Category: Sunday Letters

While I was doing some research this week, I happened on a website dedicated to providing guidance to Native American youth facing various social issues within their Tribes. I found it interesting that their site had a page addressing the joint Tribes’ view of Elders. Depending on the particular Tribe, an Elder is someone over 60-65 years of age. The page emphasized the respect the Tribes give their seniors. For instance, here’s what they say on their page:

“When an Elder speaks, an informed individual knows to listen. An Elder’s wisdom is invaluable to a tribe’s prosperity and well-being. Elders are sacred bearers of golden truths and know many valuable stories about the Old Ways. God often speaks through Elders.”

Later on, I happened on a collection of responses from seniors when asked what life lesson they would like to pass on. I had time to go through the list slowly, to let each thought sink in. That’s the only good way to read quotations, I’ve found. It lets you extract the juice from them.

Try it as I share with you a few of the seniors’ offerings. Read them one at a time, pausing after each one long enough to let it settle in. Maybe consider, as you read, which ones apply most for you right now.

Here‘s a dozen that I thought were worth tucking in our pockets . . .

• Guard well your thoughts when alone and your words when accompanied.
• The fact that you aren’t where you want to be should be enough motivation.
• Done is better than perfect.
• Don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.
• Have patience. All things are difficult before they become easy.
• Your future needs you; your past doesn’t.
• Positive thinking will let you do everything better than negative thinking will.
• If someone tells you that you can’t, they’re showing you their limits, not yours.
• Discipline is choosing between what you want now and what you want most.
• Your strongest asset and worst enemy is your mind; train it well.
• Sometimes being alone is the best medicine for your soul. And finally . . .
• Remember, some of the best times of your life haven’t even happened yet.

Yes, especially that last one.

Wishing you a week of fine accomplishments and ease.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Angelo Scarcella from Pixabay}

I woke just before dawn yesterday morning. The birds hadn’t even begun to sing. I’m not an early riser. Yet here I was, wide awake. I made a cup of coffee and took it out to my front porch to experience the beginning of the day. As I took my first sip, I noticed a faint ribbon of pink just above the eastern hills, gradually growing brighter. Looking directly overhead, I saw that the sky had gone from dusky gray to a light blue graced by soft clouds. When I looked down again, a whole panoply of color was lighting the sky—pale gold, coral, robin’s egg blue, soft lavender. And as if to acknowledge the coming of another day, the birds woke and began their morning chorus.

I let myself drink in the peace of it. The world has been such a brutal place these last few weeks, its violence and mayhem loud and sickening. Yet here I was, enveloped in birdsong and sunrise, sipping freshly brewed coffee. I felt lucky, and grateful, and kind of humbled to be so blessed. But I wasn’t alone in that. More of us live unscathed by mayhem than are directly touched by it.

Most of us live our ordinary lives, attending to our daily routines and chores, relating in our usual ways with family and coworkers and friends. We share our smiles, and sometimes our tears. We share our rituals, our news, our opinions, our gossip. We play together. We squabble. We make up. All of us. All over the world. And isn’t that beautiful!

That we can go on, determined to live ordinary lives in the face of extraordinary times, is remarkable.

I read a couple paragraphs by American historian and professor Howard Zinn this week. He said:

“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.

“What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.”

I get the impression that Zinn is thinking of acts of high bravery and daring when he talks about how magnificently we can behave when tested. And indeed we can. But I think courage is more than the extraordinary act performed at great risk. I think it’s also the determination to go on living ordinary lives as well as we can even when the world seems upside-down. Our small acts of everyday generosity and compassion, consistently performed despite it all, are testimony to our courage.

Mark Twain had this to say about courage: “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear. Except a creature be part coward it is not a compliment to say it is brave.“

When we live our ordinary lives in the face of what seems almost omnipresent threats, we are being brave. By refusing to surrender to fear – however loudly and persistently the media screams about the world’s evils – we tell the world that it cannot take the best of us. We will behave magnificently, holding to the dignity of our ordinary lives. And sometimes we will pause to recognize that despite it all, we are surrounded by extraordinary goodness and beauty, and, sometimes, when we are bathed in sunrise and birdsong, we will savor long moments of transcendent peace.

