One day at a time

Today is the first full day of the Trump era, and marches are happening all over the world. I applaud and support the efforts, and the me of five, ten, or fifteen years ago would have pulled on a pussy hat and been in the throng.

I understand the impulse toward protesting in the streets, but here's what I plan to do instead today and every day during these next four years: pretty much what I've been doing the past four years. How can I live every day in a way that defies the times in which we've found ourselves?

I'll try to be useful. My partisan days are behind me, but I'll look for opportunities to plug in and live my values. Yesterday, I volunteered with the Human Rights Campaign for a financial planning workshop at Year Up, which gives young adults life skills training.

I'll live large with a small footprint. At yesterday's session, we talked about how to plan a car purchase. The two bits of life wisdom I brought to the table were "ask yourself if you even need a car" and, if you do, whether you can pay cash for something that'll get you around without getting you into debt.

I'll seek out as much art as I can, in museums and on the streets.

I'll listen to music, and play some, too.

I'll take long walks.

I'll be a conscious consumer. I'll carefully curate my media consumption.*

I'll be as mindful as I can, and I'll try to be as kind as I can, too.

I'll love and be loved.

I'll believe in the long arc, even as it sputters two steps backward in our nation's journey. I'll be grateful that I live in a city and region where civility and progress continue to be our path.

* Here are a few people whose work I find to be inspiring, positive, and "worthy of my valuable time," as my sweetheart likes to say (and he anonymously tops this list):

updated May 2017 ... feel free to use the comments to suggest other sites that help you stay grounded 

Austin Kleon
Braver/Wiser from the UUA
Chris Thile
Krista Tippett and On Being
Sabbath Moment from Terry Hershey
Seth Godin
Leo Babauta and Zen Habits

Sit in the light

Seattle sunrise, late 2016

It's Christmas Eve morning. Hanukkah begins at sundown. And as of a few days ago, the nights are getting shorter.

The light is coming back.

I've started a few posts here over the past six weeks, only to leave them as drafts. So much is unsettled and upsetting in our world. There's not a lot I might write to change that, and even acknowledging our collective uncertainty and angst seems empty.

But I do know this is a time to choose light.

Light is the opposite of dark. When we are pushed to assume the worst of another, can we choose instead to affirm each other's humanity?

Light is an alternative to burden. When we are implored to weigh ourselves down with possessions and debt and guilt, can we choose another path?

A new year starts a week from now. For 2017, may I choose lightness as a state of mind and a way of being in the world.

A small nod to the elephant

I'm voting today. After several sessions spent filling out my ballot in the leisurely, considered manner afforded us here in enlightened Washington state (where we got our ballots in the mail two weeks ago), I'll walk to the drop box outside my library later this morning and officially exercise my franchise. Then as best I can, I hope and plan to tune out this election until sometime late Tuesday night, or maybe even Wednesday morning.

Isn't it ironic that the already-protracted, hyper-agitated 2016 election will fall on the latest possible date it can? (It needs to be on the Tuesday after the first Monday in November.) If I could, I'd be in New York City to see Hamilton, one of the only shows-that-must-go-on Tuesday since it's sold out (and seriously, what better way would there be to spend Election Night 2016?).

But that's not an option, so here are three ways I've been avoiding the elephant in the room. Perhaps you'd like to try them, too.

1) I've been limiting my media consumption, traditional and social alike. A little NPR in the morning goes a long way. Social media at night is an especially bad idea for restful sleep. Set a timer. Walk away.

2) I'm listening to music. Really listening. Music as meditation. Nine minutes and 23 seconds of So What is both soul balm and mental floss.



But if you need something more topical, try this on for size.



3) I'll watch a movie or two on Tuesday night. In 2012, I was one of about a half-dozen people who watched Argo at the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland, CA, as an effective means of avoiding election returns for as long as possible. This year, I'd recommend Dr. Strange, which my sweetie and I saw on its opening day Friday. This marvelous mind-warp isn't any weirder than anything we've seen in the news this year, and it's far more more fun.

