reflections

data

~ onehopefulyear ~ 5 Comments

I discovered this morning my watch now measures the amount of time I spend in daylight.

In addition to this new feature, I’m able to access up-to-the-minute functions of my health: my blood oxygen level, how steady I am while walking, the rate at which I climb stairs and how many flights I’ve climbed, the duration and quality of my sleep, my respiratory rate, and my heart rate under a variety of conditions. Among other useful health data checkpoints.

But what I ask myself most often is … how do you feel?

I’ve been keeping my own sort of data. Little colored hearts on a calendar. Each color a measure of how I feel upon waking. Do I feel calm? Anxious? Rested? Happy?

I am (and feel) more than the sum of my data. And if I’m honestly able to answer how I feel, I’m more likely to ask and answer the next question … Why do you feel this way? And the next … What will you do about it?

These are important questions for me to ask and answer.

I know the health data my watch provides is helpful, and even necessary as I monitor a heart condition. And for the record, I’ll try to spend more time outside in daylight today than I did yesterday.

But my watch provides no measure for hope.

That’s one data point I’d like to keep track of on my own.

becoming

~ onehopefulyear ~ 7 Comments

I thought I knew myself well. Really. I’ve lived with myself all my life, for goodness sake. By now, I should know how I feel about most things, how I’ll react to others, and why.

And maybe I do, mostly. Until I don’t – occasionally.

As it turns out, aging is one more evolution of me.

I’m becoming. Again.

And I think – this time – I’m observing myself more carefully. This process of becoming is fascinating and exciting and (at times) a little anxiety producing. I’m not sure what me I’m moving toward and with no real goal in mind, not sure where I’ll end up.

I am my own experiment. An emotional experiment. A social experiment. A physical experiment.

When forming a hypothesis about myself and this me I’m becoming, I often wonder about the women who came before me. Who they were at my age. How they felt. Their emotional struggles. Longings. Loss. Dreams. Fears. Hope.

Maybe it’s only as simple as only now owning most of my time. So as to listen to my thoughts. So as to understand exactly how I feel. Learn who I am underneath all the roles I’ve played thus far: daughter, granddaughter, student, wife, mother, teacher, friend.

Become me.

All over again.

today’s forecast

~ onehopefulyear ~ 4 Comments

Foggy early.

(I didn’t sleep well last night.)

Giving way to a mind-clearing, mid-morning breeze.

(Write. Photograph. Plan. Dream. )

Full-sun by midday.

(Get outside.) (Get stuff done.) (Find fun.) (Play.)

Colder air moves in late afternoon.

(Wrap up the day. Catch up the day.)

(You go first. No, you.)

((How was your day?))

Star-sprinkled clarity early evening, followed by moonshine late.

(Tuck in, count blessings and stars, hope.)

Fair skies predicted come morning.

sometimes health

~ onehopefulyear ~ 2 Comments

Sometimes health looks like going to the gym. Sometimes. But not today.

This morning, health looked slow and leisurely. A bit of reading. A bit of writing. Admiring the sunlight reflected on the wall. Sitting in silence. Counting blessings.

Sometimes health is doing the chore. Tackling the list. Holding myself accountable. Working late. Finding a way. Making the appointment.

Health is in the doing. And in the done.

Health could be brewing another pot of coffee and pouring it out in my favorite cup. Turning up the heat to take the chill off. Taking a nap. Or a long, hot bath.

Almost always I’ll find health outdoors. I know I’ll feel uplifted out there in the air. I’ll discover something that betters me. Happys me. Fills me with hope. Last night three deer crossed my path on the way home. And night before that, a boy two houses down sang his hallelujahs to the stars above. And me, his unknown audience in receipt of a gift he never knew he gave.

Health is found in the unexpected gifts I discover when I’m not looking for them at all.

Sometimes health sounds like music. Violins, maybe, in a certain kind of mood. Or music I can wear when I dance around the kitchen. Oh … that pure joy I feel right then is most certainly health.

Good health feels like the trust of relationship, the honor of marriage, the longevity of friendship. Good health is in giving. A bouquet of flowers. A good listen. The holding of hands. Sharing a meal. Sending a card.

Good health is knowing what I need and bypassing what I don’t.

Good health is today. This morning, this afternoon, and tonight.

Here’s to you … and to your health too.

chasing light

~ onehopefulyear ~ 4 Comments

This time of year, I follow light around the house like a puppy after its best friend. I am sun hungry, and I measure rays stretched across hardwood floors and count minutes of daylight like coins in a bank.