Wishing you a week of courageous, ordinary, everyday life.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Mika from Pixabay}

I was half-way listening to some radio interview this week when something one of the guests said grabbed my attention: “Whoever presses your buttons is your master,” he said. How true!

Think about it. There you were, comfortably cruising along in your ordinary world when suddenly somebody stomped on one of your sensitivity buttons. Instant response! Hurt, anger, fight mode. Even if you just sat there hiding it all, inside you were engulfed in a turbulent emotional sea. And the waves just kept sloshing on and on.

When you look at moments like that—and all of us have them—the truth of the radio guy’s statement is plain to see. All your power was swept away by that button-pusher, whether he intended to offend you or not. So the button-pusher became your master.

Button-pushers don’t even have to be present to gain control over us. They can be images from our past, triggered by memory-evoking challenges or events. We store them in little brain-movies that we play over and over, and the button-pusher’s mastery goes on.

So what’s the answer? How do you break free and take back your power?

In my experience, the first step is recognizing that you gave up your self-control, your ownership of yourself, in the first place. I’ve found it helpful to say to myself, “Just because someone is offensive, I don’t have to be offended.” And by “offensive,” I don’t mean simply rude or thoughtless, although that counts, too. I mean the brutal, intentional offenses as well.

You can reclaim a great deal of your composure by recognizing that another person’s remarks or actions say far more about them than they say about you. Maybe they’re having a horrible day. Maybe they’re sick, or tired, or hungry. Maybe they’re angry at somebody or something else and you just happened to get in the way. It really doesn’t matter what the reason. The point is that you have a choice how to respond. “Just because someone is offensive, I don’t have to be offended.”

Remembering that, as I said, is the first step. But by the time you have remembered, you’re already upset. So the next step is to regain your inner peace. And the best way I’ve found to do that is to practice forgiveness.

I don’t mean you have to condone someone’s offensive behavior. I mean you have to forgive yourself for allowing their behavior to disturb your equilibrium. I like to use the mantra “I’m sorry; please forgive me,” said to my own inner self, until peace returns.

Self-forgiveness is self-compassion; it’s the recognition that everyone suffers, and that kindness is the healing balm for our own wounds as well as those of others. Compassionately forgiving yourself for your vulnerability means accepting with kindness that you were acting like a human again. (Such complex creatures!) It stops the waves of hurt and anger from sloshing and restores you to your right mind. You can brush yourself off and move on.

Then you’re in a position to decide rationally how to respond to the button-pusher in a mature and appropriate way. Maybe you’ll choose to forgive him, too. Maybe you’ll decide that you need to talk about the issue in a calm and unemotional way. Maybe you’ll decide that you need to make clear to him that you expect to be treated with more courtesy and respect, that you believe he was out of line. Maybe you’ll decide he doesn’t belong in your life at all and cut your ties to him.

Whatever you decide, once you have regained possession of your emotions, your response—even if it’s a difficult one—will be authentic, made in a state of self-harmony and inner peace by a self who is master of his or her own soul. And isn’t that the goal that we all strive for?

Wishing you a week of brilliant self-mastery and compassion.

Warmly,
Susan

 ^{Image by PDPics from Pixabay}

I have a little present for you today, something you can do that will give you an increased sense of meaning, a bit of ordinary everyday magic that we, who are so blessed in so many ways, all too often overlook.   And that magic goes by the name of gratitude.

Willing to try a quick experiment?  Think of somebody you love—a family member, a friend, even a pet.  You can even choose someone from your past if you like.  Now just for a few moments, put your open hand over your heart, feel its warmth, close your eyes and holding your loved one in mind, allow yourself just to feel the sensations in your heart area.  Don’t let thoughts about that person take your attention; just sit quietly and feel your appreciation.  Go ahead and do that right now, then slowly open your eyes and come back to reading.

I asked you to do that because when we read about gratitude, we’re just feeding our minds.  I wanted you to connect with the heart-glow that gratitude gives you.  

Like all the positive emotions, gratitude is short-lived, fleeting.  And yet it has a unique and special power to enrich us and expand our sense of well-being.  It opens the door for other good feelings to enter.

