Category: Sunday Letters

In a current events forum I frequent, I noticed a signature line: “Carpe Diem [Latin for “Seize the Day”]—It may be the only one you’ve got.” The writer intended it as a comment on the current state of world affairs, as a caution that because our world seems such a powder keg, we had better make the most of today.

I know that in certain circles, it’s popular to suggest that you should avoid the news, given its typically distressing nature, and focus instead on thoughts of a positive bent. I’m all in favor of focusing on life’s goodness, and firmly believe that it far outweighs the bad. But personally, I prefer to know what’s happening around the planet, whether the news is scary or not, and even when it sometimes breaks my heart.

For me, keeping tabs on world events is a matter of satisfying my curiosity about the nature of outer reality. It’s engagement with the world and part of the stewardship of citizenship. Even when reading it suggests to me that the whole human race is galloping headlong toward cataclysmic disaster, I’m happier knowing the context in which I live than I would be not knowing. I figure I can’t be part of the solution unless I have some understanding of the problem, after all.

But getting back to that signature line, “Carpe Diem” has been worthy advice since a poet named Horace first penned the words over 2,000 years ago. The rest of the sentence that begins with those words is “and put no trust in tomorrow.”

Of course we all do put trust in tomorrow. Trusting in tomorrow is what lets us dream and hope and plan; it’s what gives meaning to many of the activities we invest ourselves in today.

Nevertheless, tomorrow is an iffy kind of thing, even in the best of times. And while we’d like to believe it will unfold more or less according to our expectations, that’s never a certainty. The advice to grab hold of today is recognition of that fact. “Carpe Diem” is a spirited reminder that today—in fact, this moment—is the only day we know we have. It’s meant to be grabbed with eager attention and lived with vigor and zest. And if we squander all its moments living for, or dreading, our tomorrows, we miss the riches it holds for us to enjoy.

It’s a reminder to be aware of those things that bring you happiness and satisfaction, and to take time to savor them in the here and now. It’s a reminder to smell the roses, to appreciate good company, to feel gratitude for the things that comfort and challenge and strengthen and uplift us. That’s how we make memories worth reliving, after all, and how we give our lives meaning and flavor and joy.

“Carpe Diem.” It’s a bit of happiness-counsel worth heading. Put it on a sticky note somewhere that you’ll see it and when you do, take a moment to live its advice.

Wishing you days of vibrant joy.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Jan Alexander from Pixabay}

I was doing a little reorganizing this week and ran across some old notes about an interview I’d heard with Neale David Walsh, author of the Conversations with God series that was so popular a few years ago. He had just released a fourth book, Awaken the Species, and he was talking about some of the main concepts it covers.

In case you’re not familiar with the Conversations series, or not even vaguely interested in reading what somebody says about God, you may find it intriguing that the first point the voice that Walsh identifies as “God” had to make was “You’ve got me all wrong.”

As Walsh pointed out in the interview, even if you’ve dismissed the idea of the existence of God entirely, if that sentence has even a smidgeon of truth to it, it suggests that you might want to ask yourself what you do believe about the possibility and nature of an infinitely conscious Supreme Being. (Maybe, for example, you picture God as the source of the code that makes up the matrix of existence.)

That suggestion—about questioning beliefs—reminded me of one of the most challenging and valuable assignments I was ever given in college. It was the final exam in a course called “American Thought and Language,” which covered significant (and often opposing) concepts that had arisen in the country since the time prior to the Revolution up to the present. The assignment was to write an essay entitled “I Believe,” in which we were to discuss a few of our own personal beliefs and give our reasons for holding them.

Every now and then, I assign that essay to myself again, just to take a look at the beliefs I hold now and to examine them. You’d be surprised how interesting that can be – and fun! It’s very revealing.

But that’s not the main thought that I brought away from that Walsh interview. The idea that struck me most deeply was one Walsh shared when the host asked him what was the biggest piece of advice he could give people, based on his latest book. Walsh said he would tell people what he was told was the most important thing: “Your life isn’t about you. It has nothing to do with you. It’s about everyone whose life you touch and the way in which you touch it.”

Think about the implications of that thought. Imagine what it would be like if each of us asked, “How can I help? What can I do to make your life easier, more comfortable, more peaceful, more pleasant?” What if we looked for ways we could give encouragement to each other? If we set out to make the environment a healthier, more beautiful place? If we listened to each other more? If we looked more into each other’s eyes? If we looked for ways to ease another’s burden or to alleviate some of their stress? If we did our jobs knowing that we were contributing, in however small a way, to the well-being of others and took joy in that?

