Author: Susan Minarik

For the Thrill of It

“Buckle your helmets,” they say. “It’s going to be one heck of a ride.”

For some reason, when I heard that my thoughts flashed back to my childhood and the rickety, old, wooden roller coaster at the amusement park half a mile down the beach from where I lived. People loved it, and on still summer nights I could hear their shrieks through my open bedroom window as they plunged down from the top of its highest hill. We kids loved it, too. Some of our dads ran it on weekends and would let us ride for free when its cars went unfilled.

As I remembered it, a line from an old movie came to mind. I don’t recall any more of it but one scene at the end. A grandmother, her son and his kids were leaving to go to an amusement park and the son suggested she might like to take a whirl on the merry-go-round. “Oh,” she said, “that would be fine. But I much prefer the roller coaster. The merry-go-round just goes around and around in the same old circle. But the roller coaster! That’s where the thrills are!”

There’s a big difference, of course, in plunging down a steep hill on a roller coaster and plunging into the seemingly dire circumstances that life sometimes hurls at us. But the essence is still the same. We go on full-alert, holding on for dear life, praying for a safe landing. In the one case, some part of you knows that it’s just a ride, for the fun of it. In the other case, all you know for sure is that things seem pretty dicey and you better pay attention, assess your resources, and look for ways to get safely to more solid ground.

Nevertheless, it’s all an adventure. And the key to handling life’s cliffs and curves is to trust that we have the wherewithal to see each moment for what it is, letting go of the stories and fears that serve only to pollute our perceptions of reality. Our wondrous minds will unfailingly pull from their stores of experience the best answers they have to guide us in any situation. We’re all far more resourceful that we imagine ourselves to be–and stronger.

A tweet I read this week said, “There are so many things I thought I couldn’t manage. And yet here I still am.” We get through all kinds of emergencies, hardships and challenges. It’s not always easy. Sometimes life comes with sorrow. Sometimes life comes with pain.

When you find that you’re discouraged and weary, take this bit of advice from Yale psychologist Laurie Santos. She teaches a wildly popular course on happiness. “The best self-care is kindness to others,” she says. “The best way to be nicer to yourself is to be nicer to others.” And she has the studies to prove that it’s true.

Her wisdom echoes that of one of my favorite teachers, Tara Brach. When you’re hurting, she says, say to yourself, “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.”

It’s been a difficult year for everyone everywhere. And the challenges keep on coming. Stay present. Breathe. And look for goodness; it’s always there, deep inside every moment.

I’ll leave you with another piece of wise advice as we head into the week’s unknown. This one comes from Kurt Vogenaut: “Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”

Wishing you a week of grace, a grand sense of adventure, and a heart overflowing with love.

Warmly,

Susan

The Constant Answer

Here’s my quote of the week for you. It’s from Neale Donald Walsh:

“What would love do now?
This is a marvelous question. It washes away all doubt. It bathes the mind with the wisdom of the soul.”

Tuck that one in your pocket and carry it with you everywhere you go. Start your day with it. When you let it guide your actions and words, you’ll be a joy to everyone you encounter. And when you remember it too late, it will show you how to repair whatever damage has been done.

Love comes in an endless variety of forms and can express itself in countless ways. An email a friend sent me a few weeks ago touched me with the insight the purest among us–our children–have about it. I stumbled across it again today and thought I’d share it with you. It made me laugh and it touched my heart, and I hope it will do the same for you. I’m sorry I can’t credit the source, but I offer my happy thanks to the person who compiled it.

Here it is. Enjoy!

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, ‘What does love mean?’

The answers they got were broader, deeper, and more profound than anyone could have ever imagined!

‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time , even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love.’ Rebecca- age 8

‘When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’ Billy – age 4

‘Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.’ Terri – age 4

‘Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him , to make sure the taste is OK.’ Danny – age 8

‘Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and just listen.’ Bobby – age 7 (Wow!)

‘If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.’ Nikka – age 6 (we need a few million more Nikka’s on this planet)

‘Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.’ Tommy – age 6

‘During my piano recital , I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore.’ Cindy – age 8

‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.’ Chris – age 7

‘Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.’ Mary Ann – age 4

‘I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.’ Lauren – age 4

‘When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.’ (what an image) Karen – age 7

‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn’t think it’s gross.’ Mark – age 6

‘You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.’ Jessica – age 8

And the final one: The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard , climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, ‘Nothing, I just helped him cry.’

