Headed into our first full week of our return in person to learning after our homeschool stint. N. is absolutely ecstatic to finally be with her fourth grade mates. All through our homeschooling adventures, N. would ask at bedtime, Why do the days go so fast? Thankfully, she still believes that the days go way too fast. An amazing sign that she is genuinely happy. Deep, relieved sigh.
Grateful to have kicked off our new year's transition, I recently facilitated a winter attunement mindfulness session with my good friend, Jenn, in Catalonia, and I am even more aware of how I have not paid enough attention to the emotions that the pandemic has pushed aside as we try to live -- in survival mode. Giving ourselves the opportunity to move through our emotions -- grief, anger, joy, and desire -- can be a most grounding gift of confidence. We danced our bodies as we felt called to do in the moment. Feeling my physical body let go in defeat, frustration, cheer and fancy was its own kind of much needed, non-judgmental freedom in year two of the pandemic.
As I work to find my new rhythm, delighting in the delicious quiet of my mid-morning coffee, I notice that it's taking me considerable time to settle down and settle in.
During my trek with the dog on the trail, I notice how the two recent snowfalls have
What is exceptionally noticeable is the silence between the birds twittering and the clanking of the dog's harness against her leash, between each footstep that crushes on some patch of ice on the trail or the slightest whipping of the breeze as a runner sidesteps us in his way.
I notice the silence of this bearable winter morning as I try to delight in a moment of stillness without immersing myself in the drudgery of patiently/impatiently waiting for the under five vaccines, feeling for those in my circles with littlest ones or reading every obituary of every young person who has been killed by gun violence every month since the new year.
