I was talking to my wife yesterday about being tired. I don't know exactly where it comes from, but I have some residual shame about being tired. I'm a person who gets a lot done and also crashes hard. I don't always pace myself well.
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The kind of week when you carry a mix of awe and gratitude and sadness and clarity and none of it makes sense yet it all makes complete sense.
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I might resist change, but I also welcome it. It's how we keep things moving, keep energy flowing, and make room for what's new. If it hadn't been for that stench, I might not have had a cleaning fit today.
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The more we look behind the curtain, the healthier we can be in our expectations of ourselves and the more compassionate we can be with each other.
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I worked up a sweat shoveling a path for poor Chalupa, who was like, hey lady, where is a dog supposed to relieve herself around here?
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This is a day of sorrow. And this is a day of giving thanks. I wonder as I type the words whether both can be true, and am not at all convinced that the answer is yes.
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Why bother writing if you’re not writing something? It’s a fair question.
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Overwhelm happens. And thankfully, so does perspective.
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Maybe I'm not so much like the chicken after all. But I do love the simplicity and whimsy of the picture, so perhaps that, at the end of the day, is why I like it and will keep it on the fridge.
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It's like the rabbi reminds the congregation at the start of the Torah service, every time there is a bar or bat mitzvah: We are not here as performer and audience, but as a community.
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What if playing with balance was the very thing that made me good at this thing?
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Contact our Research & Development Team with inquiries about collaborating, contributing, and otherwise changing the dominant paradigm.
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The first came easily -- for Mani's health to be 100% restored. The others, though, I thought long and hard about as I drove south through farmland and evening light.
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What I can do is stay focused on the things that light me up, bring me joy in a deep sense, and make me feel most like myself rather than taking on more roles and tasks that I think I need in order to survive.
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I stand on the shoulders of those who embodied this most; I can only hope my actions align with my innermost heart, the blood of my ancestors, those whose minds may have been filled with doubt but kept walking anyway, those whose names are found on the train manifests to Auschwitz, those who braided the bread and lit the candles and buried the dead and praised the living.
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