Walking the dogs at 5:15 one recent morning, and feeling rather cranky due to a poor night's sleep, I again became aware of how much sound impacts me. The only good thing about being up and out so early is the quiet typically prevalent at that time of day. But on that day, I was denied my longed-for silence. For some reason, the streets seemed especially busy. I hate the sound of traffic at any time of day, but especially early in the morning. The passing diesel pick-up truck was especially obnoxious that morning as it grumbled down the deserted street.
I live in a very noisy neighborhood, with houses close together and several busy streets nearby. I constantly feel bombarded by noise, particularly during warm weather when the windows are open. A major expressway is just a few blocks away; there are sirens (fire, police and ambulance) blaring several times a day. The airport is less than 10 miles away. My house is very close to a Little League baseball field, and soon every evening and all day Saturday and Sunday I will be subjected to the droning public address system and the incessant honking of horns as people remotely lock their vehicles along my street. Even at work, there often is a helicopter hovering not far outside my office window, as the pilot tests software designed to control the swinging of a heavy payload being lifted and moved. How I long for the quiet of my New Mexico neighborhood!
But some loud sounds are truly enjoyable. Strangely enough, I enjoy the deafening roar of a U-2 high-altitude plane taking off, afterburners aglow as it shoots into the heavens. Same with the noise of the Harrier, a vertical take-off and landing jet.
Aside from music (classical, acoustic guitar, smooth jazz in general and saxophone music in particular), one of my favorite sounds is of a whale exhaling as it breaks the ocean's surface after a long dive. And although I no longer play tennis, I still enjoy the sound of a well-hit tennis ball flying off the racket's sweet spot. Of course, the best sounds of all are totally natural: the breeze blowing through pine trees; birds chirping and insects buzzing; water rushing over rocks in a stream; the sound of waves crashing on the shoreline; a thunderstorm rumbling overhead.
Sometimes it isn't the sound, but the absence of sound, that is so pleasant. Although I have a major loss of hearing in one ear, the acuity of my 'good' ear is better than average. And I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my ears, so my world is never truly silent. Still, the absence of external sound can be wonderful. I love hiking in places where I hear only the sounds of nature, where there is no traffic, no people chattering, no lawn mowers or leaf blowers to disturb the sounds of silence.
Silence seems such a rare commodity in today's world. From cell phones to 24-hour news channels and endless choices of television and radio stations, our world is filled with cacophony. Many people feel uncomfortable sitting in silence with another person. They seem to feel compelled to fill the void with talking, whether they have anything to say or not. Some people cannot stand to be at home without the television running 'for background noise.'
I enjoy a quiet house. I do not need, nor do I want, some electronic noise polluting my space all the time. I will put on a CD or turn the television on, but only if there is something I want to listen to or watch. I enjoy the quiet of reading, listening to the pounding rain, hearing the gentle breathing of my dogs as they sleep.
Are people today afraid to be alone with their thoughts? Is it so difficult to be surrounded by quiet, to appreciate the sounds of nature, of our own breathing? We need to slow down and listen to the world around us.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Authentic Life
For the past several months, I have been trying to figure out how to live my 'authentic' life. But first, I need to figure out what that 'authentic life' will look like. What is an authentic life? And how will I know when I find it?
This quote from psychiatrist Carl Jung says a lot about reaching for an authentic life: "Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart." So I have been looking into my heart.
I believe that living authentically means following the wisdom of your heart, and not necessarily following only the wisdom of your mind. When I first saw on the Internet the New Mexico pueblo-style home that I eventually bought, I knew in my heart that it was meant to be mine. Everything about it screamed, "I'm here, I'm for sale, I'm affordable, I have everything you want in a house, so come and get me." And I did. After some initial hesitation, I flew to Albuquerque, and visited that house and a few others in a whirlwind tour put together by a local real estate agent. A few days later, after questioning my sanity in buying a house with so little forethought, I made an offer on the house. Had I thought about this decision rationally and logically, as I usually do when facing a major decision, I never would have taken the plunge and bought the house. But I decided to listen to my heart and take a gigantic leap of faith.
