Practices that are saving my soul right now:
Rather than use names, which in this current dark day and age can often trigger people of every political ilk, I refer to “this president” or “this administration” rather that using actual names. I’m here to tell you, it’s not a practice for the faint of heart. Interestingly enough, what it has done is strengthened my heart so that I am a little less critical, hateful and terrified, and more compassionate, loving, and courageous. It’s been a game changer, and it often helps me to stay in conversations that might otherwise go off the rails.
On the porch in the morning we sit in the dark and watch the day arrive. A candle, steaming cups of Sleepy Monk Coffee, fleece blankets, and absolutely no talking about the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad days in which we find ourselves. It’s not the way we choose to start our days. There is plenty of time to consider the things of the world and how we can help right our collective ship. Just not at the dawn of a new day.
This is a work in progress, but when it comes to gathering people together to share an evening in our home, we turn away from the news cycle, sound bites, and social media rants, and turn instead towards each other with vulnerability and authenticity. We laugh, listen, cry, and we eat really good food and drink really good wine. Because if, and there are days that feels like a really big if, we are to preserve our democracy, and build a more loving, just, kind, and peaceful world for all, we will need one another to do that. Starting with family and friends.
Reading out loud when on the road. More often than not, this is when we check in with Heather Cox Richardson, David Brooks, Builders, Oliver Burkeman, Anthony Robinson. just to name a few. Reading other trusted voices helps us stay informed, stretches our perspectives, challenges our assumptions, and grounds us in what matters. There is something about traveling down the road, side-by-side, outside of the walls of our home that lets difficult news land a little differently.
Hiking the same trail—the logging road—twice a week. No matter what our hearts are carrying on any given day, that 1.7 mile, 978’elevation gain road will bear whatever we bring. The trees silently stand witness, the ground supports our steps, and the fresh air fills our souls with gratitude, faith, courage, and peace. Time outside calms us inside.
The altar. A tiny space in our home where a candle holds vigil from the time we get up until the time we go to bed. It is a place to lay the concerns of our heart, leaving them in the hands of the Holy. Doing so frees our hands to do whatever work we are called to do to build the world we hope to have.
This is my third attempt at writing this today. The other two suddenly disappeared though some internet sorcery. Poof! Gone. That’s probably a good thing, as the other two were ranty, preachy, and kinda passive-aggressive. I bow to the techno-angels who saved me, and you, from those first two drafts.
These are my practices for keeping my soul a little more peaceful in turbulent times.
I’d love to hear about yours.