So that’s the thought I leave with you this week, the message that it’s all about every life we touch and how we touch it.

I wish you the insight to see what’s needed, and the generosity of spirit to give as only you can.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay}

“Congratulations on another day!” the radio host said. I don’t think I ever heard that before, but it certainly resonated with me. I deserved congratulations for keeping my balance so well despite a spate of disruptive events in my life.

As you may have noticed, I haven’t been online for a bit of a stretch. For years now I’ve been heard to utter, “Technology is so wonderful when it works.” This was one of those times when it didn’t. I was in Internet Connection Hell. But valiant knights swarmed in to rescue me, and they were fine, determined men, knowledgeable and most courteous. Still, it took many days to get to the root of the problem.

And it wasn’t just that. My cook top and washing machine died, too, all in the span of a couple days. Meanwhile, close friends were going through difficult personal struggles, and the horrific tragedy unfolding in Maui was breaking my heart.

In the midst of all this, I began to appreciate how valuable all my joy-warrior training has been. It allowed me to keep a perspective as unexpected circumstances pushed me from my accustomed routines. We do like our habits, especially the ones that let us go through our days with some order, efficiency and grace. It annoys us when they’re disturbed.

Still, I noticed, I was surprisingly unperturbed by fairly major interruptions to the usual patterns of my life. I recognized that they were posing some significant challenges. I would have to deal with the hassle and cost of getting service, repairs and replacements. Until I got back online, much of my usual work would have to wait. 

But I simultaneously recognized that being upset would only make dealing with everything more difficult. And I saw that understanding as a great gift, one that I had given myself by “walking the talk,” by finding and exercising the practices that lead to enhanced ease and joy. Instead of letting events devastate me, or hurl me into a pity pool, a heartfelt wave of gratitude washed over me for the peace and confidence I felt as, one step at a time, I navigated the challenges.

In a world where things frequently go differently than we wish them to go, it takes practice to keep a balanced perspective. Maintaining inner peace, which is what joy is all about, is a skill as much as an art, or a personality trait, or a product of a healthy upbringing. You need to practice it, to find ways to nurture and grow it. And that’s what the joy tools I find and enjoy sharing with you are meant to do – to help us learn to operate from a center of peace regardless of what circumstances surround us.

I’m always on the lookout for ways to build my joy skills. So when the guy on the radio said, “Congratulations on another day,” and it made me grin, I wrote the sentence down and taped it to my bathroom mirror as an experiment, to see what effects it would produce. It seemed to me a fine thing to say to myself at the end of the day – or at its start, for that matter. It wasn’t about accomplishing anything, or about being a certain way. It was just about being. Period. You’re here. Conscious. Experiencing. Despite all the odds. Congratulations!

My challenges were what they were, I decided, and the rest of the world remained as my laboratory and playground. Acceptance is always such a fine first step.

Then my curiosity kicked in: What would I do with the time I couldn’t spend as I normally did?

I pulled an old set of instructions from my mind’s files that said, “When you don’t know what to do, clean or create.” I decided to start by creating a list of things I could do with this sudden appearance of free time. After all, free time is a great gift when you think about it.

I’m pleased to say that I accomplished a host of worthwhile projects, and had fun doing it. Despite it all. One night while I was wrapping up a journal entry about my responses that day to my restructured world, I found myself writing, “Life is rich.” And so it is. And we get to live it.

Carry on, my friends, and remember to look for the good, regardless. Oh, and Congratulations on another day!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by QuinceCreative from Pixabay}

While digging around in my archives the other day, I found this “Blast from the Past” that I wrote in 2010. I was writing about character strengths at the time and this one was about the strength of optimism. I called it . . .

“The Breakfast of Champions”

None of it matters: Where you were born, who your parents are, how tough you had it growing up, how many boulders you had to climb over, what the competition was doing.

What matters is whether you’ve got heart, how much you want to be, how deep you’re willing to dive into the life force within you, what stories you believe and tell.

Especially the stories. You either have excuses or you have reasons. It’s up to you. You either let it get you or you don’t. You see people who came from the sorriest of life’s lot wearing medals, champions risen from the dregs. What kinds of stories do you suppose they listened to and chanted to themselves in the dead of night? Tell yourself those kinds of stories.