Discerning and living an authentic life isn't easy, especially for those of us who are typically ruled by our brains rather than our hearts. It requires hard work to look inside oneself, to, as Jung wrote, "look into your heart," to ask the difficult questions and to honestly evaluate what truly is important in life. Another challenge of embracing an authentic life is facing the disapproval or lack of understanding of family or friends. You yourself may question the wisdom of your choices. Still, the authentic life can be discerned only by listening to the heart, by stilling the voices in our heads telling us why we shouldn't follow the path of authenticity, and by following what we know in our hearts is right for us.
For me, the elements of an authentic life will include the following:
sunshine
mountains
moderate temperatures
interesting places to explore
not a lot of people
lots of outdoor exercise opportunities (for running, hiking, bicycling, walking)
interesting subjects to photograph
open space
quiet
a feeling that I belong where I am
time to do meaningful volunteer work
the opportunity to do more writing
Moving to New Mexico will provide many of the things on this list. There are mountains, lots of sunshine, interesting places to explore, not a lot of people (Albuquerque, the state's largest city, has just 600,000 people), great photographic opportunities, open space and outdoor exercise potential. My new house is on a 1/2-acre lot, unlike my current house that is surrounded on 3 sides by neighbors so close that I can hear their phones ring.
Living an authentic life means taking the first steps to follow a path that is true to who I am, as well as to who I am becoming. An authentic life will mean that I feel comfortable in my environment, something I most definitely do not feel here in overcrowded, overpriced California. Although I will miss my orange and peach trees, and the opportunity to buy wonderful sweet, fresh, juicy strawberries at the local farmers market, there are few other things about this bankrupt, out-of-control state that I will miss.
I won't really know whether I will feel like I belong in New Mexico until I move there and get settled later this year. But after numerous visits to the state, I'm pretty certain that I will feel at home. Although Rio Rancho does get snow, it usually melts quickly. And it provides opportunities for some interesting photography. I love the feel of the high desert air, the wide open spaces, the unbelievably blue sky, the awe-inspiring sunsets, the pueblo-style architecture, the lack of traffic in most of the state. I am looking forward to being able to gaze out my living room window at the Sandia Mountains, to see some of the 16 species of birds my housesitter tells me frequent the back yard, and to bask in the light streaming in the windows on all but the cloudiest days.
I am already looking at volunteer opportunities for my daughter and me, and I have discovered a no-kill animal shelter (Watermelon Mountain Ranch) that welcomes volunteers. I also am starting to get involved with OrphanBaby, a non-profit group dedicated to improving the lives of kids in orphanages in Ukraine. I am continuing to clear my house and my life of unnecessary clutter and things I no longer want or need.
And I continue to look into my heart to glean more information, no matter how obscure or insignificant it may seem, as I slowly build my authentic life.
This quote from psychiatrist Carl Jung says a lot about reaching for an authentic life: "Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart." So I have been looking into my heart.
I believe that living authentically means following the wisdom of your heart, and not necessarily following only the wisdom of your mind. When I first saw on the Internet the New Mexico pueblo-style home that I eventually bought, I knew in my heart that it was meant to be mine. Everything about it screamed, "I'm here, I'm for sale, I'm affordable, I have everything you want in a house, so come and get me." And I did. After some initial hesitation, I flew to Albuquerque, and visited that house and a few others in a whirlwind tour put together by a local real estate agent. A few days later, after questioning my sanity in buying a house with so little forethought, I made an offer on the house. Had I thought about this decision rationally and logically, as I usually do when facing a major decision, I never would have taken the plunge and bought the house. But I decided to listen to my heart and take a gigantic leap of faith.
Discerning and living an authentic life isn't easy, especially for those of us who are typically ruled by our brains rather than our hearts. It requires hard work to look inside oneself, to, as Jung wrote, "look into your heart," to ask the difficult questions and to honestly evaluate what truly is important in life. Another challenge of embracing an authentic life is facing the disapproval or lack of understanding of family or friends. You yourself may question the wisdom of your choices. Still, the authentic life can be discerned only by listening to the heart, by stilling the voices in our heads telling us why we shouldn't follow the path of authenticity, and by following what we know in our hearts is right for us.