Wishing you a week where love guides you and fills your heart to overflowing.

Warmly,
Susan

Song for the Broken Things

For a few glorious days each autumn, the world sings with color. I make a point of visiting a large cemetery in a nearby town where ancient towering maples rise above the monuments and tombstones, blessing them with a rain of falling leaves. The maples’ massive boughs wear brilliant orange, scarlet, yellow, burgundy and lime that dance in the breeze and take your breath away with their splendor.

I pause now and the to read the names engraved on the granite markers, the dates that span the lifetimes of those they commemorate, some nine decades, some but a few days. Here’s a mother and father, their sons and daughters, some with their spouses and children, some without. And always I seek out the two near the center of them all that make me smile in their juxtaposition. The first one, a large marker, nearly four feet high, is engraved with the single name, “Jolly.” Behind it, the second one, equal in size, says “Moody.” When I found them, a ray of sunlight bathed Jolly’s marker, there beneath the orange trees, while Moody stood in the shade. Together, they make a poignant statement. And it seems fitting somehow that they’ll stand together until the granite crumbles away with their reflection of life-experiences: Both.

I read a poem this week by Alice Walker, “I Will Keep the Broken Things.” She describes mementos that she keeps on a shelf even though the vase is missing a piece and the woven basket’s side has a jagged hole. Then she goes on to say that she will keep the memory of someone’s laughter even though it is missing now. She thanks the broken things, the pilgrim of sorrow. And she ends by saying “I will keep myself.”

It left me with the same feeling as my stop by the markers at the cemetery. We’re all broken things, and we all have our bits of brightness and laughter as well. And we’re all worth holding in reverence. We all deserve to stand on a shelf of honor. Not because we’re perfect. But because we dare to be, to live, to weather the storms, even with our missing pieces and jagged holes, even when life steals our joy and leaves us standing in darkness.

Something larger and more ancient than us rises above us and spreads its roots through the earth on which we lie. And sometimes we get brief glimpses of its resplendence and feel its love, raining down like leaves on a light autumn breeze, whether we’re jolly or moody.

Be at peace. And whisper to the broken things, as Alice Walker did, “Thank you so much.”

Warmly,

Susan

Winds of Change

Here in west central Pennsylvania, it’s the week when autumn’s colors peak. Scarlet and golden trees glow from the hillsides and lawns, their leaves raining down in the breeze like love letters dropped from the heavens. Roadside stands have appeared with heaps of fat pumpkins and baskets of peppers, squash, onions, and tomatoes. In the fields, giant machines harvest the soybeans and corn.

Summer has slipped into memory, leaving its bounty behind. We gather it in preparation for what is to come. And here, in this moment of transition, I stand, awed, at the beauty of it all.

A mere six months ago, the trees and fields were bare, the hillsides wearing only the green of scattered pines. Patches of snow and ice still lingered as we searched the landscape for signs of spring. And now! All this bounty!

It just goes to show you that no matter how bleak the world may seem, miracles are unfolding, just out of sight. You just have to trust that everything has its season, and all of it has its own reason, however mysterious its reasoning may be.

On my window sill I have a rock engraved with the word “Change.” It’s my little reminder that change is the only constant in our world, the only thing that’s permanent.

The key to living with maximum joy is to accept the impermanence, to learn to dance to life’s changing rhythms, to welcome change as a revelation of who you are and what you value. It lets you tap your accumulated wisdom as you make choices about how to respond to its unfolding events.

Change teaches us not to cling to things, to be willing to let go of what we’re experiencing now so that we can embrace the gifts of the next now, and the next. It teaches us to be one with the present, open to all that it holds. It shakes us out of our dreams, waking us, alerting us that a spacious reality is beckoning, full of possibilities and wonders.

Change shows us that life is always in motion. Change is the music, and life is the dance.

The seasons change. The weather changes. All things come and go.

But remember this, too. Through your choices, you have the power to influence the direction of change. You can speak. You can be silent. You can act or be still. You can give or withhold. You can love or be unkind. And each of these choices makes a difference in the way that things will go.