What brought it to mind for me was a link a friend sent me to a heart-warming video about artist Lori Portka.   She decided to create 100 little gratitude cards and to send them to 100 people in her life.  In the video, she shares what she learned about gratitude in the process and you get to see the way that her experiment touched other people’s lives.  

It reminded me of the time a friend of mine in Japan sent a gratitude postcard to 30 people over the course of the month.  He, too, discovered the powerful magic that gratitude holds.

Gratitude can be both external and internal.  We can be grateful for things “out there,” such as other people, or our homes, or jobs, or a sunny day, or soft socks.  Or it can be internal, focusing on our gratitude for our health, for our breathing lungs, for the way we think, for our senses of humor, for experiences.

Once I wrote the story of a woman who made a practice of pausing for gratitude at the endings of things:

She uses endings that occur throughout her day as a trigger for remembering to tune in to her gratitude.  When a conversation ends, or a class, or when she leaves a room or a building, or completes a project or a task, she closes it by taking a few seconds to appreciate what she has just experienced and to feel gratitude for it.

Imagine what this practice could do for your marriage or your relationship with your kids or parents or a business partner or colleague?  Imagine taking a moment to feel gratitude every time you ended an exchange with one of them!  Powerful stuff! 

If you do nothing else to cultivate gratitude in your life, each night as you prepare to sleep, celebrate the day’s ending, letting yourself recall one or two things from your day for which you are grateful, and just as you did at the beginning of this letter, let yourself sink into the feeling of heart-felt appreciation and to relax for a moment in its glow.

Wishing you a week brimming with gratitude and joy! And let me add my thanks to you for reading the thoughts I share. It adds meaning and purpose to my life, and that’s a pretty special gift to give someone.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay}

Here in the northern hemisphere, spring has finally arrived. Spring! Spring! My personal favorite time of year. And what am I getting? Temperatures heading below freezing and predictions for snow! I could be downright ornery about that. I could stomp my foot and shake my finger at the sky and yell, “Boooo!! How dare you!” at the weather. But a lot of good that would do, hey?

It would make about as much sense as me trying to change Ted’s political views, or Rene’s religion, or Mary’s methods of handling money—as much they may differ from my own. No, the wiser course is to accept what is and love life anyway.

Most of us feel an inner friction when the world doesn’t match our stories about how things should be. We believe in the intrinsic truth of our stories. We identify with them and feel that they define who we are. So it’s all too easy to take it personally when we run across situations or views that contradict them. We take offense. We want to gear up for battle against what seems an attack—against the thing that suggests that we’re wrong to believe what we’re certain is right and true.

But is there another way to handle contradictions to our beliefs, besides fighting against them? I ran across a quote this week that said, “We can’t change what life brings to our door until we learn to change the way in which we answer it.”

I can’t change the weather (or Ted, or Rene, or Mary, for that matter), but I can take charge of my disappointment in it. I can begin by accepting that it is what it is (and that my friends are who they are). I can look at the situation and see what part of it is upsetting me, and with that information in hand, I can look for ways to address what I’m experiencing as a problem.

If I step back from my distress over the predicted freezing weather, I can see that what’s upsetting me isn’t the cold itself, but its threat to my baby tulips. Then I can set about protecting them.

Stepping back from my differences with my friends’ beliefs is a little harder. I have to admit that maybe their reasons for thinking as they do are as valid as my reasons for my own beliefs. Maybe they formed their beliefs the same way I acquired mine—from childhood experiences or training, from what they read or heard in school from trusted teachers, or from media, or friends. I have to accept that maybe I don’t have a lock on the truth. Maybe it’s different or bigger than either my friends or I suppose.

Regardless of why their opinions are different from mine, I have to ask myself whether the differences are bigger than our friendship. Aren’t there many other areas of life where we are in harmony?

With so many of us at each other’s throats these days over differences of opinion, maybe each of us needs to be looking at the way we respond to what life brings to our door. When what we find there doesn’t mesh with our own ideas about what’s right or true, maybe we need to give deeper thought to how we want to respond. We won’t solve the problems that all of us agree need to be solved by fighting against each other. As author Graham Greene once wrote, “Hate is a lack of imagination.” Let’s imagine that we can be more creative by working together, that we can identify the problems more clearly, that we can be more flexible about experimenting with possible solutions.

