After more than a year of meditating every day, I’m still amazed at how often I’m somewhere else rather than where I am at any given moment. This morning, while chopping Brussel sprouts, I visited London, had a one-sided disagreement with a former colleague..
It was warm, 75 degrees, and rather humid for a spring day. I stood at the shoreline ready to take a plunge with my friend Libby, when she offered a challenge: “I’m going to stay in for ten minutes but if you don’t feel up to it, no worries.”
There’s a memory I hang onto when times are hard and I find it difficult to feel grateful. I’m 24 years old standing in a bathroom no bigger than a linen closet, staring at my bloodshot eyes in a mirror.
Last week I received an email from a longtime reader who wanted me to know she was unsubscribing because of my newsletter about Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She was polite. She expressed appreciation for all the years of support my words had provided.
I stepped outside just before sunset, to add a little birdseed to an empty feeder because I have a raccoon who comes to visit for a late-night snack. As I turned to walk back into the house, I noticed something watching me from the edge of the yard.