For me, the elements of an authentic life will include the following:
sunshine
mountains
moderate temperatures
interesting places to explore
not a lot of people
lots of outdoor exercise opportunities (for running, hiking, bicycling, walking)
interesting subjects to photograph
open space
quiet
a feeling that I belong where I am
time to do meaningful volunteer work
the opportunity to do more writing
Moving to New Mexico will provide many of the things on this list. There are mountains, lots of sunshine, interesting places to explore, not a lot of people (Albuquerque, the state's largest city, has just 600,000 people), great photographic opportunities, open space and outdoor exercise potential. My new house is on a 1/2-acre lot, unlike my current house that is surrounded on 3 sides by neighbors so close that I can hear their phones ring.
Living an authentic life means taking the first steps to follow a path that is true to who I am, as well as to who I am becoming. An authentic life will mean that I feel comfortable in my environment, something I most definitely do not feel here in overcrowded, overpriced California. Although I will miss my orange and peach trees, and the opportunity to buy wonderful sweet, fresh, juicy strawberries at the local farmers market, there are few other things about this bankrupt, out-of-control state that I will miss.
I won't really know whether I will feel like I belong in New Mexico until I move there and get settled later this year. But after numerous visits to the state, I'm pretty certain that I will feel at home. Although Rio Rancho does get snow, it usually melts quickly. And it provides opportunities for some interesting photography. I love the feel of the high desert air, the wide open spaces, the unbelievably blue sky, the awe-inspiring sunsets, the pueblo-style architecture, the lack of traffic in most of the state. I am looking forward to being able to gaze out my living room window at the Sandia Mountains, to see some of the 16 species of birds my housesitter tells me frequent the back yard, and to bask in the light streaming in the windows on all but the cloudiest days.
I am already looking at volunteer opportunities for my daughter and me, and I have discovered a no-kill animal shelter (Watermelon Mountain Ranch) that welcomes volunteers. I also am starting to get involved with OrphanBaby, a non-profit group dedicated to improving the lives of kids in orphanages in Ukraine. I am continuing to clear my house and my life of unnecessary clutter and things I no longer want or need.
And I continue to look into my heart to glean more information, no matter how obscure or insignificant it may seem, as I slowly build my authentic life.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Admitting a Difficult Truth
Well, it finally happened. I am officially old. I didn't have a birthday. I didn't wake up one morning to a head of totally gray hair.
I try to take good care of myself, control my weight and exercise a lot. People tell me I look a lot younger than I really am. But this week I decided it was time to give up running, something I have done for more than 30 years. It wasn't the grinding sound in one knee (x-rays showed no structural problems), and it wasn't the bursitis in my hips (clear x-rays there, too). It was something far more insidious, to my way of thinking. I have run out of energy. To me, that's a sure sign of old age creeping up on me. Actually, old age didn't creep up on me. It ambushed me.
I typically run at 5:30 a.m., after feeding and walking my dogs. But lately, not only have I not had the energy to run, I haven't had the energy to resist going back to bed for an hour or so. Even running after work one day found me with no energy. So very reluctantly, I decided to hang up my running shoes. A friend told me that it's probably a good thing to quit now, before my knees and hips wear out. He may be right, but that doesn't make this decision any easier.
Now I'm going through withdrawal. I miss the heart-pounding rush of running, and the way it helps control my weight. I like being able to get in some good exercise in less than 30 minutes. I miss being able to run off my stress.
Yes, I walk about 4 miles a day, but it isn't the same. It isn't aerobic. It's boring. And when I walk my dogs, they want to stop and sniff every light pole and tree along the route. And at age 11, Mila doesn't move too quickly anyway.