And if we can’t, let’s accept that our differences are part of the human condition and agree to respect each other nonetheless.

Artist Andy Warhol wrote, “Sometimes people let the same problem make them miserable for years when they could just say, ‘So what?’ That’s one of my favorite things to say. ‘So what.’” There’s as much wisdom as humor in that. So your ideas differ from mine. So what? I can love you anyway. And the world will continue to turn.

Wishing you gracious acceptance of whatever knocks at your door.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by R. E. Beck from Pixabay}

I was out looking at the stars the other night, and once more I was filled with awe at the realization that our home is but one speck of rock circling one star amidst uncountable stars in one of an unknown number of galaxies. How small we are! And yet, how incredible our minds, to be able to grasp the immensity of it all, to compute the distances, to be capable of wonder and to marvel at its mysteries and order and beauty.

How can we be asleep to that? How can we take it all for granted? Why, when we’re gifted not only with intelligence but with the capacity to love, is our little world beset with such rancor and pain?

You know, there seems to be a trend afoot these days to pit us all against each other, to egg us into taking sides on every conceivable issue. Tensions and conflicts engulf our homes and work places, our neighborhoods and nations. And this, despite the fact that what the overwhelming majority of humans want is simply to get along with each other and to live our lives in harmony and peace.

None of us has the power, individually, to change the course of world events. But we can have an influence in our immediate corners of the world. That’s the place to start. From there, it evolves and spreads, of its own accord. It becomes the ripple that eventually turns the tide,

I heard a suggestion this week that I liked a lot. Instead of getting entrapped in the blame game, it said, focus on seeking solutions. Ask yourself what you can do to make things better and be willing to give your ideas a try.

Sometimes that can mean having to admit you were less than kind, or respectful, or honest. None of us is at our best all the time. We get tired, and crabby, and selfish. It’s part of being human to blame someone else for our lousy states of mind. But our ability to apologize is a part of being human, too.

Sometimes making things better means stretching beyond our comfort zones and trying on less-than-familiar behaviors—holding our tongues when we would normally confront, forgiving hurts, deciding to overlook other’s foibles instead of falling into irritation, looking for things to like in those whose opinions contrast with our own.

What can I do to make things better? That’s the solution-focused question. How can I create more harmony? More understanding? More beauty? More wholesomeness and health? What would be the kind thing to do? The loving thing? How can we work together to fix things?

“Be the peace you want to see in the world” the sage said. Every time you apply it, the world does indeed become a more peaceful place. One act, one person at a time.

Wishing you a week filled with beautiful solutions.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Rosy / Bad Homburg / Germany from Pixabay}

Have you ever heard the statement, “What you focus on expands”?  It’s a fact of life, and a good one to remember. 

A friend of mine reminded me about it in a recent blog post she wrote.  She had attended a conference where one of the speakers, a brain scientist, asked the audience, “How many neurons over a lifetime have you dedicated to worry?  Or to fear, or guilt, or limitation of any kind?”

She said his choice of the word “dedicate” really caught her attention.  And rightly so.  The more you repeat a thought, the more deeply you carve neural pathways for it in your brain.  And the deeper the pathway, the easier it is for your thoughts to flow along it.  You’re dedicating those neurons with every similar thought. “What you focus on expands.” 

When you create pathways of limitation, they become launching pads for a nefarious secondary force I once heard named “the zucchini god”—the one who instantly appears when you think a motivated thought and convinces you that you need a nap or a bag of potato chips first, the one who wants you spend your life being a squash.

The way to avoid making life easy for the zucchini god is to purposefully design the neural pathways you want to create—the ones that will lead you toward the actions that are aligned with your vision of who and how you want to be, what you want to accomplish and attain. 

And the way that you do that is by getting clear about what it is that you want.  That doesn’t mean you have to set huge goals or create lofty or long-range visions.  Your intention can be as short-range as a day, or even less.  But decide what is it you want and put it into words for yourself.  Ideally, write them down somewhere that you’ll throughout the day as a reminder.  That adds the fuel of attention to your intention.  And attention plus intention is the key.  It’s the magic formula. 

The more attention you give to your intention—even if you only read it or remember it—the more you’re building the neural pathways that your thoughts can travel to take you where you want to go.

