Category: Sunday Letters

I saw a roadside sign this week that said, “When things go wrong, you don’t have to.”  

Think about that for a minute. Paint it in your favorite colors on some wall in your mind where you’ll see it now and then. 

Let it remind you that when events take an unexpected turn, you can snap yourself into the immediate reality and grab your chance to choose how you will respond, to ask yourself what the next best step really is.

Often when things go wrong, we react in some habitual, programmed way instead of choosing the best attitude to bring to the situation. We get mad or sad, irritated or angry. We pull inward and close ourselves up. 

Those kinds of emotions rob us of the broadened perception that allows us to find creative solutions. When you can interrupt your habitual response and center yourself for a moment, you’re much more likely to see greater possibilities.  

“When things go wrong, you don’t have to.” 

You can reach for something lighter, something higher, something kinder, something more helpful. A good place to begin is with acceptance of the fact that things seem to be going wrong, and that you seem to be not liking it at all. Okay. Yuckiness happens. And here it is. What’s the best way out?

Yuckiness, I’ve decided, is like quicksand. Fighting against it only makes things worse. You have to relax and take easy, deliberate motions toward solid ground. That’s what will save you.

When you can accept your circumstances for what they are and relax, you’ll be able to spot tools and means and opportunities that you would be blind to if you let yourself go wrong, too. But accept the pickle you’re in and you might even find yourself laughing at it all.

Maybe that’s the whole purpose behind Murphy’s Law. Maybe things go wrong just to give us the opportunity to discover what creative and resourceful beings we humans really are.  

Of course if I had a magic wand, I’d wish you a week where every day was smooth and filled with beauty and joy. But life is what it is, with its ups and downs, is delights and disappointments. So the best I can do is wish you a week where you’re awake and aware, a week that allows you savor the bits of goodness that even difficult days offer, and to remember that when things go wrong, you don’t have to.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay}

After a week that held its share of attitude testing events, I found myself burrowing through my inspiration folder for a way to bolster myself against the temptation to give in to gloom. It had been a cold and dreary week in my little corner of the world, and I needed a lift.

When you notice that your spirit is sagging, it’s good to search for rays of light. We find what we look for, after all. Pro-actively seeking the positive is far healthier than allowing yourself to slide into a pit of gloom and despair. Pity parties are so boring.

I ran across a trick I liked from Dr. Barbara Fredrickson, positive psychology researcher. She suggests that when you’re on a gloomy patch of the road, you begin simply by asking yourself, “What’s good about this moment?” and expecting to find an answer.

I gave it a whirl. “What’s good about this moment?” I asked, as I felt the heaviness in my heart over the latest piece of news.

“This pain allows you to see the depth of your compassion for all who suffer,” some kind of inner knowing said. “In this moment, your love is overpowering, flowing through every molecule of you and out into everything in the world, and everyone you think of.”

I hadn’t expected an answer of that depth, but it put me in touch with what was going on in the center of me. And from there, it radiated out.

I noticed the colors around me, how the photos on the wall always made me smile, the way the light and shadows fell so softly around me. That was my love flowing out to my surroundings. I could feel it and it made me smile. Deeply. From the inside out, full of contentment and gratitude.

That’s the way it works. Ask what’s good about the moment, and in one form or another, the answers will present themselves to you.

I returned from my reverie to the open inspiration folder on my screen. My eyes fell on an exercise that I’d added last spring. It was an exercise you could do in the morning to begin your day on a note of hope.

That fit. It was hope I was seeking when I opened the folder in the first place.

This little exercise is from the book Five Good Minutes by Jeffrey Brantly, MD and Wendy Millstine. 

What you do is speak (to yourself, or our loud) a list of as many hopeful thoughts for yourself, your loved ones, the planet, and the universe as come to you, beginning each sentence with the words, “I have hope today . . .”

Here are some hope-filled suggestions the authors give to get you started:

“I have hope today that everything will go smoothly at work.”
“I have hope today that my family is healthy and happy.”
“I have hope today that my pet is feeling safe and content.”
“I have hope today that my friends and loved ones are having good experiences in life.”
“I have hope today that peace on earth will infect the planet and restore harmony.”