So now I feel that I have officially entered old age. With less exercise, I'll probably have even less energy and gain weight. Where does it end? In nicer weather, I'll try to do more bike riding. I hope I will have the energy for that. I find myself wanting to spend more time sleeping, enjoying my very comfortable mattress. What's next? Granny shoes? Blue hair? Dentures?
Realizing that I'm now old is a hard fact to accept. In many ways, I still feel like a much younger person, rather than someone who will be old enough to collect Social Security in less than 2 years. Another friend told me recently that I have a young mind and a young body. My mind does still feel young, but I'm not so sure about my body any more.
Giving up something I've done, and done well (I have several medals and trophies from winning my age group in various races), is a real challenge. Admitting that time and gravity are winning the battle is sobering. I think it's going to take a while to come to terms with this latest realization.
I try to take good care of myself, control my weight and exercise a lot. People tell me I look a lot younger than I really am. But this week I decided it was time to give up running, something I have done for more than 30 years. It wasn't the grinding sound in one knee (x-rays showed no structural problems), and it wasn't the bursitis in my hips (clear x-rays there, too). It was something far more insidious, to my way of thinking. I have run out of energy. To me, that's a sure sign of old age creeping up on me. Actually, old age didn't creep up on me. It ambushed me.
I typically run at 5:30 a.m., after feeding and walking my dogs. But lately, not only have I not had the energy to run, I haven't had the energy to resist going back to bed for an hour or so. Even running after work one day found me with no energy. So very reluctantly, I decided to hang up my running shoes. A friend told me that it's probably a good thing to quit now, before my knees and hips wear out. He may be right, but that doesn't make this decision any easier.
Now I'm going through withdrawal. I miss the heart-pounding rush of running, and the way it helps control my weight. I like being able to get in some good exercise in less than 30 minutes. I miss being able to run off my stress.
Yes, I walk about 4 miles a day, but it isn't the same. It isn't aerobic. It's boring. And when I walk my dogs, they want to stop and sniff every light pole and tree along the route. And at age 11, Mila doesn't move too quickly anyway.
So now I feel that I have officially entered old age. With less exercise, I'll probably have even less energy and gain weight. Where does it end? In nicer weather, I'll try to do more bike riding. I hope I will have the energy for that. I find myself wanting to spend more time sleeping, enjoying my very comfortable mattress. What's next? Granny shoes? Blue hair? Dentures?
Realizing that I'm now old is a hard fact to accept. In many ways, I still feel like a much younger person, rather than someone who will be old enough to collect Social Security in less than 2 years. Another friend told me recently that I have a young mind and a young body. My mind does still feel young, but I'm not so sure about my body any more.
Giving up something I've done, and done well (I have several medals and trophies from winning my age group in various races), is a real challenge. Admitting that time and gravity are winning the battle is sobering. I think it's going to take a while to come to terms with this latest realization.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
A Visit to Zion
Recently, I was fortunate in being able to spend some time (but not enough) visiting Zion National Park in southern Utah. I had spent a few days there on a hiking trip several years ago, but the park is even more beautiful than I remembered it. The natural beauty of this park, especially in winter when there are few people visiting, literally brought me to the verge of tears.
The soaring peaks, the turquoise water, the beautiful red Navajo sandstone and the geometric patterns of some of the rock formations are beyond description. My daughter and I walked a paved trail along the river, looking up at the blue sky and towering rock formations, and listening to the rushing river nearby. We didn't have time to do any real hiking, but our brief foray into the park afforded us some quiet time to talk and just be together. And of course, we couldn't resist taking some pictures, although no photograph imaginable could capture the awesome beauty of this place.
A couple of days later, on a somewhat cold and cloudy day, we returned to the park. This time we stayed in the car and drove through the park. There weren't a lot of places to pull over for picture-taking, but I stopped wherever I could. In one place, the red sandstone formed a variety of geometric patterns. Nearby, pine trees clung to the rocky face of vertical rock formations. How their roots managed to establish themselves on the bare rock remains an unanswered question. We also stopped to gaze upon the Checkerboard Mesa, whose white rocks were criss-crossed with vertical and horizontal lines that gave the mesa its name.