The ones who win life’s prizes don’t let a missing leg or drunken dad or empty wallet tell them that the whole deck of cards is stacked against them. They see what they have, not what they lack.

If they stumble, they don’t decide they’re worthless. They tie their shoes or watch out for cracks and keep on with the race. They remember the times they did well, beat the pack, sunk the putt, hit the target, aced the test. They believe in themselves. They tell themselves “I can,” and “I will.”

They fly the banners of hope and high expectations. They eat optimism for breakfast and dine on their victories at night, and even if the victories are small, they find enough of them to make a satisfying meal.

Life is for the brave. It sings like a riot of trumpets for the ones with the daring and guts to keep going even when things are tough. And it sends happiness to dwell in their hearts and applauds them with standing ovations.

Wishing you a week of courage and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Pexels from Pixabay}

When you visit here, maybe you’ll notice that my subtitle is “A Joy Warrior’s Journey.” “Joy Warrior” is a title I gave myself back when I was immersed in my studies of positive psychology. It started out as a game. I imagined it as my joining a kind of order or school where you dedicated yourself to learning to live in joy, no matter what. I invented an ever-growing story around it. I couldn’t help it; it’s the writer in me.

It turns out that it’s serious business being a Joy Warrior. It’s not like all of a sudden you step into a pair of magic happy shoes and tra-la-la your way though life. It’s not a game of let’s pretend.

Its goal is to master the art of dissolving anything that stands between you and perfect, radiant joy. And these days, the heap of things cluttering access to joy seems astonishingly deep and tall. It extends from right under our feet to the edges of the sky. As a joy warrior, it’s your job to figure out how to keep those things from stealing your attention and peace. And let me tell you, that’s one heck of a challenge.

So here I am, slaying the dragons that would devour my view of joy, passing along clues as I find them. I’ve learned that joy-stealers are devious, malevolent things. And they love to upset you. To them your rage is like a charred marshmallow to devour around a fire as they chortle with scorn. Remembering that is a good tool to keep in your basket. Don’t feed the joy-stealers.

Another things I’ve learned is that you’re best off when you play to your strengths. Do what you’re good at, what attracts you, what gets your heart beating. Back in the hippie days they said it, “Follow your bliss.” You go farther faster when you move in harmony with your personal strengths than you do when you try to fight against your weaknesses. Smile at your reflection in the mirror every day. Maybe wink at yourself. Remember what it feels like to have fun, to be at ease, to feel a sense of appreciation floating up from somewhere inside you.

You see things more broadly when you’re at peace and content with things just as they are. Even when they’re not what you wanted them to be. It’s a discipline to look for the silver lining, you know. And there always is one. It’s a world of contrasts, of dualities, a kind of “can’t have one without the other” place. When you can see that, and allow it to be okay, the problems of the world, even your personal ones, lose their density and the light of joy, glowing soft and silver, shines through them, and there’s more clarity, and perspective, and a kind of wordless understanding of how everything really is okay.

I didn’t mean to go on and on. I just wanted to expand a little on my experiences as a Joy Warrior. You can decide to be one, too, you know. Or invent a school of your own. Or just be who you are and have the most fun being you that you can possibly have.

Wishing you a week sparkled with smiles.

Warmly,
Susan

Chances are, since you’re human, you’ve had one or two of those times where you’re right at the edge of absolute despair and, looking over the edge into the abyss below, think the tumble might be worth it. You’re not about to find out. But you sure won’t mind when this all ends.

First of all, as someone who has the tattered tee-shirt from that place, let me tell you I’m sorry you had to feel that pain. I’m sorry any of us do. But we do. Every last one of us. It comes, it seems, with the package.

I was reminded of those bleak stretches of the road when I happened across a little wall poster that said,”Don’t you DARE give up now!” I was having a fine morning when I saw it, and it made me grin. Such a poke! Such encouragement in so few words.

“That’s right,” I said to myself. Then I watched a whole string of cliches roll through my mind:
Things change. Things get better. Light follows dark. Calm follows storm.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I thought. I don’t want to hear a bunch of truisms now. Not if I’m chest deep in the messiness of life. If that’s where I am, I’m hanging on to this big bag full of disgust and
sick-of-this-had-enough-ness. And somehow I can’t quite get myself to set it down.

