Category: Sunday Letters

So here we are, at Step Three of the “Recipe for Happiness.” This one tells us that once we have learned Step One, letting go of what’s gone, and Step Two, that says to be grateful for what’s left, we’re ready for the final step. And I confess that I found this one a real challenge. It’s message is to “Look forward to what is to come.”

We who inhabit this planet seem to be living in an increasingly precarious and uncertain time. As I’ve mentioned before, I kind of like the phrase “The Great Shaking,” to describe what’s going on. A lot of us feel shaken by unexpected happenings in our lives these days, on both personal and global levels. It can be hard to maintain hope for the future when you’re in the midst of insidious and confusing events.

But hey, if you’re a Joy Warrior, you have to give optimism at least a chance. So I wrestled a bit with the thought of looking forward to what’s to come, and I cobbled together this little positivity approach:

The Invisible Positivity Globe

Leave open a space for the possibility of happy endings. Things could work out very well–better than you ever imagined.

Go ahead; try this: Fantasize about clearing out a little corner of your mind, maybe over there on a shelf. Now take an invisible little energy globe into your hand and ask it to hold the possibility that a superb outcome will emerge. Just the possibility. Then tuck that little globe on the shelf. (A friend of mine keeps all her ideas-to-explore on such a shelf. Poking around in there can be a fascinating experience. You learn so much, she tells me. And it’s so interesting and insightful! And fun!) Anyway, now you’ve created a space with your little globe that you can turn to at any time to see what positive possibilities it’s projecting.

Some friends and I used to call looking for possibilities “fishing in the cosmic soup.” All kinds of surprising ideas are there. And that little invisible globe over there on your shelf? It’s the holder of the energy-nuggets in the soup that are made of peaceful and positive possibilities. They swirl around inside your little globe as you gaze at it, projecting them onto its invisible walls, and they become daydreams for you, any time you want to see them.

Listen, every path has its rocky stretches. It’s part of the package deal you were given when you arrived here. The ugly stretches come. But we keep going, even when we feel lost and maybe even afraid. Then, sooner or later, here comes another unexpected turn. It opens to a world of radical clarity and calm, offering you a smooth and winding path that stretches as far as the eye can see. Imagine that! Play with imagining what your ideal world would look like.

For a long time I was amazed that the world worked at all, so great was its chaos. Little did I know that even greater causes for amazement were quickly sliding down the pike. But here they are. And the more I see of what’s going on here, on this interesting planet of ours, the more amazed I am indeed, given all this shaking, that the world works at all. Life can be bewildering. Scary even. You have to watch out for what some call “fear porn.” That’s a craze going on that’s helllbent on making us all very afraid. Some say it’s part of a plan. Who knows! Everything seems a bit surreal these days. Just learn to check in with your thoughts now and then. And remember what I recently shared with you: You can’t stop thoughts from knocking at your door, but you don’t have to entertain them.

You can always return to the present and look around to see what’s happening here, now. It’s a good place to visit as you go about your travels through this movie of your life. And when things seem rocky and your hope is sliding away, take a few minutes to visit your positivity globe. Let it show you some of the countless ways that things could work out for the good, for us all. Because, you know, they can.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by J Lang from Pixabay}

Last week we looked at Step One of the “Recipe for Happiness – Letting Go of What’s Gone.” Now let’s look at Step Two: “Be grateful for what remains.”

I could go on and on about the uplift that gratitude brings. It’s on my short list of favorite emotions. And, farther down, I will share a way you can tap into it when you need an inner vacation. But a lot of us are struggling to cope with serious losses these days, and I want to suggest that gratitude can provide a healing balm for the deepest pain.

In times of profound loss, we can slide into pools of grief so deep that life seems completely devoid of meaning. Someone in the pits of grief might say, “What’s the point of going on? I am nothing without all that’s gone.” Everything has changed, and the unknown future can look bleak, without a glint of joy. I know that I felt that way for a while when a cherished loved one died. But, like most of us who encounter that soul-deep, empty feeling, I trudged on.

In the thick of terrible fighting, back in World War II, Winston Churchill told his people, “When you’re going through hell, keep going.” It’s good counsel to remember. Because, you know, life changes.