Utah is blessed with several awe-inspiring national parks: Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches, Canyonlands and others. I hope to visit these natural wonders in the coming years. The sheer beauty of the red cliffs is overwhelming. Spending even a few hours in this magnificent national park reminded me yet again how much I value the beauty and grandeur of nature, and how important the opportunity to spend time outdoors is to my mental well-being.
These brief visits to Zion gave me priceless memories, a feeling of renewal, a sense of being at one with nature in a place where cell phones don't work, and an opportunity to spend quiet time with my teenage daughter. The price of admission: $25 (good for an entire week). The benefits of spending time in the park: priceless. To learn more about Zion, visit http://www.nps.gov/Zion/index.htm
The soaring peaks, the turquoise water, the beautiful red Navajo sandstone and the geometric patterns of some of the rock formations are beyond description. My daughter and I walked a paved trail along the river, looking up at the blue sky and towering rock formations, and listening to the rushing river nearby. We didn't have time to do any real hiking, but our brief foray into the park afforded us some quiet time to talk and just be together. And of course, we couldn't resist taking some pictures, although no photograph imaginable could capture the awesome beauty of this place.
A couple of days later, on a somewhat cold and cloudy day, we returned to the park. This time we stayed in the car and drove through the park. There weren't a lot of places to pull over for picture-taking, but I stopped wherever I could. In one place, the red sandstone formed a variety of geometric patterns. Nearby, pine trees clung to the rocky face of vertical rock formations. How their roots managed to establish themselves on the bare rock remains an unanswered question. We also stopped to gaze upon the Checkerboard Mesa, whose white rocks were criss-crossed with vertical and horizontal lines that gave the mesa its name.
Utah is blessed with several awe-inspiring national parks: Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches, Canyonlands and others. I hope to visit these natural wonders in the coming years. The sheer beauty of the red cliffs is overwhelming. Spending even a few hours in this magnificent national park reminded me yet again how much I value the beauty and grandeur of nature, and how important the opportunity to spend time outdoors is to my mental well-being.
These brief visits to Zion gave me priceless memories, a feeling of renewal, a sense of being at one with nature in a place where cell phones don't work, and an opportunity to spend quiet time with my teenage daughter. The price of admission: $25 (good for an entire week). The benefits of spending time in the park: priceless. To learn more about Zion, visit http://www.nps.gov/Zion/index.htm
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Finding Joy
As I was running today, I stopped to catch my breath and watch a couple of dogs play in the large grassy area behind a nearby school. Their play showed total joy, unencumbered by worry about daily life or looking silly or problems at home. Dogs are like that; they live in the moment. Worry is not part of their being. They find joy in the smallest things. My dogs are as happy to see me when I've been gone 10 minutes as when I've been away for 8 hours.
All of this started me thinking about joy. What is joy, anyway? One dictionary defines joy as "the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation."
For me, joy isn't found in possessions, but in experiences and feelings. I like having nice possessions, but while they may provide comfort, they don't bring me joy.
My definition of joy is:
Getting up at 5 a.m. on a cold Sunday morning, feeding the dogs, then going back to bed and being consciously aware of feeling warm under the blankets, appreciating my wonderful mattress, and knowing that I can stay in bed as long as I want to.
Putting on my robe, drinking a cup of hot tea and reading the Sunday paper, holding the world at a distance for even a short time.
My bicycle tour of southwestern Ireland nearly 6 years ago. I could stop at will and take pictures of ancient castles or sheep grazing on the greenest fields I have ever seen. Even today, looking at my pictures of clouds reflected in a window or boats atop a glassy inlet just after dawn, or streets lined with colorful buildings brings back not only memories, but joy. Eating 3 hearty meals every day and not gaining any weight was joyful. Realizing at the end of the day that I had ridden 25 or 35 or even 45 miles brought me joy. I was pushing myself physically, riding well, and felt really good about my accomplishments at the end of the day.
Taking crazy pictures with my daughter, and laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes.