Even when change is beyond your influence—day will follow night regardless of what you do—you have the power to accept and be open, or to resist and be imprisoned by your resistance.

I can see autumn’s beauty and be filled with awe, or I can mourn the loss of summer or dread the winter’s approach.

When I open to its beauty, it energizes me. I am one with its scents and colors, with the dance of the flying leaves, with this wondrous moment, with the realization that I am alive in it and a part of it, with all its drama, and it is a part of me. And all is well, and the next moment will take care of itself.

Warmly,

Susan

Remembering to Play

I finally got around to harvesting the herbs today–the lemon balm, the mints, the oregano. I put if off as long as I could. They have been delightful companions since they first popped from the ground all those weeks ago.

I let my mind drift back to those days. It was early spring. So many life-changing events have played out in the world since then that it’s almost as if we’re in a different corner of the universe somehow.


It’s hard to think about how life was as the year began. It is for me, anyway. I liked what we called normal in those days. I sometimes grieve its loss.  Now I feel as if I’m living in some kind of sci-fi, nightmarish, action-packed, heart-rending tragicomedy where everything is at stake. And there’s this huge war going on, a battle for mastery of the planet between what some call the Evil Empire and us, the Human Race. They’re after our minds and our souls. And the fog of war is thick; our perceptions and interpretations can be deceiving. The bad guys, who would enslave us, are sly and tricky beings. They come in many disguises, with marvelous tales. We have to be wise, continuously questioning everything, holding to our truest light when making choices. As I said, the bad guys are sly and come in many disguises. It’s amazing how smooth they can be at winning your trust.

The fragrance of the herbs catches my attention and snaps me back into the here and now. The dream world has vanished completely, instantly evaporating away. I hear the quiet purr of the dehydrator’s fan. The refrigerator is humming. The windows are dark now. Only the soft light from the pink LED amp illumines the kitchen. I hear a car pass on the road outside.

I’m making tea with some of the mint, and I take it off the heat to let it steep. I can’t resist pouring some into a little china cup to get first dibs on the taste.

A friend calls. His brother in California is buying an newer electric car, a Lucid Air or something. I remember that the name made me think of lucid dreaming. (Maybe this is all just one, big, shared lucid dream?) We talk cars, food, the arrangements in our lives designed to prevent the spread of the Rona any further. Somehow we get into talking about opossums and tell our possum stories. I tell him I brought my house plants inside. Summer vacation is over.

I walk into the kitchen after the call, carried by the fragrance of the drying herbs. I think of Modoulamin and say a prayer for him. I want to begin writing about all the things I have learned from our friendship. He’s been quite a teacher. Still is.

I take my tea to the table and seat myself at the keyboard there. What I had intended to tell you about in today’s letter was my re-discovery of a wonderful mind-hack. But then I got mesmerized by the fragrances and hurled into the dream. Anyway, here’s the hack of the day: Instead of saying “I have to,” say, “I get to.”  I used it today, and what a difference it made! Try it! You’ll love it!


Here’s what triggered it. I had been looking over my do-list at the pending projects that needed to be accomplished in the next 2-3 weeks. It felt a bit heavy and daunting. Later, I I ran across this wonderful quote from poet and naturalist Diane Ackerman. “Play is our brain’s favorite way of learning.”


Play! I’d forgotten how to play! “I get to harvest the herbs today!” I said to myself, remembering. And so I did. And how it felt like refreshing, joyous, meaningful play!

l will be enjoying the fragrance for hours and hours. It feels like a reward.

I’m going to sit down with my tea, turn on some social media and see what’s happening in our upside-down world now. I laugh remembering a cartoon I saw. A woman was pulling back her window curtain to reveal a rising sun. “I wonder what chapter of Revelation we’re on today,” she said.

At times, the changes do seem biblical.

But let me leave you with yet another quote about how to get through it all:

“Smile, breathe and go slowly.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

That’s beautiful advise. Life is good. Remember to play.