And time truly heals. When my son died, a wise friend told me that the pain never goes away, but in time, it finds a little corner of your heart in which to dwell. Decades have passed since then, and now and then I visit that little corner of my heart. I can only call what’s happened in that corner “beautiful.” The pain has condensed into a little dark cloud, and it floats across a vast sea of golden memories. I can see that beloved face again, glowing and wonderful, and hear that laugh, and I see that this shimmering ocean–which contains all that he was to me–is a priceless treasure.

Time can do that. Give yourself time. Keep going. And maybe somewhere along your path, you’ll hear Tara Brach’s guidance to say to yourself, “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Be kind to yourself as best you can. And be kind to others. They’re part of the “everybody” who knows suffering.

So that’s the first rule: Keep going. And as you go, practice letting go of all that is in the past. Be assured, the memory will remain and after a while, you’ll gain perspective on it. What you want to let go is your clinging to it. “You can’t stop thoughts from entering your mind,” somebody once told me, “but you don’t have to entertain them.” You have better things to do. You could, for instance, look around, see what’s left, and be thankful for it.

One of the ways you can do that is to tune in to your senses, one by one. What are you seeing? What do you hear? What textures and pressures do you feel against you skin–from head to toe? What can you smell? Taste? Consider what an amazing thing each sense is, bringing you all this information about your surroundings, telling you that you’re still alive, and here, in this unfathomable world. Then tap into your sense of gratitude and send a thought of thanks to your senses, to your body, to the life force within it. Maybe you’ll become aware of the marvel that air is moving in and out of you, all of its own accord. It’s carrying waves of color and fragrance and sound, and light is traveling through it, and it enters you and feeds you. You are what remains when you let all that has passed be past. And everything you truly need is inside you.

Once you embrace that, you’re ready for Step Three in the “Recipe for Happiness,” the one that challenges you to look forward to what’s ahead. We’ll wrap up this little series with that one next week.

In the meantime, may your heart rest in gratitude, for all that you are, all that you contain, and for the countless wonders that surround you.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay}

I really don’t know what’s going on here, on this planet, as much as I collect other’s observations and reports. But everybody feels it: There’s a whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on!

Some folks tell me it’s the great sorting of the wheat from the chaff, a taking-out-the-garbage sort of action. And when it’s done, we’ll all be living in a cleaner, clearer, more peaceful world. Every story I’ve heard on this theme tells it in a different way, with different names for the heroes and common folk, their devils and gods. But the moral seems the same in all of them. “Keep going. There’s a wonderfully happy ending.” I consider that a message of hope.

In the meantime, here we are in the shaking, trying to live our lives with as much sanity we can muster. Some of us are better at it than others. All of us have our good times and bad. It’s okay. It’s not you, it’s the shaking. Personally, when I get out of sorts—as we all do in these high-tension days—I blame it on the planets. It’s as good an excuse as any, and it puts the blame way out there in distant space, instead of on me alone.

I take time to see if I can backtrack and find what triggered my less-than-cheery mood. Where did it start? What does it feel like? Where do I feel it in my body? Does it have a shape, a weight, a motion, a color? Does it have a message for me?

I have one recurring event-reaction that I have wrestled with for years. It’s like having the same plot play out in your life with changing characters and scenery as you go along. But it’s always the same basic story. And it’s an annoying one.

The only way to put a close to it is to figure out where you came upon the first fork in the road and to recognize it when you come to it again. Because you will come to it again. Over and over, until you see that first fork, and take the opportunity to choose a different direction. Instead of reacting to the situation the way you have up until now, you choose to say yes instead of no, or no instead of yes. (And by the way, you can do that gently and with grace.) I’m still working on finding that first fork. But on the other hand, I’m learning a lot of good stuff in my search.

Event-reactions are where that old axiom came from, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and expecting a different result.” And in this crazy-making world of ours, I suspect we all lapse into a less than healthy state of mind from time to time. Fortunately, we’re capable of reset. We’re remarkable beings, you know. So doggoned resilient. We keep getting up, dusting ourselves off, and going on. I admire that about us. We keep getting up.

So that’s my little story for today. If you find yourself out of sorts, blame it on the planets. And meanwhile, do your best to keep your balance, and be kind.

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

One summer, I happened to be working from my home. From the second floor window where my office was located I could gaze out at my field, across the road from my house.