You get the idea. Make up your own.

The brilliant thing about the exercise is hidden in the wording. Not only are you sending good wishes to yourself, your loved ones, and the larger world, but you are reminding yourself that you have hope, that it resides inside you.

Writer Barbara Kingsolver has this to say on the subject. “The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is to live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.”

This little morning exercise lets you do just that: name what you hope for, and then live right under its roof all day.

Give it a try. I think you’ll like it.

Wishing you a week bright with high hopes and happiness.

Warmly,
Susan

PS
Haha! While I was writing this, song lyrics floated into my mind: “You gotta have hope. Mustn’t sit around and mope . . .” Check this out. It will give you a smile.

(You Gotta Have) Heart – Stereo – Broadway Classic Damn Yankees, 1958

^{Image by NoName_13 from Pixabay}

“Don’t fall for the spell. You are free.”

I borrowed that from a wise woman I’ve lost track of over the years. I tacked her words on my bulletin board for a long while and appreciate them deeply.

They came to mind again this week as I watched news coverage of recent events. The tragedies with which we’re faced seem relentless and incomprehensible. I noticed a definite ratcheting up of the fear factor. That’s the spell, you know. Fear. It’s a trap. Don’t go there.

If you notice it luring you in, or if you find yourself up to your knees in it all of a sudden, I heard a great way to set yourself free of it so you can function sanely. These days, knowing how to avoid or escape from the clutches of fear is a handy skill to have.

So the only way this guy said that he could come up with for dealing with the cascade of unsettling events is to be the best possible you.

Think about that for a minute. “Be the best possible you.”

If you hold your focus on that, you automatically take control of your fear; you overpower it. What’s the very best way I can be, right here, right now. You ask yourself that, sincerely wanting an honest answer.

Your best you doesn’t necessarily mean your ideal you, the strong, composed and centered one. It means the very best you can manage in this moment that you’re standing in. It means just be as top notch as you can.

The New Gold Standard? Really?

A while back I heard somebody say “Good enough is the new gold standard.” I revolted at that, to tell you the truth. I want to aim higher than that.

Sure, often it’s the case that good enough is good enough, and you can walk away satisfied. Maybe it wasn’t the best that could be done, but considering all the factors, it was good enough. It would do its intended job. You got ‘er done.

But to say good enough should be the highest you aim for isn’t good enough for me. Always settling for good enough is paving the way to mediocrity.

It makes you stand straighter when you know you reached a bit higher than good enough, that you gave it one more twist toward better, just because you could. It’s satisfying to know you put a little extra spit and polish on something, left it shining a little more brightly.

I think the world smiles more when we take those extra little steps, when we go beyond what’s required and leave things improved somehow in our wake. What’s the old vaudeville saying? “Leave ‘em laughing, kid.” Good enough doesn’t pack much joy. Spice it up a bit. Give it a jolt of the best you can muster.

See, if you’re thinking about that, about how you be your best possible you as you do whatever you’re doing, you don’t have a any space for fear of the what-if’s to wrap you up in their stories.

If it’s not happening within shouting distance, it’s likely not something that requires your response beyond, perhaps, a few prayers.

Instead, you focus on being the best possible you right now. Because it feels good. Empowering somehow. And in however small a way, it makes the world a nicer place. All because you got such a kick out of reaching past mere good enough.

Now, imagine what would happen if you went for spectacular! Just kidding. Reaching for your best is spectacular. Comes with built in rewards. Go for it.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Micha from Pixabay}

One of the things I like best about the beginning of the year is that it’s sort of like holding a freshly purchased Power Ball ticket in your hands. Oh, the possibilities!

Whether resolutions hold any stock for you or not, January slips you a moment where you slide into dreams of your new and improved life, all polished and shining in the sun. All the flaws of the person you were yesterday disappear, and all that’s left are your finest attributes, waiting for you to put them to work.

Your inner curmudgeon–the part of you that says, “Yeah, sure, kid. Now back to work,”–steps aside for a couple minutes, lets you dream, lets you wish.

Well, what if you grabbed that moment, the one where everything was possible, and lived it? What if you could say that the unworthy parts of you were too yesterday to bother with? What if you stepped into Living in Magic, in a space where you assumed the power to be and do all the things that you dreamed?