Listening to a favorite piece of music over and over again because hearing it once just isn't enough.
Studying a beautiful photograph and trying to learn how to improve my own photos.
Listening to Leontyne Price or Charlotte Church hit those incredibly high notes in some of their songs and being in awe at the magnificence of their voices.
Working on a piece of writing, manipulating the sentences and individual words until it's just right.
Taking a photograph and seeing that I got it just as I had envisioned it.
Watching dogs running and playing, ears flapping, tongues hanging out as they chase after each other.
These experiences can't be bought for any amount of money. They are priceless.
Each of us has a personal definition of what brings us joy. I hope I can do a better job of being aware of the joyful possibilities around me, in simple activities, in the beauty of nature or in the creations of humans blessed with a magnificent voice or the skills to compose music or take an awe-inspiring photograph. I can learn from the actions of my dogs, who don't carry grudges, who are always happy to see me, who jump up each morning ready to greet a new day, and who get excited at the preparations for a walk, no matter we have walked that route hundreds of times already.
Joy can be found all around us. We just need to look for it and open ourselves to its presence.
All of this started me thinking about joy. What is joy, anyway? One dictionary defines joy as "the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation."
For me, joy isn't found in possessions, but in experiences and feelings. I like having nice possessions, but while they may provide comfort, they don't bring me joy.
My definition of joy is:
Getting up at 5 a.m. on a cold Sunday morning, feeding the dogs, then going back to bed and being consciously aware of feeling warm under the blankets, appreciating my wonderful mattress, and knowing that I can stay in bed as long as I want to.
Putting on my robe, drinking a cup of hot tea and reading the Sunday paper, holding the world at a distance for even a short time.
My bicycle tour of southwestern Ireland nearly 6 years ago. I could stop at will and take pictures of ancient castles or sheep grazing on the greenest fields I have ever seen. Even today, looking at my pictures of clouds reflected in a window or boats atop a glassy inlet just after dawn, or streets lined with colorful buildings brings back not only memories, but joy. Eating 3 hearty meals every day and not gaining any weight was joyful. Realizing at the end of the day that I had ridden 25 or 35 or even 45 miles brought me joy. I was pushing myself physically, riding well, and felt really good about my accomplishments at the end of the day.
Taking crazy pictures with my daughter, and laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes.
Listening to a favorite piece of music over and over again because hearing it once just isn't enough.
Studying a beautiful photograph and trying to learn how to improve my own photos.
Listening to Leontyne Price or Charlotte Church hit those incredibly high notes in some of their songs and being in awe at the magnificence of their voices.
Working on a piece of writing, manipulating the sentences and individual words until it's just right.
Taking a photograph and seeing that I got it just as I had envisioned it.
Watching dogs running and playing, ears flapping, tongues hanging out as they chase after each other.
These experiences can't be bought for any amount of money. They are priceless.
Each of us has a personal definition of what brings us joy. I hope I can do a better job of being aware of the joyful possibilities around me, in simple activities, in the beauty of nature or in the creations of humans blessed with a magnificent voice or the skills to compose music or take an awe-inspiring photograph. I can learn from the actions of my dogs, who don't carry grudges, who are always happy to see me, who jump up each morning ready to greet a new day, and who get excited at the preparations for a walk, no matter we have walked that route hundreds of times already.
Joy can be found all around us. We just need to look for it and open ourselves to its presence.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Looking Back on This Blog
I started this blog in October 2009. Since then, I have published 58 posts. That's an incredible number of things to write about for a not-so-creative person who leads a pretty hum-drum life. My readership is small, but people from a variety of countries: the U.S., Canada, England, Russia, South Korea, Croatia, Slovenia, the Netherlands and several other locales, have read this blog at least once. I now have an even dozen followers. I would love to see that number grow in 2011.
I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read my blog, and I value and appreciate every comment and e-mail people send. People have said that they have found encouragement and inspiration in my posts. Sometimes it feels that nobody cares or reads the blog, but your encouragement and feedback are very appreciated.