When you catch yourself traveling down a pathway of limitation, throw a big bright “Detour” sign into the middle of it and turn your attention, your focus, to your intention.  Remind yourself what it will feel like to be and do the things you want to be and do: kinder, braver, more persistent, more in control, more creative, more appreciative, more in charge of your choices. 

Then take whatever action you can to move toward the object of your intention, even if it’s nothing more than squaring your shoulders, slowing your breathing to relax into the moment, and putting on a smile.

You can continue to grow deeper pathways of limitation, or focus your attention on moving on a trajectory toward your true desires.  

It’s like the old American Cherokee story about the two wolves. One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all.

“One is Evil – It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

“The other is Good – It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Decide to dedicate your neurons to the things that bring you joy and satisfaction.  Name your intentions, then feed them with all the attention you can muster. 

And may your good wolf win!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Andrea Bohl from Pixabay}

I’ve been digging in my collection of quotes again this week and found one from Harry Emerson Fosdick that made me stop and think. I like it when that happens, when a sentence or two makes me want to take stock and see how I can add more sizzle to my life.

Here’s Fosdick’s statement: “Rebellion against your handicaps gets you nowhere. Self-pity gets you nowhere. One must have the adventurous daring to accept oneself as a bundle of possibilities and undertake the most interesting game in the world – making the most of one’s best.”

It reminded me of a story I once read about a man who was legally blind, yet, by training himself to focus on the small amount of sight he had, he was able not only to navigate his ordinary world, but eventually to drive a car. He went on to develop a highly successful system to train people with infirmities of various kinds to transcend their difficulties by devoting their attention to whatever abilities they did have. He took that “most interesting game” and played it for all it was worth.

He looked for the possibilities and made the most of the tiny sliver of sight that was his best. Then he saw the possibility of showing others how to do the same and made the most of that, too.

Have you ever dared to think of yourself as a “bundle of possibilities?” What if you did? What possibilities would you find? If you were going to make a list of the things that you considered the best of you, what would you put on your list?

And once you had such a list, suppose you looked at it and asked yourself how you could make the most of these things. What if you let your imagination run wild and blocked out all the “yeah-but’s” that tried to sneak in? What if you opted to play the most interesting game and to imagine how you could make the most of your best?

What would that look like? What would you do? How would you be?

The mere act of imagining your best self opens you to broader, more possibility-laden thinking. That’s a proven fact. Spend 20 minutes describing your best self in writing and see how you feel.

But what if you were to take it beyond mere imagining? What if you decided to go all in and play this most interesting game for real, to focus on something you did well, or were ardently attracted to doing, and made the most of it?

You could start with just one thing, one possibility, one of your favorite things about you and express it 2% better today than yesterday, by intention, because you chose to play the game. Then tomorrow you could do it 2% better than today, and so on. And the thing that was one of the best things about you would get even better and better, and it would pull some of the other things that are good about you right up with it.

Imagine how interesting life would become! And all because you decided to play this, the most interesting game in the world.

Wishing you a week of intriguing discoveries and ideas!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by InspiredImages from Pixabay}

I continued reading the “Sunday Letters” that I wrote back in 2015 and once again felt compelled to share with you the one that followed the letter I shared last week. Here it is:

First of all, let me share that my friend who broke his hip in the slip-on-the-ice fall last week is making great progress with his recovery and expects to return home this week. Thanks to all who sent him caring thoughts.

Because he’s had his bouts with clinical depression and often says, “Everything always goes wrong for me,” I’ve been grateful and relieved and very happy to hear the optimism in his voice and his anticipation of things he’ll be able to do for himself once he’s home.

There’s a creative power is positive expectation—especially when you learn to expect the best from yourself. I read a quote this week from an anonymous source that said, “When you become convinced that you can make a comeback from any adversity, then all of your creative forces will come to your aid.”

That’s more than a glib statement of positive philosophy. Our brains work hard to materialize proof of our beliefs for us, to find evidence for them. Wayne Dyer wrote a whole book about it called When You Believe It, You’ll See It.

From all the billions of bits of data that come to us from our sensory organs, our brains actively select out for our attention the ones that match what we hold to be true or that open doors or give clues about opportunities that we’re seeking.

