Hello you,

 As the Earth's orbit is trusted to do, we have completed a full rotation around the Sun and back again to March.

  Also Known As: the calendar month where, in 2020, many of us abandoned the carefree act of breathing on each other, and instead stocked up on sourdough starters, washable masks, and tips for transforming our homes into multi-use spaces— before the fatigue set in.  

For some of us it may feel like we never left last March. 
Stagnation. Holding pattern. Groundhogs Day.  
Staring at the same walls in the same house in the same WFH uniform ( that may or may not include an elastic waist band) a full year after Zoom became the window to our world.

Something that I’ve been wrestling with in a year earmarked by challenge and perseverance, is keeping my antenna tuned to joy, beauty and spontaneity — radio frequencies of wellbeing and mental health, really — especially on the days when the news is bad news, or the days are short and cold and melting into one another, or I’m just feeling the loss of this year.

*Side Note: I was recently interviewed for A Cup Of Jo on this topic.

In meditation practice, we’re encouraged to meet each moment as it comes — brand new — without assumption of what it will be.
Having already made up our mind about what constitutes a *good* practice session, or having decided what it *should* be, robs the present moment of an opportunity to surprise and delight us — often in little ways.

Think: the shifting light, the ant crawling across the hardwood, the shadows dancing on the wall, the space of ease and contentment in between our thoughts, the plush sweater against the skin.

A prefab agenda in meditation practice can cheat us out of the potential for so much pleasure.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how having an agenda in life — a schedule, a structure, a plan for my days — has given shape and form to these shapeless months.
Having even a loose routine has become necessary. Sane. A step by step recipe for self-care.

Though what has elevated my routine into life-giving ritual (on the better days, of course) has everything to do with this instruction for meditation — and the quality of my attention.

Staying alert, keeping my senses open. Meeting the moment — brand new— without assumption of what it will be. Applying quality attention.
Catching joy and beauty in the act.

In action, this might look like taking the extra minute to massage away tension in my eyebrows and jawline with my knuckles when I wash my face.
Watching the shadows of the trees dance across the walls on a windy day.
Saying a prayer of wellbeing to the person that I’m emailing — the “whooosh’ of the "Send" button, a digital chariot of blessings.
Sometimes I’ll plant easter eggs to surprise myself with later — a collection of polished stones in my coat pocket for my fingers to find and play with on my morning walk across the yard.

The iconic writer and cultural wit Dorothy Parker coined the phrase : “What fresh hell is this?” Which is a useful phrase in a year like this.
Though not particularly imaginative.
Fresh hell is easy to find.

I've been challenging myself to invert it on the regular with a walking contemplation of sorts — what fresh beauty is this?
And then staying open for the moment to respond.

Same walls. Same room. Same yoga pants. Some fatigue.
Which is why this March — keeping that antenna tuned.

May the quality of your attention register the tiniest blips of beauty and joy...especially on the days when the broadcast is fuzzy.