I’ve started writing a poem, or at least some words on a page every morning.
It’s nice to start the day off with something like that, similar to going for a run or walk— an unrehearsed, vaguely planned and basic activity, that doesn’t involve much expectation of success or result.
This morning I wrote something about how I want feel when I am old, like a sketch of what I want my life to look like. It was only four lines, and involved a woodstove, dog, and being happy.
This morning on my run I passed by the five hundred year old oak tree that lives alone on a remote corner in my mom’s suburban neighborhood. I was listening to a podcast on imperfection and self love.
I stopped by the oak as I often do, and made a gesture of offering towards it. In the podcast, the two people in conversation, a Vietnamese monk named Phap Huu and journalist Jo Confino talk about doing things just for ourselves, without creating a hole by expecting a return. This is one of the hardest things for me to do, which is why things like faith and prayer have often been difficult—because there’s not guarantee, no obvious result.
It was then, at the oak tree, that decided what I wanted the theme of the next year to be. Gentleness. Gentleness towards myself, and others. Gentleness seems like a kind of strength that I haven’t explored much. I tend to be hard on myself. This next year, I want to try a different approach.
🎄 🕎 Happy holidays everyone!