One day when I glanced up from my work, I was surprised to see an old station wagon parked on the grassy right of way that borders my field. An old fellah in a straw hat was standing about ten feet into my field, filling quart baskets with black raspberries that he was picking. The berries were abundant that year and just at their peak. I watched him fill basket after basket and tuck them in this car.

I was rather taken aback that some stranger would feel free to drive onto my property and help himself to my berry crop. How did he know the berries were there? Was he planning to sell them? Just across the state line a big home-grown produce stand sat at the highway’s edge. I was debating with myself whether to hike down to the field to confront him when he finished his picking and drove off, heading for Ohio.

I told myself no harm was done. Plenty of berries remained for the birds and I probably wasn’t going to pick them myself since another patch on the south hill was closer to my house.

But then, the next day, there he was again! And this time he had a woman with him and a little dog, and they seemed to be making a day of it, picking basket after basket of my berries. “What nerve!” I thought to myself. Not only were they trespassing, they maybe were stealing from me for their own profit. I definitely had to go see what they had to say for themselves. I was getting a bit miffed. And I don’t like to be upset.

As I pulled on my jeans and boots for my hike into the field, I happened to ask how else I could look at the situation. That’s when the miracle happened. I suddenly realized that had I known this couple, had they been my friends, I would be more than happy to have them take all the berries they wanted. The obvious solution then was to make friends with them. And I approached them with that intention, smiling and waving as I walked toward them.

It turned out they were a sweet old pair. And when they found out they weren’t in the field that belonged to their Ohio neighbor, who happened to own the field behind mine, they were absolutely mortified. They apologized over and over again while I assured them there was no need. It was a completely understandable mistake. The old man insisted I take the last two quarts of picked berries that he held in his hands, and I thanked him for the gift and told him they were welcome to take all they wanted. But so great was their embarrassment that they soon left, never to return again.

You might think that was the end of the story, my little parable about how a change of perspective can change your whole world. But wait! There’s more . . .

It was the middle of December and I had just finished hanging the last of my Christmas decorations when there was a knock on my door. It surprised me. I wasn’t expecting any guests.

When I opened the door, there was the raspberry thief, grinning, with gifts in his hands. His wife had baked a pie for me with berries from my field. The pie was spectacular, looking as if it had just sprung to life from the cover of a magazine. And then he set a bottle of homemade black raspberry wine on my kitchen counter, wishing me a Merry Christmas and thanking me for my kindness to him and his wife. And both the pie and the wine, I must say, were the finest I ever tasted.

I never saw the couple again after that. But I savor the memory, a tale of kindness returned, every Christmas when I hang my decorations and each summer when the black raspberries are ripe for picking.

Love each other, hey?

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Andrzej Rembowski from Pixabay

I sat on the porch enjoying the play of the hundred shades of green, feeling the warmth of the air, . . June. How beautifully June.

Due to a minor incident earlier in the day, I found myself thinking about the passive-aggressive spectrum I travel from time to time. I noticed that it’s a long gentle slope from the peak of my passivity to the red line where my aggression begins. It takes a lot to rile me. How sharply my aggression builds once that red line is crossed varies from situation to situation. I stay alert to the energies at play and strive to respond appropriately with as much wisdom and grace as I can muster.

Aggression is a mighty force. Bridled, it serves as a tool. Strive to be its master, so that it may serve you well, acting in accord with your truest aims and sense of direction.

It’s not easy, though, I must warn you, to develop even a modicum of skill in handling our potentially self-destructive tendencies, It’s one of those “not for sissies” games. Nevertheless, if skill is what you truly want, rest assured that life will present you with endless opportunities to practice, at whatever level you need,

When it comes to aggression–which can be expressed as everything from mild sarcasm to monstrous revenge or rage–It’s a tough course. It’s not in the nature of aggression to succumb to restraint. You have to tame it, using whatever tricks of the trade you’ve acquired over the years. Sometimes you have to invent or discover new ones. For me, it’s been a highly instructive and rather bumpy road.

But it’s been well-worth the effort. Rewards always more than compensate for the losses along the way. All exercises in self-mastery are like that, in my experience. Not only do you gain skill in controlling another aspect of self-expression, but you get added benefits along the way. Sometimes it takes a bit of living to see that, but it’s true.