What would that look like? What if you played a movie of it in your head every morning when you woke up, every night as you drifted off to sleep? What if you loved who you were in the movie? What if the soundtrack made you laugh, inspired and empowered you?

What if the index finger of your dominant hand became a light sabre, and any time a thought-monster appeared to growl, “You can’t!” you zapped it to oblivion?

What if it took you until, say, mid-April to really start getting the hang of it? What if you kept playing the movie anyway?

What if little possibilities started taking shape in your imagination? What if interesting coincidences started to appear? What if you began to find that clues were everywhere?

Who would you want to be? What would you want to have? What would your life be like? What would you accomplish?

You know, there’s this old saying, attributed to Henry Ford: “If you believe you can or believe you can’t, you’re right.”

A couple weeks ago, anticipating the New Year’s arrival, its baskets of magic in hand, I started a “what-if” list for myself, writing down things it might be fun or interesting to do or to master in the coming year.

I wrote the words, “What If I …” at the top the page and started listing things, like “read at least 2 books a month?” and “always kept fresh flowers in the house?” and “practiced until I could make it to the top of Seneca Trail without stopping?” I’m getting a kick out the list. It’s a playful way for me to draw from the Cosmic Soup of Infinite Possibilities some of the little things I’d like to have and do in my life. If you want to try Living in Magic, that’s one way to begin.

I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll be chatting more about Living in Magic in the coming year. For now, just savor that January moment where you let yourself imagine what might go into a good “My Best Self” movie. Then let it sparkle in your mind over and over, as if you just couldn’t get enough of it.

Wishing you magical dreams and a 2025 that surpasses your expectations in every possible way.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Ennaej from Pixabay}

I ran across a quote this week that I want to share with you It’s from Kent Nerburn, an Native American author who has been called “one of America’s Living Spiritual Teachers,” and I think the quote will show you why.

Before you read it, take a moment to breathe slowly a few times with your eyes closed, to relax and to open yourself to receive these words as a gift of wisdom.

“Remember to be gentle with yourself and others. We are all children of chance and none can say why some fields will blossom while others lay brown beneath the August sun.

“Care for those around you. Look past your differences. Their dreams are no less than yours, their choices no more easily made.

“And give, give in any way you can, of whatever you possess. To give is to love. To withhold is to wither.

“Care less for your harvest than for how it is shared and your life will have meaning and your heart will have peace.”

Let me invite you to dwell on those thoughts a bit, to let them settle in your heart. Then imagine how your world—our world—might be transformed if each of us let them be a guiding light for us as we went through our days.

If we truly look past our differences and recognize our shared humanity, if we could extend to each other the respect and kindness we want so deeply to receive, perhaps we would meet each other with a new gentleness, with compassion, with a willingness to let there be understanding between us.

It’s a long quote to remember. But you can remember the feeling it creates in you and take that with you into your world in the coming week. You can remember to give of whatever you possess—even if it’s no more than a smile, or a decision not to complain or blame. You can start your day with the conscious intention to be generous of spirit to others, even with those who push your buttons, or whose differences are outrageous and glaring.

Care for those around you. Ask, “What can I give here? What can I share?”

It’s a worthy experiment. And as Nerburn says, the rewards are a life of meaning and a heart at peace.

And that, my friend, is what I wish for you this week.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Alana Jordan from Pixabay}

I looked at the list I compiled yesterday of events that have transpired since the beginning of the year. I was trying to sort out why I felt so overwhelmed.

It revealed a lot.

Just think, a week and a half ago we were all checking out the skies for drones and orbs as we bid 2024 farewell. Then, the next day, we were hit with the news of a man driving an electric truck into the New Orleans crowd, killing 15, wounding more, and the news of the electric Tesla truck exploding in Las Vegas in front of the Trump Towers.

Seem like that was a long time ago now?

Well, as we tried to learn more about that, a mysterious fog veiled large swaths of the planet, giving off a chemical smell, making some people sick.

That was followed by the first human bird flu death and the reemergence of Drs Burke and Fauci, promoting testing of every chicken and pig and cow in the nation. Well, maybe just the chickens and cows, I forget.

