Up for a Challenge?

When I was surfing through miscellaneous videos this week I happened across one that said, given all the stress in our worlds these days, it’s important to give ourselves a little extra care. She recommended that we each do 3 things daily to care for ourselves, even if they’re only very small things.

That seemed like good advice, of course, but it brought to mind articles I’d see in magazines with titles like “10 Things to Do for Instant Happiness.” They’d list ten little things in an inane kind of way and you’d get a little smile from it and go on with your day. None of them ever said, “No, Seriously! Do these 10 things.” But maybe they should have.

Anyway, I thought it might be fun to see if I could come up with a list of mood-brighteners. I jotted down these:

* Spend a few quality minutes with your pet. Even if your pet is a plant or a rock.

* Go for a walk. Find a tree. Look at its bark, its shape, its leaves, its movement. Put your hand on its trunk and see what you feel.

* Watch a bird fly. Imagine what it feels like to fly like that, to see what a bird would see.

* Put on some great music and let it move you.

* Stand in front of a mirror and tell yourself out loud three things you really like about yourself.

* Get a brief glimpse into the world of elephants from National Geographic on YouTube.

I was right. It was fun to see what ideas flew into my mind. (And finding the elephant video was pretty cool, too.)

But then I remembered what I wanted to focus on was the idea of doing three things each day to show yourself that you care about you. Seriously. In fact, I think consciously choosing to do just three things for yourself each day could be a game-changer.

I already do lots of things in a day because I know I’ll enjoy them. Lots and lots. I dive right into most days on the lookout for treats and surprises. It’s healthy to expect joy in life. But what if I decided to do something inspirational, or pleasurable, or beneficial with conscious attention to the fact that I was doing it for myself simply as a way of caring for me, of appreciating myself? What if I asked myself what I could do for me and then followed through on whatever idea came to mind? What if I took just a moment each day, one in the morning, one at noon, one at night, to do something that brought me comfort, or satisfaction, or contentment, or peace?

What if I made that a habit? What if I committed to doing it every day, no matter what?

I kind of like those “what if’s.” They intrigue me. I think I’m going to give it a whirl. How about you? Seriously.

Wishing you a fine week.

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Neil Morrell from Pixabay

Saluting the Hosta

I don’t think I ever told you, but maybe
from the way I smile at you, you know.
Let me tell you anyway. I think of you
as a sort of honor guard for spring, bearing
so boldly your flags of variegated green,
as if green were everything, your way of being,
the wave that brought you to dance in the sun,
to put forth tall flowers and offer your seed
that green might forever go on. Green,
your path and purpose. And now is your season,
and I salute you and your song.

A Certain Light

Near the middle of April, the south slope
begins to don its green, all gossamer,
as if the hue were floating above the soil.
In the morning light, it’s intense and glittering,
as if cut emeralds were scattered across the land.
But around noon, when the sun is white and high
and the shadows of the trees run straight downhill,
ten thousand spring beauties steal the scene,
their tiny star petals sparkling in the light,
and I, turning to see them, give thanks
that they and I are here, at this brief moment
in time, in mid-April, when birds sing in the woods,
and the world wears a certain light.

The Ride Home

A school bus passes by and suddenly
I am ten years old, just finishing fifth grade,
riding home with my classmates, all of whom
are bursting with anticipation for the moment
the bus comes to a stop, and the door opens,
and we are free. Free! And it’s springtime,
and we have hours to play before supper.
We open the windows to let in the perfumed air,
bouncing on brown leather seats as the bus
rolls through the potholes. We look to see
if Jamie’s golden retriever is waiting for him
at the edge of the road as we come to a stop
and the red metal flag pops out from the side
by the driver to tell the cars around us to stop
so Jamie can safely cross the road. The dog’s
whole body is wiggling as he waits. The bus
makes bus noises as we move on. We count
the stops before home. Only two more. Then me.

The Magnolia

Opening from nowhere,
from the long, gray cold,
from spring’s relentless burgeoning forth.
the magnolia floats
beneath an April blue sky,
as if it were nothing,

as if its pastel pinks, its smooth flesh, its graceful rise
came as easily as breathing, as effortlessly as morning breeze,
as if its sheer, magnificent being were no miracle at all.

