Month: January 2023

Comfort and Joy

Bloganuary: What brings you joy in life?

The first things that popped into my head were:

  • Talking with my kids
  • Writing
  • Curling up with a good book and some hot peppermint tea at the end of the day

That being said, I wonder if those things simply bring me deep contentment. These aren’t necessarily significant things, after all. They don’t change the world. But maybe that’s okay. When I manage all three of those things on any given day, I consider that to be a stellar day.

So I’m going to take those small things and hold them close.

They are comfort and joy.

They are enough.  

The questions we didn’t think to ask

Bloganuary: What is a treasure that’s been lost?

There are so many things you could say about this prompt (from the very personal to the very controversial), but for me, what hits home is the stories I’ve lost with my mother’s death.

When my sister and I were sorting through some of my mom’s things, we found so many items that astonished us. My mom was the last of her generation in our immediate family. So there’s no one left to ask when questions arise: Who are the people in this photo? Where did these art prints come from? Where did you get this keepsake?

What’s doubly confounding is I want answers to questions I never thought to ask when my mom was alive, like the story behind this advertisement.

This is one of the things my sister and I unearthed while searching for mementos and photos for my mother’s memorial (you can click to enlarge the text).

And seriously? What on earth? How did my parents end up featured in the Seattle Times classified section? Also, the conventions of the era? Their address? Really? Why? In case random strangers wanted to drop by?

Still, this little slice of their life is delightful, even without the context around it. I’ll never have the complete picture, but I can pull some of the puzzle pieces together.

Of tonsils and candy stripers

Bloganuary: What is the earliest memory you have?

My earliest memory is having my tonsils out when I was three years old. Most of these memories are fragmented. Being in a huge bed is one, although whether that’s true, I can’t really say. I was small for my age, constantly sick from my rogue tonsils. Any bed would have felt enormous.

The other memory, the most vivid one, was glimpsing ethereal, enchanting creatures in red and white. These teenagers. These candy stripers.

They made such an impression that when I turned twelve, I volunteered at our local hospital. At first, I had to wear the blue and white striped uniform (a visual cue for the nursing staff), but within a year, I’d graduated to the coveted red and white striped one.

My shift partner was a girl from the junior high across town. Rhonda was sunshine itself bursting into the rooms, often three patients in a room, chatting and laughing. I was endlessly shy. I busied myself refilling water pitchers, pouring juice, and being asked why I wasn’t as smiley and talkative as Rhonda.

We were a good team. She made everyone happy. I kept us on task and made sure everyone had fresh ice.

Each shift earned us a meal ticket to the hospital cafeteria, which thrilled us to no end. The macaroni and cheese with the breadcrumbs on top? Followed by chocolate pudding?

Chef’s kiss.

Sometimes I think about my rogue tonsils and how they led me down this path. I was never as ethereal or enchanting as the candy stripers of my memory, although I desperately wanted to be. But I like to think something came full circle during those three years of volunteering at St. Joseph’s Hospital.

Embracing deliberate ease

I started the bloganuary challenge knowing that I probably wouldn’t be able to post responses during the week. It was enough, I decided, to write every day.

And I did! Very deliberately! And I didn’t strive to post. Also deliberately!

There are several reasons for this. When I shut down the computer(s) in the evening, I really shut everything down. I don’t want to switch from my work laptop to my personal one. I also don’t have the brain power for proofing and posting (and trust me, you want me to proof before posting).

Lately, work has been a lot. Work has been so much that on some days, I console myself with: at least I don’t work for Twitter.

Yeah. A lot.

So evenings are for things not related to computer screens. Because if I don’t embrace ease in my life, I won’t be able to do anything else—deliberately or otherwise.

But I do have several posts I can schedule for next week. Plus, I will have some time this weekend to proof those posts. I’ll just be a week or so behind.

Again, deliberately.  

Small Acts of Bravery

Bloganuary: How are you brave?

My first reaction to this prompt was: I’m not.

Then I thought of caring for my mom these past few years. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I wasn’t sure I could do it. (I’m including my time in the Army and deploying to a combat zone in that calculation. Hands down, 2022 was one of the hardest years of my life.)

And I think that’s maybe what bravery is. Doing—or attempting to do—the thing you think you can’t do. And like small acts of kindness, I believe small acts of bravery are important.

Creating a blog and putting your words and voice into the world for the first (or tenth) time? That’s brave.

Confronting FOMO and deleting all social media apps on your phone so you can focus on what you want to do? That’s brave.

Starting a novel? Picking one back up? Painting a picture when you haven’t held a paintbrush since elementary school? Baking a cake from scratch?

Creating something—anything—and offering it to others with a:

Here, I made this. I hope you like it.

That’s brave.

Because maybe they won’t like it.

But I’m pretty sure someone will. It may take a while to find that someone. The catch is you must be generous first, offering up your talents, your time, your attention—offering that up without the promise of a return.

That’s brave.

2023: Deliberate Ease

Bloganuary: What is something you want to achieve this year?

Well, one of the things I’d like to do more of this year is blogging. So, there’s that.

But, I’ve been thinking less about goals and achievements and more about process and intention. So my intention for 2023 is deliberate ease.

Deliberate because there are things I want to do, and I need to take deliberate action in order to do them.

Ease to remind myself I don’t need to do everything, and I certainly don’t need to do it all at once.

The other word I’ve been thinking about is foundation. Literal foundations like my physical environment, inside and outside (one of the reasons I signed up for the Prohort). Foundations for my writing, like writing more and setting up my own store. Foundations for connecting and community.

Between the pandemic and caring for my mom, my world has contracted. I’m afraid that—if I let it— it would continue to shrink.

So for 2023, I hope to ease back into the world.

Deliberately.