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A song I’m loving:
Just as I started writing to you this morning, my daughter walked in, said, “mama, did you know flowers can sometimes make you sneeze?”, climbed onto my back, and rested her head in the nook of my neck. I’m laying on my stomach as I type and she’s still laying on top of me, her body draping mine like a blanket. She’s looking at the photo I shared above and saying, “should we go there today, mama?” She loves Shell Beach. I already wasn’t sure what I was going to write about today — my thoughts are fuzzy after working on book edits all week, and processing the daily onslaught of news, and preparing to return to seeing clients tomorrow (!!!), and tending to family stuff, and plans for the near future, and chores that need doing, and the desire to go outside, and and and.
I was going to tell her to go play in the living room, to give me a minute so I could write to you in peace, and I’m realizing all I want to say today, to you and to me, is this: there is medicine in surrendering to the moment, even when the moment looks different than you think it should. There is medicine in sometimes letting your plans go and simply tending to what’s here, now, in front of you (or literally on top of you). There is medicine in closing your computer for the sake of giving attention to the life all around you. There is medicine in taking the pressure off of always having to produce something great; in letting being present for the small moments of your life have more importance than staying on the perfect schedule, or sharing the most insightful thing, or growing in the ranks and eyes of the internet. There is medicine in listening to what the moment is asking of you and choosing to respond, instead of overriding for the sake of productivity or Shoulds. There is medicine in allowing your fully human self to be just that… not a machine but a person, not robotic but fleshy, with a heart and a family and needs and desires and longings that exist outside of who you perceive you’re supposed to be in any given moment.
So I’m going to close my computer and be here with her instead of figuring out what else to say. I’m going to feel her weight on my back and savor the closeness. I’m going to set the pressure to stay relevant or say something Important aside and notice how important I am to the person in front of me, how relevant my attention is to her, how all she wants is for me to be with her, how wide of a gift that is. I’m going to get outside today, and move my body, and take good care of myself and my family. And I could share nothing and wait until next week, sure — yet it also feels good to share this in this moment, with her here, watching me stop trying so hard and instead send something un-profound out to the world, letting it be enough.
And if you need to say it to yourself today, too: I’m going to let this be enough. I’m going to let this be enough. I’m going to let this be enough.
Thank you, as always, for being here.
△ Anything Hanif Abdurraqib writes is the best thing I read that week
△ Embracing deep casual hosting
△ Still holding Joanna Macy in my heart
△ Nettle infusions daily (I get mine from our local herb shop)
△ An upcoming virtual gathering that is sure to be so special
△ A sweet mail day —
With care,
Lisa
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