planned to go out to get a bite at the boardwalk in Asbury Park, but decided to stay in and order out. Chinese food. My fortune cookie said, "Nothing dared, nothing gained." I love it. I taped it to my keyboard. 

My friend works overnights and goes to bed at six in the evening so I headed out to the beach from her place and walked on the sand at the water's edge. There was a brisk ocean breeze that became bracing at times. It was absolutely wonderful. And I left with the sea breeze in my hair and beach waves. I drove home into the sunset and watched the sky change color. Crossed the river and was back home. 

And I'm writing at night again. 

It may be that nighttime will be my writing time. If this pattern continues.

And unless I make a decision to do something else.





The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months of thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

A Tiny Drop of Sweetness

Honeysuckle must release its fragrance at night.

I've been driving around on these early June evenings, intoxicated. By the fragrance, of course, the heady scent heavy on the air. By day, I notice the roadside greenery is covered with the delicate blossoms. But at night...

The fragrance. It takes me by surprise and I tarry just a little longer than I might otherwise. It's worth every stolen moment.

I remember when I was a little girl. I loved to sit on a stone wall in our garden and pluck the flowers from the vine. Ever so carefully, I would pierce the end and slowly pull the pistils through the flower, hoping to catch the single drop of nectar. Such sweetness and delight! And just a tiny taste. 

I'm writing at night again. An early morning meeting and another that ran late tonight shaped my day. And I find myself here again, releasing fragrance into the night. It's just a delicate blossom of memory. And a tiny drop of sweetness.











The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months of thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are. 

  

Slow Dancing with Discipline

I haven't settled yet into a pattern for this writing.

I'd like to find a regular time of day, when I feel good and full of energy, when my mind is at its best, and when my heart is open and present for whatever wants to be felt in the moment and expressed. That's got me thinking, generally, about how I spend my time and whether my patterns and habits support everything I'd like to do with my days and evenings.

I'm not a person who, generally, likes a disciplined existence. I like to be spontaneous and available for the small surprises and serendipity that might come my way. I like to notice what is emerging in the moment and to be available and free to respond to that. I can ground myself easily, so I often think there is no detriment to what seems like an unbounded and free existence. 

The thing is, I've introduced what is essentially a new daily discipline into my life but I haven't really made a plan for how I am going to accomplish it. I've simply made a decision and have been disciplining myself to honor that promise. So what happens on some days is I find myself writing when I am tired or writing down to the wire or writing with a headache or writing around other things I am doing. 

And I wonder what might happen if I make this writing the most important feature of my day and allow everything else to take a step back for a few months so that I can fully engage this daily writing practice.   

What might that life look like and what supporting practices do I need in order to take full advantage of this journey?  

I'm laughing out loud right now because it seems like I may be declaring more promises to myself than this daily writing practice. The plot thickens for me and I am realizing that this spontaneous declaration I've felt pulled toward is a much larger journey than I'd originally imagined. It might even be life-changing. 

It might mean things like paying better attention to what I put in my body and how I move my body, when and how much I sleep, more disciplined attention to my spiritual practice, scheduling my time when I don't absolutely have to be somewhere, getting support to work with what might come up for me as I become more conscious around everything, paying better attention to my social connections, creating more welcoming spaces in my home to better hold this life that I am creating. 

I'm starting to feel just a little rebellious at the thought of all that. It sounds like a lot of work.

But I'm still laughing. That's a good sign.

And I'm having a good time laughing at myself. And a good time witnessing the battle going on in the landscape of my soul as I write this evening. Battle might be too strong a word. It's more like an opening skirmish. The thought just occurs to me that I might like to read "The Art of War" to see if there's any wisdom there for working with myself around all this. 

I won't resolve all of this right now. There are no sudden epiphanies that will put me on the path to perfect execution. I can even be a little stubborn around doing what is best for me. 

For now I think I'll study my weekly schedule and see what is fixed, what is semi-regular, and how I might be able to show up at a regular time each day rather than simply showing up each day. Now that I've had ten days of showing up, perhaps I can step more deeply in and commit to a time to write. And then we'll see how my life evolves to support that.

I suppose I could use someone else's blueprint for all of this. Lord knows I see a daily parade of this master class or that group experience with someone else's "BOLD statements" and "proven method to uplevel your life" sashaying across my Facebook newsfeed. But I like to discover things for myself. And I love a good expedition into the lesser explored landscapes of the soul. 

So here we are.  

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months of thriving. The goal at the end is to have a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.