Fern Hunting in Rain

The hillside is a riotous mess now.
Everywhere, green sprouts rise
despite the winter’s debris, winning
the contest between the green and brown.
Several days ago, over a week now,
I got a notion to spot a baby fern
on its first day and to watch it unfold
into full fernhood. I have searched daily
and searched diligently, carefully eying
the ten thousand details lest I miss it,
the first one’s birth. Until today,
I had to say, “Not yet.” But today,
on a cold and misty April morning,
just as a robin sang from the woods –
the first I had heard this year – I spotted it,
already tall and rising from its curled sleep.
And now I get to watch it grow.

Gift of the Morning

I hesitate before I step outside.
Part of me is shivering with anticipation.
Another part is wondering how I will stand,
peering into the face of yet another proof
of spring’s grand yes to joy. A bird’s song
pulls me out, and I walk across the slope
as if I am approaching the gates of heaven,
the morning’s grass dewy beneath my feet
and glistening in the sun. The air is warm.
A hundred birds sing from the woods.
Then there I am, peering down at a choir
of narcissus that looks like a troupe of angels.
And their silent song floats its gladness
into my heart, and I sing along. Yes. Yes.

The Thinker and the Prover

I ran across a description of the human mind as being made up of two parts, the Thinker and the Prover. I had never heard it put that way, and I liked the simplicity and accuracy of the idea.

Earlier in the week, I had been thinking about the phrase, “What you think about expands.” Now I had a simple explanation for how that happens.

Here’s how it works. You get caught in a loop where your Prover goes out to bring your Thinker evidence. And the evidence stimulates you to think that your thought is even truer than it was before. Then, because you’re looking at it with such renewed interest, the Prover brings you even more proof. And your thoughts – with their attendant emotions – intensify. And the Prover brings you more proof.

I sometimes call this a mental movie loop. It’s some story you keep playing over and over in your mind. Maybe if you focus on it enough, you imagine, what happened will somehow change. But at least in our current world, thoughts don’t change events that happened in the past, no matter how passionately we think them

Well then, you tell yourself, maybe if I keep letting the movie play, I’ll see why I’m feeling what I’m feeling and how absolutely justified I am.

Movie loops might spin around forever if some distraction didn’t intervene. Luckily, distractions abound. You can always take a reality break, check out what’s happening, take a breath, take a stretch, look around. (Personally, I like to ask myself three questions: “Who am I? Where am I? What was I doing?” They get me oriented in the here and now instantly.)

Sometimes we get so hooked into some emotionally charged movie-loop that we leap right back into it after it’s interrupted. The Thinker thinks the story line. The Prover brings evidence as proof.

But here’s an interesting thing about the Prover. Its only purpose is to bring you evidence for what your Thinker is thinking. And that means if you change your mind completely and start wondering if this other viewpoint might be true, the Prover will bring you evidence to support that thought. The Thinker is in charge. And here’s the key: You are in charge of the Thinker! You can choose what to think about.

We do that all the time, of course, decide where to put our attention.

When I was a little kid and I went to the movies, a whole string of short features would play before the main one started, and then more would play before the second one started. I always liked those short features. They let my attention move from place to place and my emotions to change with each little story.

These days, I think of looking out my window as a kind of “short feature.” It puts me in the present and lets me shift my thoughts and check in on what’s going on around me. I just look outside my window and tell myself what I see. And it’s different every time, and refreshing. It’s like a little vacation from whatever mental movie had my attention. And then I get to choose whether to resume what thoughts I was thinking or to entertain new ones.

And that reminds me of this wise line: “You can’t stop thoughts from coming to your door, but you don’t have to entertain them.” Remember about the Thinker and the Prover and decide what kinds of thoughts you would genuinely prefer to entertain. Because one way or another, the Prover will bring you proof.

Wishing you fine thoughts and refreshing “short features.”

Warmly,
Susan

Image by mohamed_hassan on Pixabay

Their First Rain

After five straight days of sunshine, suddenly
a bank of rolling clouds swept in, born on a wind
that set the trees swaying with joy for the drama
of it all. At my feet, the lush shoots just now rising
quiver as if they sense some wonder in the air.
Their first rain! And, oh my, how they glistened
in the afternoon sun after the rain had passed!

Spring’s Flowers

One of the things I love most about spring’s flowers
(along with their tenderness, and how heedless they are
of anyone’s opinion) is the way they paint their absolute joy.
You, for instance, with your simple white petals, shooting
seeds on red stalks from your rosy red heart.
How can I look at you and not feel delight?