One of the prizes I got for working to shape and direct aggression, for instance, is a far greater amount of patience than I had before. And patience is a beautiful reward. It gives you a place to rest for a while, to breathe easily and take in a wider view. It lets you return to your center again, to a welcoming acceptance of what is.

You can design your own self-mastery practice, by the way. All you have to do is notice some part of yourself that causes you more pain than pleasure and decide to work with it. That means paying attention to it so you can learn what triggers it, then noticing when that negative part of you is being triggered, then noticing that you can actually chose not to respond in your usual way.

One trick that helps is to play”The If-Then Game” with yourself. Before the next triggering event comes along, ask yourself, “What if such and such happens? What could I do instead of my habitual response?” Then imagine some alternatives. Do a little brain-storming, letting yourself come up with all the ideas your mind can create, even silly or outrageous ones. Dismiss no alternative; your conscience will sort out possibilities that are within the bounds of your principles. Your goal is just open the door to a whole, big bunch of possible alternatives. So let your imagination soar. Play out the alternatives you come up with in your mind.

Next week, I think I’ll retell the story of the black raspberry thief. It’s a great example of the way unexpected rewards show up when you put a good alternative into action.

Meanwhile, I’ll wish you a week where you suddenly notice places where you’re sliding into the mud of habitual negativity. “Oh, look! I was going there!” See what simply noticing does.

Smiling at you. Big-time.

Warmly,
Susan

_{Image by Josch13 from Pixabay}

Back in the middle of the last century, writings about the amazing powers of the subconscious mind were all the rage. It was, as I understood it, this vast, shapeless, inner world that held more or less clear impressions of everything you ever experienced or learned. Not only that, but it somehow filed everything in organized, wholly cross-referenced files. And that gave it the power to find–or lead you to find–the answers to any questions or puzzles you presented to it. That’s what made it amazing.

But the part of the subconscious that holds all your personal experiences was only one layer of it. There was another, deeper layer below it that held the experiences of everybody everywhere who ever lived, back through eons of time. At their edges, the personal subconscious and the collective subconscious intermingled, and you could, with proper discipline, guidance and effort, travel into the depths of the collective to access even more data. Some people were able to dive even deeper than the collective. But that’s another story, for another time.

What got me to thinking about this was a simple question a friend asked me this morning. “Have you started on your Sunday Letter yet?” I told him I hadn’t, but that I could tell that the Boys in the Back Room were kicking around an idea. I depend on them. And they never disappoint, although I sometimes have to knock pretty loudly on their door before they slip their notions to me.

The Boys in the Back Room is a compartment I built in my personal subconscious. Up until I realized I could do that, I thought of the subconscious mind as a vast, maybe bottomless, ever-swirling bowl of soup. “The Cosmic Soup,” I called it. When you wanted to know something, you’d bait a line with your question, drop it into the soup and wait until something tugged on your line. That process was called “Fishing in the Cosmic Soup.”

Then one day I was walking by local trout stream and it dawned on me that different bodies of water held different kinds of fish. Maybe the Cosmic Soup was the same way. So I swam around in it for a while and found this sun-dappled pool that was bubbling with ideas. It was surrounded by some kind of transparent energy field, and I knocked on its outer edges and a laughing young fellow appeared, opening a kind of door. Behind him was a big, bright room filled with school desks and a riotous, laughing crew of boys and girls, maybe in their late teens, early 20’s, turning somersaults and throwing balls of crumpled paper at each other.

The guy at the door told me they were my Creatives. They fabricated my ideas and dreams. I could call them, he said, the Boys in the Back Room—“boys,” in this case, being a word like “guys” that referred in a casual, friendly kind of way to both genders. They were right next door to the Research Clan, he said, who aided them immensely in their creations. (The Research Clan, by the way, is the group that helps you figure out where you left your car keys, among other things. They travel freely through the huge data bases of the entire subconscious in search of answers and report to many other inner pools besides that of the Boys in the Back Room. But that, too, is another story.)

It was this whole experience that showed me why Positive Affirmative Questions work. And that’s really what the Boys suggested that I write about today. Here it is in a nutshell, since I’ve rambled for quite a while already: Instead of using affirmations to reprogram a behavior or install a different one, you turn the affirmation into a question. For instance, instead of saying, “I am eating healthy, nutritious foods now,” you ask yourself, “Why am I so drawn to eating healthy, nutritious foods now?” Then the Researches go to collect data and collaborate with the Boys in the Back Room who fabricate ways for you to discover that you are, amazingly, drawn to nutritious foods.