May the force be with us, America.

Autumn is sending you invitations

This was one of the first fallen autumn leaves I saw this year, on September 17, by itself on a sidewalk in my neighborhood. I took its picture and posted it on Instagram and Facebook with the caption, "This seems to happen earlier these days. #fleeting #cultivatecalm." About two dozen of my Facebook friends and acquaintances liked the post, and one added a comment:

Autumn is sending you invitations!

Sometimes I'm tempted to give up social media, but it's moments like this I know I probably never will. I've been meditating on Sara's five words ever since that day, thinking about why the falling leaves are astonishing and poignant and meaningful, and why they become more so every year we spend on this planet.

This has been a year full of reflection for me. On the nature of work, as always. On the importance of love, and the balance between solitude and companionship. These matters merit my attention, and they help direct my attention to the handful of people who need me most (and from whom I am learning the most, too).

This blog takes its name from something Henry David Thoreau wrote, something I first read on a bumper sticker at the Walden Pond gift shop, "Surely joy is the condition of life." I bought three or four stickers and gave them to friends over the years. At long last, during my Wellspring travels and our study of the writer's work earlier this year, I was compelled to finally read this phrase in its context.

In his 1842 essay Natural History of Massachusetts, Thoreau wrote of growing weary of politics and even "the din of religion, literature, and philosophy," then he describes how his spirit is continually refreshed and renewed by nature, by

the young fry that leap in ponds, the myriads of insects ushered into being on a summer evening, the incessant note of the hyla with which the woods ring in the spring, the nonchalance of the butterfly carrying accident and change painted in a thousand hues upon its wings, or the brook minnow stoutly stemming the current, the lustre of whose scales worn bright by the attrition is reflected upon the bank.

And so it is for me. The first big windstorm of the fall is due tonight. It's raining now, and rain is forecast for the next week and probably for the next month, since this is October and it is Seattle. Yet I feel fortified for any darkness and uncertainty ahead by many walks in beautiful places this fall. I've been recording my impressions less in words and more in memories and photos, because that's where I am in my life.

I don't write here much, and I don't post much on social media. I take comfort (and, yes, joy) in what Thoreau says about "the inexpressible privacy of a life -- how silent and unambitious it is."

Autumn's invitation to me, especially in this season of din and angst, is to dare to be unambitious, to dwell in the present moment, to recognize and gratefully acknowledge gifts as they're revealed to me, and to share when I am moved to do so.

Thanks, Sara, and HDT, too.

How may I help you?

The 2016 Seattle International Film Festival is winding down. Among several good films Tom and I caught this year was Norman Lear: Just Another Version of You. This new documentary had a big take-away for me beyond its entertaining look at Lear's genius as a pop culture provocateur. The a-ha moment came as Lear described why, in 1981, he pivoted from his focus on producing hit TV shows to founding a political advocacy organization, People for the American Way. As he tells filmmakers Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady, it was simply time to exercise some different muscles.

I can relate. As I near the midpoint of my 50s, I'm close to the age Lear was when he felt that pull. After three-plus decades of work in communications, I find myself wanting to stretch different muscles, all while I keep my writing and editing mojo working, too.

My customer service muscle is the main one I'm working like never before. When I decided to leave my magazine editing job, I timed the departure for late winter for one big reason: I wanted to work at the ballpark this season. I left my job on Feb. 26 and successfully interviewed with the team on Feb. 29 (leap year, baby!), and now I'm a seating host in one of the most beautiful yards in Major League Baseball.

But wait, it gets better: I work the sections right behind home plate and my home team's dugout. A fan said to me last night, "You must have a lot of seniority to get to work where you do." No, I told her; I'm actually a rookie this year, and I'm just lucky.

Yes, I do get to actually watch much of each game. Mainly, though, our job as seating hosts is to be sure that all our guests have a great experience. We lost last night, as we've done quite a bit at home (despite having one of the best road records in baseball). People were naturally disappointed, but as I said farewell to folks on their way up the aisle, most had smiles on their faces. Our star had just struck out with two men on base, true, but he'd clobbered two homers earlier in the game. We win some, we lose some, and there's never a truly awful day at the ballpark.