Sometimes I wonder where I will continue to find ideas about which to write, but my sources of inspiration are widespread: a newspaper ad, a word in an article or on-line posting, a thought while walking, a feeling or experience. I also have a few posts in rough drafts awaiting completion and the right time to post them.
Sometimes I write when I feel strongly about something. Sometimes I just want to share something fun or neat that has happened, such as getting to spend time with a large but very friendly timber wolf. And sometimes I write simply for the sheer pleasure of writing.
So because I really enjoy writing, I plan to continue sharing my thoughts, whatever they are worth, with my readership, small though it may be. I hope my readers find this blog to be interesting, that it encourages people to examine their attitudes and lives, and that it provides at least some fodder for thought and action.
Thank you for taking time to read about red rocks and sunflowers. Feel free to share the link with others, to sign up as a follower, and to give me feedback and suggestions.
I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read my blog, and I value and appreciate every comment and e-mail people send. People have said that they have found encouragement and inspiration in my posts. Sometimes it feels that nobody cares or reads the blog, but your encouragement and feedback are very appreciated.
Sometimes I wonder where I will continue to find ideas about which to write, but my sources of inspiration are widespread: a newspaper ad, a word in an article or on-line posting, a thought while walking, a feeling or experience. I also have a few posts in rough drafts awaiting completion and the right time to post them.
Sometimes I write when I feel strongly about something. Sometimes I just want to share something fun or neat that has happened, such as getting to spend time with a large but very friendly timber wolf. And sometimes I write simply for the sheer pleasure of writing.
So because I really enjoy writing, I plan to continue sharing my thoughts, whatever they are worth, with my readership, small though it may be. I hope my readers find this blog to be interesting, that it encourages people to examine their attitudes and lives, and that it provides at least some fodder for thought and action.
Thank you for taking time to read about red rocks and sunflowers. Feel free to share the link with others, to sign up as a follower, and to give me feedback and suggestions.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Just for Today
As the new year begins, I have been giving some thought to how I want to live my life in 2010, and I have decided on some guiding principles. There is nothing new about these principles, as others also have written about their importance in their lives. So I have decided to try my best to live life in 2010 with mindfulness of simplicity, gratitude and peace.
Actually, two of these principles aren't new to me. In 2009, I compiled a list of 100 items for which I am grateful. And with a major move coming up in a few months, I have been trying to simplify my life by getting rid of extraneous 'stuff' from my house. Just last night I posted my last 35mm film camera and a nice oak entertainment unit on freecycle.org. Both items now have new homes. I have been cleaning out drawers in my file cabinet and searching for other ways to simplify and declutter my life. I have donated countless bags of books, clothing and household items. But I'm not through yet. There is still too much clutter in my life and in my home.
All this is not to say that I plan to live as a monk. I still have a big-screen television, three digital cameras, a BlackBerry and high-speed Internet service. But I am trying to rid my home of things I no longer use, including a balalaika I never learned to play, and a 1933 Philco console radio. I also have been trying to find a new home for a wonderful collection of a dozen or so bronze whales, pieces of art that I no longer enjoy.
Gratitude is a bit of a struggle at this moment, as I am continuing to battle a cold, although I am grateful that I don't feel terribly bad, the sun is shining, and I have started running again after a 6-week break. And I was pleased to note that I started 2010 11 pounds lighter and a size smaller than I began 2009.
I recently bought an inexpensive ring that was mounted on a card that said "Simplicity." The ring is in the shape of a leaf, and it has many of the same colors as one of my Native American-made rings. So of course I had to buy it, to serve as a reminder to simplify my life whenever and wherever possible.
Neither conscious gratitude nor simplicity come easily to me. It took a great deal of work and thought to complete the 100-item gratitude list. Simplicity, too, takes a lot of effort. Purging oneself and one's home of 'things' isn't easy.
The greatest challenge for me in 2010 will be to live at peace -- at peace with myself, at peace with the world and at peace in the midst of the chaos that sometimes swirls around me. Living at peace and raising a teenager seem to be antithetical. But so far, three days into 2010, I have been successful. I have yet to be angry or upset about anything.