Warmly,
Susan

On Chickens, Eggs, and Infinite Worlds

Somehow my friend and I got into swapping stories about chickens. I was telling him that I got to eat a couple eggs this summer–the best I’ve ever had–that were less than half an hour from the chickens. He asked if the eggs were brown or white, and I told him they were green, a pale olive, but that I had eaten pink ones, too. And they all looked alike inside. (Sort of like people, hey?)

I didn’t know if one hen laid only green eggs and another the pink ones, or if the eggs would surprise you with their color every time one appeared, or what the rooster had to do with it all. I didn’t know, either, at what age hens began producing eggs, or how long a hen can live. Eating freshly laid eggs, I told my friend with a laugh, doesn’t suddenly turn you into a chicken expert.

Chickens are like anything else, I said. You could spend a lifetime learning about them. And some people actually do, learning whole universes of other stuff along the way. It’s one more instance of my observation that every door leads to an infinite world.

It’s true. Start anywhere, and one thing leads to the next, to the next, to the next. Tunnels lead to more tunnels or to a sudden flight of stairs. The roads make sudden turns. And it just goes on and on. Part of it, I think, is because we’re such curious creatures. We keep asking questions: How? Why? Always? What if? And the big one: What happens next?

We keep peeling back layers upon layers of information, spending minutes, hours, months, decades, every answer revealing yet more to be discovered, to be known, to be experienced. And it all grows us. We even get to keep the memories, and they themselves can be tunnels to explore. Isn’t that amazing?

“Every door leads to an infinite world.”

Part Two of that is, “Everything can be a door.” That’s because anything at all can wake you up to the moment, get you to seeing all the possibilities before you, asking what you want to make of them, which one’s are calling your name, singing the best music.

I heard once that it was a custom in a certain spiritual tradition to train its practitioners to become alert whenever they passed through a door. Maybe they had a bell suspended from their doorways to ring as an additional signal to wake from their thoughts and dreams. I don’t remember exactly. But it seems like a wonderful exercise.

Wake up and walk on. I like that.

Eventually, I suppose, you could discover that every moment is a doorway. that you, yourself, are a door, opening to an infinite world.

 Be curious as you go, and keep your sense of wonder. It’s all a mystery. Be humbled by its immensity, but celebrate the fact that you’re alive and perceiving, right in the very midst of it. Keep your senses of humor and adventure honed. You never know where your road may lead. Who would have guessed, for instance, that we’d get to these musings from a conversation about chickens and eggs?

Sending you smiles.

Warmly,
Susan

Love Notes

The only thing I know for certain about joy is that it is infused with love. It expresses itself, I’ve found, via three routes–through beauty, through goodness, through truth. When I am witnessing any of these, I find myself bathed in joy.

I save little bits of them, capturing fragments of them as best I can with my photos or my words. I think of them as love notes, postcards if you will, found on the road along my journey.

On Looking at Photos

The key is to take the time to look— not just glance, respond, and go on to the next thing.

The delight is in the details, in the balance and variety of forms, the array of colors, the light and shadows, the texture of the atmosphere.

You can walk right into it if you want: feel the movement of the air, the temperature, the humidity or lack of it. You can taste the fragrances of it, hear the sounds. That’s the magic of it.

I invite you to accept it as a gift.

And so it is.

I Dare You

Sometimes when people are looking for inspiration, they walk over to their book shelves, pick a book, open it to a random page, then, without looking, let an outstretched finger drop somewhere on the page. They say they are often surprised at how perfectly the sentences they find that way fit their question or situation.

When I’m looking for inspiration, I sometimes use a high-tech variation of that method. I open the quotes folder on my computer, shut my eyes, swirl my mouse and open whatever topic it lands on. This week, it parked on “Daring.” It was exactly what I wanted, something a little bit, oh, invigorating.

I opened the file, and read the first quote on the page:

“Valor grows by daring, fear by holding back.” ~Publilius Syrus  

“Valor!” I said out loud. The word surprised me. It was a word I rarely use, but one that sparked an instant impulse to stand taller, to ready myself for whatever might come my way. I decided to look up ‘valor’ in the thesaurus and I found a whole parade of stalwart words:

Boldness. . . Courage. . . Derring-Do. . . Determination. . .

Don’t they make you feel bigger somehow? A little more adventurous and brave? And there were more!