So, you’ve probably been there a time or two, right? Sucks.

One of the best ladders I’ve found for digging myself out of that particular kind of a pit is Tara Brach’s mantra: “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Saying those words, for me, softens things, lets me let go of some of the stubbornness that’s holding onto my disgust bag. It’s one of those phrases I like to keep nearby to grab when I’m in trouble.

Now I have “Don’t you DARE give up now!” to add to the mix. It feels spicier. It’s bracing. It carries a challenge. Mind you, it doesn’t say you can’t take a rest. A nap might be just what you need before you take on the next round. It’s just saying that you need to take on the next round.

A scene from a movie I can’t remember comes to mind where these two men are having a raging fist-fight in the mud in a terrible downpour. The hero is taking a pretty bad beating. He slips in the mud and falls to his knees a couple times. Then he’s hit with a powerful blow to the jaw and falls whole body into the slimy mud. Calling on every bit of reserve he has, he pulls himself to his feet. “Why do you keep getting up?” the bad guy asks him incredulously. The hero looks him in the eye, his face covered with mud, and snarls, “Because I can.”

That’s one of the things that made him a hero. He didn’t give up. He kept on going, regardless of how bleak the odds seemed.

Things change. Sometimes – more often than we credit – things get better. And light really does come after darkness. So, yes. I’ll put this one in my pocket: “Don’t you DARE give up now!”

Stick one in yours, too. You never know. It might come in handy one of these days.

Wishing you a week where light dances gently all around you.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by TheDigitalArtist by Pixabay}

Every now and then somebody up the road sets off a volley of fireworks. Sometimes it’s the little ones that are like popcorn. Sometimes it sounds like a cannon. Once it was a sudden deep boom so loud it made me jump in my chair. It’s that weekend. The Fourth of July, even if the fourth isn’t until Tuesday. We know a holiday when we see one.

Independence Day. I wonder how many of us give any thought at all to its origin, to the context of the times from which it arose, to the meaning of it and how it reflects on the times we are living today. I suppose that sort of thing belongs to a past era. And personally, I think that’s a failure and a shame.

When I was a kid, every Independence Day I used to sprawl on the living room floor with a thick, leather-covered volume of The Encyclopedia Britannica and read The Declaration of Independence all the way through, even though I didn’t understand it. It was sort of like the Bible that way. It felt important and like something you should know.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident,” it said, “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

 That’s a pretty deep thought when you consider it. It’s one of those you can visit time and again over the years and have a more insightful view each time as your life experience grows.

Basically, as I see it, the Declaration is a group of people saying they can no longer go along with oppressive treatment from their government and will, going forward, govern themselves, thank you. It’s kind of like when somebody keeps telling you all these things you have to do for their benefit no matter how you feel about it, and then one day, you say, “Wait a minute.” You decide you’ve had enough of that game and you’re not going to play it any more.

Doing that, deciding you will be following your own rules from now on, can create a ruckus. And it did, back then, when those colonists reached their “wait a minute” moment. And here we are. Flying our flags and grilling our burgers and hearing the fireworks pop off from all directions.

I’ll be flying my flag, too, this weekend. I fly it every day that it doesn’t rain. And I’ll be thinking, as I unfurl it and place it in its standard, about the things it represents to me. Even if such thoughts aren’t currently in vogue. Truths endure regardless.

May we be free.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by picjumbo_com on pixabay}

Imagine that I’m up in the attic of this old, wood frame house of mine. Dust sparkles in the light filtering through the shutters and I’m going through the contents of an old foot locker that I haven’t opened in years. I pull out a manila file folder and open it to find pieces I wrote over a decade ago.

I don’t know what led me to this discovery. But later, when I asked myself what it was all about, an inner knowing came to me. It was so I could share two of the pieces with you. Consider them little gifts of thanks to you, just because.

The first one is called “Grace in Rocky Places.” It goes like this:

Few places are totally barren or wholly devoid of hope. Life pushes itself through the smallest cracks, takes root in the most unlikely places.

Eventually, the longest winter gives way to spring. The darkness gives way to light.

Be at peace.

You, who are not made of rock, are filled with more possibilities than you know and have eternity in which to fulfill them.

Keep faith alive in your heart; hold fast to your aspirations. Regardless of appearances or circumstances, life will make a way.