While they’re searching, the negative part of you that knows you’re still stuffing Oreos in there might say something nasty to you, like “You’re not eating good stuff, fool.” Just tell it that it’s not up to speed on things and trust that the Boys will be back any second now with reams of ways to nudge you into hankering for a crisp, juicy apple or a maybe a piece of salmon, fresh off the grill.

Instead of saying “I no longer spend money impulsively,” you ask yourself, “Why am I managing my money so wisely now?” Then see what happens the next time you’re out shopping or leafing through an inviting catalog that came in the mail.

That’s the gist of it. “Why am I feeling so motivated today?” Why am I getting so many good ideas about this thing I want to do?” “Why am I feeling so peaceful today?” Play with it.

Wishing you a week of happy discoveries.

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay.com

I was reminded again, after watching the events the past week brought us, of one of the most valuable teachings I ever learned. I’ve shared it with you before, but this seems like a good time to remind you about it, too. It’s this counsel from Tara Brach about what to do when you find that you’re in distress. Say this to yourself, she says:

This is suffering.
Everybody suffers.
May I be kind.

I’m always comforted by it. It lets me put a name to what I’m feeling: suffering. Then it reminds me that I’m not alone, that suffering is something every human being everywhere experiences. That’s kind of a deep thing to realize. None of us escapes pain—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Life here isn’t for sissies. It puts all of us to the test.

Knowing that, the only worthwhile response is to be kind. Accept that at one time or another, life is painful. Reality here has a brutal streak. And in the face of it, kindness is a healing balm. It washes over the scene with a gentle warmth. It ever so subtly brings a soft light to things, allowing us to feel a spaciousness wide enough to see beyond our pain, to sense the love around us, too. Let yourself remember a moment of kindness you experienced and notice how it lifts you just to think of it.

The first place to focus your kindness when you’re in distress is on yourself. Imagine giving yourself a gentle, compassionate hug, one that conveys that it deeply understands what you’re feeling. You’re human. Pain comes with the territory. Let it be what it is; it will pass.

Then, once you open yourself to being accepting and kind towards yourself, however slightly, let it flow out to everybody. You never know what’s going on inside somebody else’s skin. It could be that the person right next to you needs a friendly smile as much as you do. Let your kindness touch the entire situation you’re in—everything and everyone involved.

A friend of mine sometimes says, “Love isn’t a feeling; it’s an action.” I think of that when I think about what kindness is. Just because you aren’t feeling especially generous toward someone doesn’t mean you can’t treat them with respect and consideration. Kindness means you look past your own troubles to try to help lift the load for somebody else.

And the beautiful thing is that kindness generates a kind sort of feedback loop. It’s like instant karma, returning to you the love that you give, multiplied.

I know I often encourage you to “tuck this one in your pocket,” that I hope you’ll adopt a quote or an exercise as part of your own tool chest. But I especially hope you’ll gift yourself with this one. You have your own way to store things in your mind. Maybe you make a written note of it, Maybe you just practice chanting it until you feel it embedding itself in your memory. Whatever means you use, use it with this one: “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Its benefits are real, and healing, and strong.

Wishing you a week of peace and ease.

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

I’ve noticed that we all seem to be a bit tense these days. That’s a shame. We miss a lot when we’re all tight, and life is such a big and fascinating show. So I thought I’d share with you two of my favorite ways to release stress, and one for getting more out of whatever is going on. Their effects are temporary, meant to give you a little break and a broadened perspective.

The first one is good for emergency use as well as providing a quick mental refresh any ol’ time. The second one is an easy little exercise that’s almost as good as a nap.

1. Renewed Composure

Take a deep breath. A deep one!
When your lungs are full, close your eyes.
Breath out gently, slowly, as you whisper to yourself

Relax . . .
Let my muscles relax; let them soften.
Let me feel the flow of my breath. (Breathe in whenever you want to.)
Let me straighten my posture and open my eyes.

Note the increase in your composure, and carry on.

Once the part about relaxing your muscles, feeling your breath, and straightening up becomes automatic, you can just say “Relax, 1, 2, 3” if you like.

Repeat as needed/desired.