Fearlessness. . . Firmness. . . Fortitude. . . Gallantry . . .

Grit. . . Heroism. . . Prowess. . . Tenacity

Yeah. Bring it on.

I went back to read the quote again. Be daring, he said. Holding back only grows your fear.

We have a lot of fear in our lives these days, a lot of anxiety and worry. His words are wise. Daring gets us into action. Taking action puts us back in control.

I read more of the quotes on the page:

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable.” ~Helen Keller
  

Ah, Helen Keller. This quote from her has long been one of my favorites. If ever there was a courageous woman, it was she.

“Think about how audacious it is to really believe in yourself.”  ~ Debbie Ford

“A single feat of daring can alter the whole conception of what is possible.”  ~Graham Greene

“Daring greatly means the courage to be vulnerable. It means to show up and be seen. To ask for what you need. To talk about how you’re feeling. To have the hard conversations.” ~Brene Brown

This was good stuff. It was giving me exactly the inspiration that I needed. Let me share some of my take-aways:


Dare to have
. . . the courage to speak your truth;
. . . the courage to say Yes;
. . . the courage to say No.

Dare to love your life.

Dare to begin.

Dare actually to like that someone.

Dare to be kind.

Dare to do it better.

Dare to cry.

Dare to laugh.

Dare to reach out.

Dare to offer help.

Dare to ask for it.

Dare to swim against the tide.

Let me give you a few last quotes.

“Success is loving life and daring to live it.” ~Maya Angelou

“It’s daring to be curious about the unknown, to dream big dreams, to live outside prescribed boxes, to take risks, and above all, daring to investigate the way we live until we discover the deepest treasured purpose of why we are here.” ~Luci Swindoll

“Dare to love yourself as if you were a rainbow with gold at both ends.” ~Aberjhani

“Rise up, start fresh, see the bright opportunity in each new day.” ~Anonymous

Dare to love your life, my friend.
Dare to expect the day to bring gifts.
Dare to keep going.

From my heart,
Susan

PS You can find all these quotes and more at: Wise Old Sayings, a fabulous site for us quote-ophiles. https://www.wiseoldsayings.com/daring-quotes/#ixzz6YJwdh0Pg

Living in Shock

On a video I watched this week the host was telling a story. It was about a man who had undergone the trauma of having his home destroyed in a fire. Three months had passed and he was in a new place. But it didn’t feel like home. And he kept remembering things he had lost. Lately, he had been misplacing things and getting distracted, forgetting what he intended to do. Time seemed strange. Sometimes whole hours were gone in a blink. Sometimes ten minutes lasted forever. He was moody, wavering between a tedious depression and itchy annoyance. It bothered him so much that he finally went to see a counselor.

“Well, Dave,” she said to him gently, “You have been living in a state of shock for three months. It takes time to get your bearings when your whole world has changed. You’re okay.”

The host said when he heard that story, it occurred to him that all of us have been living in a state of shock this year. The place doesn’t quite feel like home. And from time to time, we start thinking about all we have lost. Not only material things. Relationships. Beliefs. Whole ways of life.

You can get lost yourself, thinking about it. You can fall into a well of grief. And that’s okay. Loss hurts. It’s healing to grieve. It shows you how much you valued what you had, even if you never thought much about it. But don’t dwell in grief. You are still alive, for better or worse, and more experiences await you. And isn’t that what you’re doing here? Experiencing life in all of its textures and layers?

Somewhere this week I read this: “I always succeed. Either I win or I learn.” It’s a worthwhile attitude. Sure, sometimes the learning is painful. Sometimes the path is rough. But every moment of it is yours and enlarges you.

Another interesting item I ran across this week was the statement that your chances of being born were one in four trillion. I have no idea how that number was determined. But suppose it’s true, considering all the factors involved. Your being here is phenomenal!

And if you’re wandering around feeling distracted by the drastic changes in our world, it’s okay. These moments are yours, too. A whole lot of us, worldwide, are feeling the turbulence of the times. Life has become a seemingly unending series of shocks. Just take a breath, and realize there is vast beauty here, too, and kindness, and moments of laughter and joy. And above all, keep believing in happy endings, in the faith that, truly, the best is yet to come.

Warmly,
Susan