*              *              *

And the second one is “A Blessing for Your Journey.”

May your pathway open into sunlight and stepping stones show you the way.

May the waters be placid around you, the breezes mild and the weather fair.

May each step you take enlarge you, expanding your vision, your courage and faith.

May you dare the unknown with confidence and find loveliness wherever you go.

May your heart speak thanks for every grace offered, and your hands reach out in kindness to all you meet along the way.

May you hear the Great Yes whispering all around you and breathe in rhythm with its song, knowing that it sings for you, and of you, for you are one of its own.

*              *              *

It’s good to rummage around in your attic every now and then. I’ll be wishing you a week of interesting discoveries.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Peter H from Pixabay}

This is one of those little hometown stories you don’t hear much any more. It’s about my neighbor’s son-in-law, Shawn.

Shawn worked as a meat cutter at the big chain grocery store up the road a couple miles. He’d always nod and smile when he saw me. But ahead of his job, the passion of his life was his membership in the township’s Volunteer Fire Department.

Last winter, Shawn took ill and was diagnosed with one of those “turbo-cancers” that have sprung up in the past couple years. They develop quickly and affect different areas of the body simultaneously or in rapid succession.

Shawn fought it valiantly. But last Tuesday the doctors said there was no more they could do and sent him home to die surrounded by his family.

The family set up a bed for him in the living room where he could look out the front door at the neighborhood. There was something special coming, they told him, they wanted him to see.

A few hours later, as a light rain fell from a pale sky, the sound of a fire truck’s siren ripped through the air, followed by another, and another, and another. Trucks had come from departments all around the county. One even came from E. Palestine, Ohio. Shawn hadn’t been able to fight the fire the night of the derailment last winter, but his wife went, fighting along with the rest of the department.

The bond among fire-fighters is strong. They came this night to tell Shawn they loved and respected him, to honor his years of service. The red and white lights of their trucks glistened in the rain as they drove in a slow parade all around his block, sirens wailing.

Shawn watched from his bed, smiling. Two days later, he was gone.

My heart goes out to the family. They’ve been through the wringer the past couple years. But it never got them down.

I was thinking about Shawn and his family yesterday when I came across a short story called “The Black Telephone.” It’s a beautiful little story and worth a read. In one part of it, the story-teller’s pet canary dies. He’s just a little kid at the time and the death confuses him. He goes to a wise older friend. Here’s the excerpt from the story:

 I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?”
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”
Somehow I felt better.

I felt better, too. For a minute, I imagined a grinning Shawn giving rides to smiling children and puppies in a big shiny fire truck up in some corner of heaven.

You know, it can be a tough world. There’s a lot of pain and sorrow here. Remember to be kind. And when you lose someone dear, take comfort in remembering that there are other worlds to sing in.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Bird Image by Steven Iodice from Pixabay
Firetruck photos by Bob Spann}

I’ve been enjoying my gardens this week. Because I live surrounded by woods, I lack the sunshine to grow anything that requires more than an hour or two of sun. But the shade-lovers I have, and a few precious flowers, are doing splendidly. So are the so-called weeds that grow among them, the wild ones who traveled up from the meadow below or ambled down from the wooded hillsides that surround me. The raspberries, the phlox, the chamomile, the yarrow and forget-me-nots and buttercups and ferns.

I have to admit it; I love weeds. Without any help from human hands, they do pretty doggone well. And personally, I confess that when I watch them grow, I think they have more fun than their cultivated cousins.

They seem freer somehow, less constrained. And let’s face it; they’re definitely hardier.

I think when nobody’s around they laugh. I think they just plain like what they are, that they don’t take themselves too seriously.

They grow lightly, with no silly need to be something special. They just pop out their leaves and buds and flowers and berries according to whatever pattern nature provides, schmoozing with their neighbors, making the best of whatever resources happen to be at hand.

And somehow it all turns out beautifully.

There’s a lesson there, I think. Maybe it’s that we ought to be more careful what we label a “weed.” Maybe it’s that you don’t have to be all fancy in order to please. Maybe it’s that old advice to bloom where we are planted – and to do it with abandon and joy. I don’t know. I just know that they delight my eye and make me smile. And these days anything in this world that can do that is just fine with me.

Have yourself a happy little week. I hope you happen on a weed or two, and that it makes you smile.

Warmly,
Susan