It’s easy to feel miserly, hoarding each minute of light, a bit bitter at the hours of darkness.

Much better to feel grateful and celebratory for the minutes I have. To delight in howsoever I choose to spend them.

I sit on the porch, cupping my tea, on watch as the sun recedes from view. Wrapped in a blanket against the increasing chill, I’m basking, sun on my face. Today’s last rays a deposit I took the time to make.

The light of faith and hope and prayer notwithinstanding, It is up to me, I think, to find my own light. Make my own light. Be my own light.

Live the light.

and so

~ onehopefulyear ~ 2 Comments

I have missed writing.

The scratch of my pen on paper. My cross-outs and do-overs. Arrows moving lines I’ve written up or down. Reading aloud to my husband before I hit publish.

Writing quiets the clamoring, broken, and frightening world around me. Almost and only when writing am I able to hear myself think.

I have only recently connected dreaming with doing. Sometimes doing must be scheduled – in pen – as are doctor appointments, duties, dates, and dusting. Making time for what matters requires its own kind of focus, a conscious relocation from the bottom of the list to the top.

There’s need for determination. Hope. An awareness that what feeds my soul is at least as important as what I feed my body.

And so I’m writing again.

It’s been scheduled.

stress

~ onehopefulyear ~ 4 Comments

My stress brain tells me I have to do it all now. (I don’t.)

My stress brain tells me it’s impossible. (It isn’t.)

My stress brain tells me I can’t. (I can.)

My stress brain reminds me of past failures. (I’m looking forward.)

My stress brain says, “You probably shouldn’t.” (I will.)

My stress brain tells me I don’t have enough time. (I have plenty.)

My stress brain tells me I’m not enough. (I say, “I most certainly am!”)

My stress brain tells me it’s hope-less. (I am hope-full.)

patience

~ onehopefulyear ~ 4 Comments

It’s an -if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em – kind of day here in northern New England.

Rainy. Cold. Gray. Breezy.

It is Spring, after all. And every year I forget just how this season dilly dallies its way into becoming. Yes, I see daffodils. A tulip or two. And the lilacs are on their way. It’s my own impatience I struggle with. We need the rain and clearly, spring knows just what to do without any input from me.

Anticipation is nothing if not hope.

There’s beef stew in the crockpot. A soft blanket nearby to burrow in. Candlelight on the counter. An extra sweater. And a hot bath before bedtime is in the forecast.

Today may not be the day I hoped for, but it’s the day I have. I’ll enjoy the day and count blessings like raindrops.

And if the pansies on the porch can be patient, so can I.

in the morning

~ onehopefulyear ~ 6 Comments

lots of mornings lately

find me in the porch rocker

sipping warmth

predawn

bundled up

rocking

bird-listening

star-marveling

witness to light overcoming darkness

hopeful and humbled

unassuming

anything at all about the day to come

(perhaps already missing the night

just a little)’

gentling myself into morning

breathing deeply

the chilled air

sharing in

the awakening of birds and dogs and chickens

somewhere beyond, a woodpecker

knocking out a hallelujah – it’s a new day

and me

cherishing all the shades of blues or grays or pinks in one morning sky

just today

the world around me suddenly

clouded or misted or fogged

like some morning mystery

and softly, silently,

poetically

it began to snow

in a winter garden

~ onehopefulyear ~ 2 Comments

In a winter garden, I plan next season’s plantings. Reflecting carefully, of course, on last year’s harvest.

Now is the time for imagining the ideal. The time for optimistic enthusiasm before the rolling up of sleeves and the dirt of hard work and effort and hope collects under my fingernails. A season of dormancy. A renewal of strength, purpose, and spirit.

In this season of life and living, I’ll determine what’s important to plant. Which fields in my life to let lie fallow in rest. There’s preparation to be done. Research. Trust. Faith in the future. A belief in the cycles and pace of my own nature. Knowing the truth that all is as it should be: living in the cold, wind, and darkness of winter as necessary precursors to light, warmth, and germination.

I winnow through expectations, weeding out what I’ve got to let go. Sow starter seeds, watchful for what takes root. Which seeds prosper? Which seeds – promising as they may be – were never really meant for my own little patch of soil? Some seeds, I know, only sprout after repose.

How will I nourish myself? Gather strength? Coax growth?

In a winter garden, I reap what’s happiest in today, hopeful tomorrow’s garden will grow in it’s time.