The best I can do is to pledge to take this endeavor one day at a time. As Ann Landers wrote in her column many years ago,
"Just for Today
Just for today I will live through the next 12 hours and not tackle my whole life's problems at once.
Just for today I will improve my mind. I will learn something useful. I will read something that requires effort, thought and concentration.
Just for today I will be agreeable, I will look my best, speak in a well-modulated voice, be courteous and considerate.
Just for today I will not find fault with friend, relative or colleague. I will not try to change or improve anyone but myself.
Just for today I will have a program. I might not follow it exactly, but I will have it. I will save myself from two enemies — hurry and indecision.
Just for today I will exercise my character in three ways. I will do a good turn and keep it a secret. If anyone finds out, it won't count.
Just for today I will do two things I don't want to do, just for exercise.
Just for today I will be unafraid. Especially will I be unafraid to enjoy what is beautiful and believe that as I give to the world, the world will give to me."
Those are my goals for 2010: to live in gratitude, to simplify my life, and to be at peace...just for today.
Actually, two of these principles aren't new to me. In 2009, I compiled a list of 100 items for which I am grateful. And with a major move coming up in a few months, I have been trying to simplify my life by getting rid of extraneous 'stuff' from my house. Just last night I posted my last 35mm film camera and a nice oak entertainment unit on freecycle.org. Both items now have new homes. I have been cleaning out drawers in my file cabinet and searching for other ways to simplify and declutter my life. I have donated countless bags of books, clothing and household items. But I'm not through yet. There is still too much clutter in my life and in my home.
All this is not to say that I plan to live as a monk. I still have a big-screen television, three digital cameras, a BlackBerry and high-speed Internet service. But I am trying to rid my home of things I no longer use, including a balalaika I never learned to play, and a 1933 Philco console radio. I also have been trying to find a new home for a wonderful collection of a dozen or so bronze whales, pieces of art that I no longer enjoy.
Gratitude is a bit of a struggle at this moment, as I am continuing to battle a cold, although I am grateful that I don't feel terribly bad, the sun is shining, and I have started running again after a 6-week break. And I was pleased to note that I started 2010 11 pounds lighter and a size smaller than I began 2009.
I recently bought an inexpensive ring that was mounted on a card that said "Simplicity." The ring is in the shape of a leaf, and it has many of the same colors as one of my Native American-made rings. So of course I had to buy it, to serve as a reminder to simplify my life whenever and wherever possible.
Neither conscious gratitude nor simplicity come easily to me. It took a great deal of work and thought to complete the 100-item gratitude list. Simplicity, too, takes a lot of effort. Purging oneself and one's home of 'things' isn't easy.
The greatest challenge for me in 2010 will be to live at peace -- at peace with myself, at peace with the world and at peace in the midst of the chaos that sometimes swirls around me. Living at peace and raising a teenager seem to be antithetical. But so far, three days into 2010, I have been successful. I have yet to be angry or upset about anything.
The best I can do is to pledge to take this endeavor one day at a time. As Ann Landers wrote in her column many years ago,
"Just for Today
Just for today I will live through the next 12 hours and not tackle my whole life's problems at once.
Just for today I will improve my mind. I will learn something useful. I will read something that requires effort, thought and concentration.
Just for today I will be agreeable, I will look my best, speak in a well-modulated voice, be courteous and considerate.
Just for today I will not find fault with friend, relative or colleague. I will not try to change or improve anyone but myself.
Just for today I will have a program. I might not follow it exactly, but I will have it. I will save myself from two enemies — hurry and indecision.
Just for today I will exercise my character in three ways. I will do a good turn and keep it a secret. If anyone finds out, it won't count.
Just for today I will do two things I don't want to do, just for exercise.
Just for today I will be unafraid. Especially will I be unafraid to enjoy what is beautiful and believe that as I give to the world, the world will give to me."
Those are my goals for 2010: to live in gratitude, to simplify my life, and to be at peace...just for today.
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