China reported a massive outbreak of a viral disease, respiratory if I recall correctly; attacks children hard.

Former President Jimmy Carter passed away at age 100 and was given a State funeral, which all the living former Presidents attended.

President Elect Trump was sentenced to nothing but having to carry a conviction on his record.

And then the fires broke out.

And nothing else mattered. They eclipsed everything.

Well, unless you lived in the wide swath of southern states from Arkansas to Virginia that were hit with a major winter storm. 55+ million affected.

And all this, in a little over a week and a half!

Didn’t I tell you it looked like this year was going to be a humdinger? That pronouncement still stands.

Close to Home

Because so many people have migrated to southern California from all over the United States and all over the world in the last few decades, a lot of us have connections to someone who lives there. The impact of the fires will be felt across the globe.

Personally, I have an 87 year old friend who lives in Santa Monica. Her apartment building is only two blocks away from an Evacuation Warning zone. A warning means to get your things together and be ready to go. It’s the step before a Mandatory Evacuation order. I haven’t been able to find out if she’s okay. The winds are supposed to pick up again tonight.

I think about all the people trying to find out if loved ones are okay.

A friend of mine got a call from his brother who lives in southern California, a good distance from the fires. His daughter, her hubby and three small kids lived in the Palisades, and lost everything they couldn’t pack into their car. Burned to ashes. Gone.

I multiply what they’re facing by the thousands of destroyed homes.

And we’re just at the beginning.

If you know anyone who’s been affected by the fire – or by loss or tragedy of any kind – let them talk with you about what happened and how they’re experiencing it. Listening is more helpful that you might guess. It lets people sort out their thoughts and put an explosion of pieces into some kind of picture. It helps them process their forever-altered reality.

“What must it be like,” my friend asked me, “to be going through this as a kid! Imagine being seven or five and suddenly everything you ever knew of home disappears. You wouldn’t have any way to understand.”

I reminded him of the studies of children who had come through World War II’s bombings and disruptions. As long as they felt cared for and loved, they grew up pretty much unscathed by the horrors they had witnessed. Children are remarkably resilient. Their forming minds don’t yet make the judgments ours do.

You do the same with kids as you do with adults. Listen. Let them know you care enough to sit with them and share the moment together.

Life can be scary, and hard. But we can be courageous and open to the possibility that, in the end, everything will turn out fine. Life goes on. Even when we sometimes wish it wouldn’t. And it always comes with it a choice to decide what you’re going to make of it.

Make of it the best you can.

Remember to ask how easy you can let it be. Remember to breathe and to look around now and then. Be an encourager in the world. We all need that.

And hey, smile!

Warmly,
Susan

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Each week when I sit down to write these Sunday Letters to you, before I begin, I pause to think about you, the person on the other side of the screen reading this.

I silently ask that my words be exactly what someone out there needs to hear. Maybe you. Maybe someone who needs an understanding smile, a listening ear or a laugh, a pat on the shoulder, maybe a hug.

It’s a kind of meditation I do in honor of the privilege of serving in such a way. It inspires me to give you the best that I can offer.

I confess that sometimes my best falls short of what I’d hoped I could produce. But you keep on reading week after week anyway. And gosh, that touches my heart. Along the way, I hope you’ve found a gem or two to carry in your pocket.

If you’re new to these letters, know that I welcome you joyously. To you, as well as to those who have been with me across the years, I vow to continue to give you my best, and to keep working to make my best even better.

Striving to be our best, after all, is what it’s all about—what these letters are about, what our lives are about. Reaching toward our highest vision of ourselves is what gives our lives juice.

My goal is to inspire you to keep reaching, to keep refining your vision, and to encourage you, when your highest ideals seem impossibly far off, to keep on keeping on.

The Celebration

Here on the verge of the holidays and the birth of a new year, I find myself remembering one of my long-time favorite quotes:

“The purpose of life is the celebration of it.”

I don’t know who said that. But it rings true for me because of the depth of the word ‘celebration.’

