Resurrection Time

What a time it’s been. Flying at the speed of light we’ve arrived at spring. Or so it feels. I took a pause, Rip Van Winkle style and awoke to signs winter is finally over. Unlike the notorious RVW, I emerged rather well preserved if I may say. The trick was following old Voltaire’s advice.
I turned my focus away from the social media circus (such a challenge when there are so many smart and funny creators out there) and re-cultivated the calming consistency of a meditation practice.
The world is an ADHD playground; a constant procession of shiny things with sparkling bits swirling on the periphery. I managed to stake a corner of the sandbox for the rhythmic ritual of sifting through the sand. My prospecting has unearthed some gems.

In addition to resurrecting the power of daily meditation, I love how simply delicious it is to sit in a sunny patch with my eyes closed. If you are unfamiliar with this peace, do yourself a favor; find a sunny spot in your home space, sit right in the sunlight and close your eyes. Take five minutes, and just breathe. Divine.

Another habit I’ve resurrected: eating the rainbow. (I’ll be posting more tips on this soon) I accept that every day I will fail because I cannot incorporate indigo and violet as easily as orange and green. But it feels great to get even half a rainbow into my body on a daily basis. Try it for a week, you’ll see.
And can we just normalize failure and mistakes as part of the pursuit of better and great? Just because blueberries and blackberries aren’t in the fruit salad, does that justify trashing it for the classic and quintessential NY corn muffin? That’s the kind of logic that is rampant on the socials and media at large.

A third resurrection; going to the movies. Screening a movie on the big screen as it was intended, complete with sound that penetrates your pores is truly the full monty experience. The never gets old thrill of having the auditorium practically to myself on a Monday matinee, chef’s kiss. Thankfully witnesses were few at the midday screening of John Wick Chapter 4. My involuntary body spasms to the relentless soundscape of crashes, cracks, punches, kicks and gunfire were not my proudest moments as an audience member. Literal knee jerk reactions. Whatever nuisance I might have been to others during the screening, my PTSD lingered long after the lights came up. Not that I’m trying to win the contest of discomfort.

And so, back to the garden to soothe what ails me!