It happens automatically, but you can speed the process along by asking Positive Affirmative Questions of your brain. Popularized as “afformations” by Noah St. John, PAQ’s generally begin with the word “Why” and then go on to state what you’re hoping to materialize in your experience. “Why am I feeling so confident today?” “Why am I healing so quickly?” “Why am I so creative today?” “Why am I so patient?”

The “why” part of the question sends your brain on a search to find answers for you. It can’t resist the challenge. Unlike ordinary affirmations, such as “I am so creative,” why-questions don’t give your brain a chance to argue with you or to dispute you. Instead, it begins to scour both its knowledge banks and incoming sensory data to bring you the proof you requested.

If your request is urgent, your brain will even go into a kind of hyperdrive to find answers. I’ll give you a personal example. I happened to drop a 20-pound log on my big toe last night. Hurt like the blazes. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” I yelled. But because I’d been thinking about this letter, I said to myself, “Why is my toe recovering so fast?” And even before I pulled off my sock to examine the damage, my brain said, “Because you put an ice pack on it right away.” And I did. Good thing, too; poor toe got smashed pretty well. But I do expect it to heal quickly, and I expect my brain to continue to giving me hints to help it along.

Creative anticipation is a powerful tool. It’s what’s behind the adage, “You get what you look for.” Look for the good, and give the process a boost with some Positive-Affirmative-Questions.

Now, why are you having such a fabulous week this week?

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Image by Anja from Pixabay}

Every Saturday as go through my day, I notice my mind casting about in search of the focal point for the letter I’ll write to you in the evening. I call this mostly subconscious process, the working of “the boys in the back room.” They’re the guys that put all this together, point me where to go, slide messages under the door and into my awareness.

I’m often quite surprised at what it turns out that I say. But I trust the process.

Today, I was inspired to go through a stack of my “Sunday Letters” from way back in 2015. That’s nine years ago. I opened it to March and pulled out a letter dated the 8^th of that year.

The parallels to events currently unfolding in my personal world were, to say the least, an amazing synchronicity. But beyond that, it put into words what I’ve been wanting to say for a while now.

I immediately felt compelled to share it with you. It’s meant for somebody special. Who knows? Maybe that somebody is you.

Here it is:

When the Bough Breaks

It was a week of sad news and an unexpected challenge.

The challenge wasn’t all that bad, relatively speaking. The drain for my kitchen sink froze, breaking a seam between two pipes, and before the squishy sound of the carpet under my feet told me there was a problem, my entire sink floor was flooded and water had seeped under the old tile beneath the carpet. I’m not happy with the situation, of course. But it’s nothing that can’t be repaired.

Besides, I’ve learned to bolster myself in the face of life’s normal challenges by flexing my bicep Rosie-the-Riveter style and defiantly snarling, “Bring it on!” Works like magic.

Sad news is a little more difficult to handle. On Tuesday, an old friend of mine called to tell me he was in the hospital. He had slipped on a patch of ice, fallen, and broke his hip. His general life situation wasn’t all that great to begin with, and this is going to be a serious setback for him.

I have two other friends who are enduring difficult medical situations, too. It’s hard to watch those you care about suffer. It’s hard even to watch the suffering of strangers half a world away.

But pain and problems are a part of life, a part of all of our lives. It’s almost as if they’re a necessary part of being fully human. They test our courage and our ingenuity and resolve. They keep us humble. They give us a chance to think about what really matters in our lives. They break our patterns and shift our view of things. They remind us that we’re mortal.

Confronted with my friends’ difficulties, I remembered Tara Brach’s helpful words: “This is suffering. Everyone suffers. May I be kind.”

When you’re the one who is suffering, it helps to remember that you’re not alone. Pain is universal; it visits us all. Be kind to yourself.

When you’re a witness to pain, let kindness be your unfailing flag. Be there, with a loving heart, for family and friends who are enduring pain. Bring them your patience and your cheer, your encouragement and your faith in their strength. Be there to listen. Be there authentically, with your whole heart.

That goes for emotional and mental suffering as well as physical ailments and injuries. Hurt happens on a lot of levels.

And so does healing. And the very best medicine is love.

Wishing you a week of kindness – given and received.

Warmly,
Susan

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