On one hand, it means to mark an event with festivities, to express our joy. In this sense of the word, it means the purpose of life is to be glad for it, to look for and appreciate its mystery and wonder, to savor its fullness and pleasures and delights.

On the other hand, ‘celebrate’ means to solemnize, to take something seriously and to hold it in reverence. In other words, don’t take life for granted. Give the mystery and wonder of your life its due. You’re only you once, and not for long. Take the reaching seriously, and delight in the journey.

Whatever holiday you may be celebrating this week, may it be filled with beauty and joy.

I’ll see you next week and we can peer into the New Year together. Sure feels like it will be a humdinger, doesn’t it? Don’t they all?

Whatever it brings, we’ll travel it together, reaching for our best, becoming more and more the selves we always wanted to be.

Thank you for joining me on the journey.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Pexels from Pixabay}

Come pull a chair by the fire and let’s drink a toast to the holidays. I’ve set out a virtual plate of my fanciest cakes and cookies and some nuts and cheeses and fruit for you. Help yourself!

See the intricate hand made ornaments in this crystal bowl? They come with a story. I love their sparkle and glow. They mesmerize me and send me back in time to the days when my mother made them, stacking sequins and crystal beads on tiny pins that she pressed into Styrofoam forms, arranging the brocade and satin ribbons just so

It was tedious work, especially since she had limited control of her hands. But when her ALS-like disease forced her to retire, she vowed to do at least one creative act every day for as long as she was able. And that particular year, she made these precious ornaments for our Christmas tree.

They’re among my most cherished possessions, and every year they pull me into Christmases Past, where I open a treasure chest of special memories.

I was thinking last night about how much this annual ritual means to me, how it connects me to past generations and gives me a deepened sense of who I am, where I came from.

Holiday celebrations are much different now than they were when I was a small child. The world has become a different place. It moves at a different speed. It seems storm-tossed now, its people searching for something sure to which they can cling in the midst of life’s turbulent seas.

As I lifted the sequined bulbs from their tissue paper wrappings this year, I realized that this annual tradition secures me to my past, to my ancestors, my heritage.

Then I came across the strands of red and silver and gold glass beads that I’ll drape around the beautiful green glass jug that we bought on a family vacation one year as we traveled through rural New Hampshire. That was over half a century ago, and the beads have graced the jug every year since.

That’s the value of tradition. It provides a link to the past. It speaks to our connection to what has gone before, even if the meanings attached to it have transformed over the years.

We light the candles or put up the tree or sing the songs from ages past not because the act embodies the same beliefs, but because, in connecting us to our past, the act reminds us of the lives and cultures from which our traditions arose.

We recall the old stories. We think about the struggles and hardships that had to be lived to bring us to where we are right now. We think about the courage and determination it took to endure them. We think about the values and the love that made the struggles worthwhile.

And even if we don’t think about them, the performance of the traditions in and of itself quickens them in our hearts and has a meaning that our hearts understand.

I hope you have some little token of past holidays that speaks to you of days gone by. I hope you have something that you’ll pass on to your children, or a special memory to share with a close friend or two.

If not, find one, find a token that can hold the memory of this holiday for you, a bauble of some kind, a word that you write on a piece of paper. Hold it in your hand and make a heartfelt wish—perhaps for peace, perhaps for greater joy or faith, perhaps for comfort, for forgiveness and healing—whatever you want the holiday to mean for you. Then, when the holiday season is past, wrap your token in paper, write the date on it, and put it away to discover next year.

That’s how traditions begin. With hope and reverence. And that is what they carry forward.

Wishing you fond holiday memories and a heart full of hope and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

What was, isn’t. What is, won’t be.
But always, there’s the now. Right in front of our noses. Full of everything and always a different shape than it was before or soon will be.

And most of the time we don’t even notice, being all caught up in our stories and calculations and all. Anyway . . .

Hello! I send you smiles today!

This time of year, I spend a lot of time working in my studio, a cozy second story room, with a window that overlooks the wooded western hill.

I like the view and it’s comfortable.

Every time I look up from my laptop’s screen, the walls and furniture, the plants and lamps and paintings are exactly where they were before.

The only thing that seems to have changed is me. And it wasn’t, I can tell you, much of a change.