I got to tie a baby's shoe. I got to talk with a proud dad whose son is playing college ball. And while it's true that I'm making way, way less money than I did as an editor in chief, I'm having a blast. I like customer service so much, in fact, that I've taken a second part-time job at a bookstore that also sells travel gear. Nearly everyone who comes in is excited about a trip they have planned, so it's a fun, energetic place to be.

Of course, these jobs are also giving me a renewed appreciation for how hard people are working at or near the minimum wage, and how many people work multiple jobs to make ends meet. That's another post, perhaps for around Labor Day, but I'll put in a plug here for the book a college classmate of mine wrote about her detour from journalism into the floral department at Kroger. Best $6 you'll spend this year. 

I've also been stretching my inner artist muscle. I'll write about that next post, or the one after that. Meanwhile, thanks for reading, and keep seeing the bright side.

A few more words on being and doing

Sometimes, I think I am the world's laziest blogger. Or maybe I'm the smartest; I'm trying to reserve most of my writing for occasions I'll get paid for it. But no one's going to pay me for this list of what I've done so far today, in no special order, so here goes:


I woke up, made coffee, and read another chunk of yesterday's extensive New York Times article on one woman's voyage with dementia. Later, I sent a few emails and did a bit of research for an article I'm writing on a similar topic.


While making and eating some oatmeal, I listened to sports talk radio to get some perspective on the Mariners' season so far. (I have a part-time job at the ballpark now, but with the team on the road this week, I have even less scheduled time than usual.)

I took a walk. My first stop was my neighborhood city park, where I like to play something that looks and sounds like this, installed in the newly renovated playground last year. My tax dollars at work! I love it.

After that, I continued on down the residential street and saw a half-dozen other folks out enjoying a mid-day walk in the sun, many with their doggies. I made my way to our neighborhood's small commercial district, where I stopped at the library to pick up a book on hold; at the thrift store, in search of something I want for my Wellspring art project; then passed through the leafy grounds of Lake City Court, a green public housing project I love to traverse whenever I get a chance.

I got home and brewed some ice tea, and noticed one of my favorite phrases (and one germane to this topic) on one of the tea bags, so I took a photo and 
made an Instagram post about it.

Then I wrote this post. 
Next, I am going to have a late lunch ... or perhaps it is an early dinner ... read some more ... and listen to the ballgame while I putter around the house a bit.


Last week, I met with my Wellspring spiritual companion. She mentioned my last real blog post of more than a month ago -- I told you I've been a lazy blogger! -- and how she especially liked the part about the shift from doing mode to being mode. I agreed and said that very idea has been ringing in my ears ever since, too. To recap author David Levy distilling the words of psychologists Zindel Segal, Mark Williams, and John Teasdale:


Being mode "is characterized by a sense of freedom, freshness, and unfolding of experience in new ways. It is responsive to the richness and complexity of the unique patterns that each moment presents." In doing mode, on the other hand, "the multidimensional nature of experience is reduced primarily to a unidimensional analysis of its standing in relation to a goal state."


It's been two months since I left the professional-grind track. Being mode is how I am these days. I'm getting stuff done, but my random acts of productivity seem much more incidental than central to my existence.


Some days, this way of life still feels weird. Other days, especially on a summer-vacationy-day like today, it feels like one glorious Calvin and Hobbes cartoon. It's sure as heck a more healthy way than I've lived much of my adult life. I'm eager to find ways to keep at it.

Spring fancy free

Blossoms, baseball, and warm sun all signal that spring is here. It is time to be in the world.

I'll post again soon, but for now, here's a William Blake quote I've been turning over in my head and my heart.



He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise
(Wikisource)

(Thanks to Nathan Schneider, who mentioned this passage in his On Being interview with Krista Tippett.)