2. The Ragdoll

Bend forward from the waist (just as far as is comfy) dangling your arms and head toward the floor. Imagine you’re a soft, worn rag doll and let your arms gently swing. When you want, s-l-o-w-l-y stand up, visualizing or feeling how you’re stacking your vertebrae one atop the other until you’re standing straight and tall.
(Sometimes I like to do #1 right after this one.)

Enjoying the Show

This is a trick I discovered a few years back when co-workers often strolled into my office to dump their momentary frustrations and complaints. One of them particularly irritated me. She was nice enough and I liked her, but she was one heck of a chatterer with a thin, high-pitched voice, going on breathlessly while her hands flew through the air, her long, glossy fingernails flashing in the fluorescent light. But she needed a listener, and I got the role.

One day, while she was jabbering away, I asked myself how else I could see her so I could pay attention better. All of a sudden she transformed into a cartoon, like from “The Simpsons” maybe. The room itself looked like a cartoon in my mind. It was all I could do not to laugh. But it brightened my attitude and I found I could listen to her as if I were watching a movie,

I still use that technique to this day. I pretend I’m watching a sit-com or a movie, captivated by what everyone (including me) is saying and doing. I study the other characters’ faces and expressions and empathize with their stories, whether of suffering or joy. I let myself appreciate the drama of the situation, its tragedy, its comedy, its ordinariness, its beauty. Seeing it that way, I’m a step removed from it and get a wider view.

I don’t know if that will work for you. You’ll have to try it. Imagine you’re watching life on a really big screen, with the finest sound and lighting. See what happens. It’s all an experiment you know.

Make yourself a bag of popcorn. Then relax, and enjoy the show.

Wishing you serenity, all the week through. 

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Pablo Jimeno from Pixabay

[First, some notes from my Joy Warrior’s Journal, as background.

What To Do In The Middle Of A Treacherous War That Surprisingly Few Realize Is Even Going On: An Inner Conversation

Voice: Is it at your doorstep?
Me: It’s deeper in my pocketbook at every turn. So I’d say its inching its way up with what seems to be quickly increasing speed.

Voice: Are you in imminent danger?
Me: Only if I don’t pay attention to my driving. And here’s my corner. Oh! Look! It’s Gorgeous!

Voice: Well, of course.]

I pulled in to the curb right across from the school. Its campus borders one edge of the park, an oasis of joy tucked between the “projects” and the small private college up the street. I end up here in the middle of May every year . (You can read the story about that here. Pics there, too.) It’s an aged, clean, working class neighborhood that tells a lot of history as you drive down its streets. I like the area’s giant sycamores and maples, and the way the yards are neat and host flowering trees and beds of blooms, now that it’s finally spring.

Despite my excitement over finding myself at this delightful park once again, I was in a slightly sober mood. I spend my mornings, as I’ve mentioned, watching news you usually don’t get from the main stream media. And I can only conclude that we’re heading into some extraordinary times. Events truly seem to be heading quickly toward a decisive moment. But my resolution as a somewhat errant joy warrior is to be present with the moment’s goodness, and beauty, and truth. So I am here, at the park, and as I exit my car, I look at the scene before me and, breathing it in, find a little smile edging onto my face.

Then I see it. The whole sidewalk is covered with chalk drawings. I approach them a bit warily, hoping they won’t mar the beauty of the scene. But no! Look! They’re love notes! See the pink and blue heart?

I walk down the edge of the sidewalk taking photos of them, feeling as if I’ve stepped into an enchanted little world of some sort. A grinning blue face looks up at me, wearing the word “Happiness” in big letters beneath his chin. And look at this fish! See? Above the surface of the water, storm clouds drop rain. But straight ahead the sun shines through the water, and the little fish has his eye set on that. Must be a joy fish. See what he says? “Look to the bright side.”

I glance up at the colors the park’s trees are wearing, and they call me. But I am stopped in my tracks by the sidewalk’s next square. It’s a quote from a sonnet by Shakespeare, no less! “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate.” It could have been written to this very day itself. And then comes a simple blue smile, and its message, “You matter.”

I am astonished by the whole experience, and truly moved. As I leave the sidewalk to take in the park, I tuck one of the sidewalk’s messages into my heart-pocket, a reminder: “Don’t worry. Be happy.” That’s always good advice.

Go into this week knowing that you are loved.

Warmly,
Susan