Maybe I wasn’t jiggling my toes before. My thoughts were different. The furnace’s fan has kicked on. Other than that, it’s the same old same old.

It could seem like a pretty boring place, I suppose.

But that’s only the case if you forget that all the walls have another side. One of them even has an outside, and that’s a doggone huge place. You can’t even get to the end of it, it goes so far.

And just down the road a piece, there’s mountains and deserts and forests and oceans, and all of them with their own inhabitants, every one of them as real as you and me and alive in this very same now. And some of them are humans.

And for all you know, a particular human you’re thinking about right now might be thinking of you, too. Maybe because they felt your thoughts in some subliminal electromagnetic way. Or you felt them.

And once you start thinking about another human being, you can drift off into all kinds of imaginary conversations and memories and dreams.

So what difference does it make if the walls don’t seem to change? A patch of relative sameness is a good thing. It can give you a sense of stability, something to hang on to when fierce winds blow.

Be grateful for the slow-to-change, for the ordinary and familiar. Someday you could be amazed that you ever took it for granted.

Rest in that. And from there, watch, and let life flow.

Remember that what was, isn’t. And what is, won’t be.
But there is always now, dancing, and it goes on and on and on.

As you go into the holidays, may the dance bring you moments that glow with peace and shimmer with joy.

Warmly,
Susan

Holidays. Love ‘em, or hate ‘em, here they are!

Those of us in the States kicked off the big slide to year’s end this past Thursday with our annual Thanksgiving celebration. It unofficially marks the beginning of the winter holiday celebrations.

It’s a glorious, maddening time of year, with all its expectations and demands. It’s a roller coaster ride through a land of fantasy and faith, memory and anticipation. But since it’s seemingly unavoidable, regardless of where on the globe you live or what your traditions or culture, I think it’s wise to make up your mind ahead of time just how you’re going to play it.

Personally, I’ve decided I’m going to be grateful to be alive to see it yet again, with all its music and show and color, and to love every minute of it as hard as I possibly can.

I’m going to remember my mantra: How easy can I let this be?

And the power chant I learned a while back from the incomparable Joe Vitale: “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.”

But listen, since the spirit of Thanksgiving week still lingers, will you indulge me and let me ask you to think with me for a few minutes about gratitude?

I know a bit about it. For several years now, I’ve kept a Gratitude Journal. Every night, I write down three sentences that begin with the words, “I’m grateful . . .” and name something that brought me satisfaction or pleasure during the day.

I confess that sometimes I have to think for a while before I can name three things.

That’s not because my day lacked something for which I could feel appreciation. It’s because sometimes it’s hard to get to the place inside yourself where genuine gratitude lives. And, I’ve observed, it’s because, like everybody else—maybe even you—I take so very many things so much for granted.

That’s what keeps me keeping the journal. It invites me, once a day, to pause and consider all the things and people and experiences in my life that make it what it is, and to feel a reverence for them. I get to hold up all the shining moments of the day and choose three to note.

Really getting in touch with your sense of gratitude is a genuine celebration of your life, of the wonder of it, however humdrum it may sometimes seem.

When you let yourself sink into the warmth of gratitude, your heart opens. It lets go of the trapped hurts and disappointments and lets them fade away. When you see how the goodness outshines them, hurts seem to lose their sting.

Sometimes, I’ve noticed, when I allow myself to be awash in gratitude, I can even appreciate the times and the people who brought me disappointment, or irritation, or pain, and to see the gifts of insight and learning they carried with them.

But the main thing I wanted to say about gratitude is that it’s worth it to take the time to tune in to it. It’s worth the effort to calm yourself enough to feel its power and graciousness warming you from within the very center of your being.

We don’t do that enough. We’re too busy. Too stressed. Too distracted. Too tired. And I gotta tell you, that’s a damned shame.

Because you know what? Gratitude is so jam-packed with sheer, transformative, replenishing, healing, lifting, soothing power! You just owe it to yourself to let yourself sink into its arms.

That’s where I’m going to spend my holidays. Enveloped in the stuff, and loving life as hard as I can. I joyfully invite you to join me

Happy holidays, my friends, every day of the week.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Dawn Rose from Pixabay}