Yesterday, searching through a box of photographs, I happened across one that appeared in my high school yearbook in 1972, and was taken in the school library one afternoon. My 15-year old self at a table, reading with a pencil in hand, a pile of more books and notebooks in front of me. It was a tender recognition; more than 50 years later I still spend some part of each day sitting at a table in my dining room with a stack of notebooks and books in front of me, and a pencil in my hand.
Well, hello you, I thought. There you are.
Here I am, circa 1972, my high school happy place - the library. Wish I could remember the book I was reading!
I returned to writing in this space over a year ago with those same words. Here I am. Ecce Adsum; always finding my way back to words that sustain me, ground me, nourish me, the words that reflect who I am in my bright and shining self.
And so I begin again, grateful for the opportunity to pick up where I left off from my last posting (on April 29, 2025).
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It’s May 1, 2026. The earth is working mighty hard to come back to life. I have been attempting to walk steadily on my path of simplicity, humility, love, and peace. Seeking beauty, serenity, tenderness. Building a toolkit of practices for the living of these days. Finding solid ground in my communities, my lifeways, and in nourishing my body-mind-soul connections.
What does that look like on a damp, chilly May morning?
~ Drinking my coffee in bed, surrounded by books of poetry, my journals, and my dog curled up asleep beside me.
~A long walk through the neighborhood, paying attention to what might have burst into bloom overnight. Softly reciting aloud the poetry I’ve been memorizing, thinking about a poem I’m playing with, trying to write it.
~Stopping to speak with a neighbor whose husband died last week, offering her space to talk about his last days and her new loneliness. Moving on with a deep gratitude for my own husband waiting for my return.
~Getting a haircut and treating myself to a tiny bottle of perfume oil that smells of coconut. Touching it to my wrist and enjoying the sweet aroma that’s feels like it’s a secret between me, myself and I.
~Baking some pumpkin bread from an ancient recipe, one my mom clipped out of a newspaper decades ago; it’s my husband’s favorite treat with his morning coffee.
~ Planning the afternoon’s trip into our little hometown – taking Lacey along as we pick up her monthly food order from a local pet shop, and then an early dinner at our favorite (dog-friendly!) pub.
~Looking forward to being home by early evening; rain is forecast, and I will sit at the dining room table with a book and a glass of wine.
For me, this is the kind of simple day – the kind of simple life – that feeds my soul and restores me to solid ground, even as the earth around me quakes on a regular basis. To live simply and walk humbly – that is medicine for me. A “power tool” in my toolkit for the living of these days.
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At the start of this year, I began a practice of poetry reading and study that has been such a joy. I focus on one poet for the whole month by immersing myself in their work: reading a single collection, one or two poems a day; finidng interviews or podcasts of the poet talking about and reading their work; and memorizing one or two poems that particularly resonate with me.
In April I read and studied the poet Jane Kenyon, and memorized her poem, Otherwise. You may have read it. It is truly a paeon to the beauty of an ordinary day, made even more precious because we know how rare and fleeting are the times that make this possible, how life could always be “otherwise.”
Kenyon lists the simple movements of her day, much as I have listed mine here, movements that become sacred in their telling. The final stanza is compelling in its poignancy. She writes:
I slept in a bed,
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
My intent is to return to this space on the first day of every month. To connect with you for a moment and share the beauty of my ordinary life. To offer you a place to think about the beauty of yours, and share that with me in the comments or an email if you feel moved to do so.
To invite you to gather your own set of tools; practices that nourish you and provide some solid ground for the living of your days right here and right now.
Every day we live, as long as we are on this earth, we get an opportunity to begin again.
Embrace it. Savor it. Stand on it. Do good with it, for yourself and others.
Because one day, it will be otherwise.
My copy of Otherwise, Collected Poems by Jane Kenyon; and my beloved Paper Republic journal