As always, thank you for your wisdom. I have to admit I have failed at the Zen of relaxing into less. Don't laugh; my cure is to ADD read, write (a poem/note to a friend/margin note on a book), look hard (at the garden/indoor plants/coffee table book etc) to my TO DO list. Then at least some of my busy-ness is more thoughtful and less stressful. Maybe a half way stage towards really embracing less?
And when Isaac was single-digit young, biking along Burcham once he complained aloud about the big hill...having grown up in Eugene, I just laughed. I literally had never perceived a "hill" at that spot before.
I, too, have been subtracting and my priorities have become more clear: three sons, three daughters-in-law and five grandsons. Friends are important too. It is still a priority for me to advocate on a local and state level for justice for marginalized groups and for the environment.
Yes, so much thanks for this, Judy! Given that the world adds things (some good, some bad) on a regular basis, mindful subtraction feels like the right math. And I love the previous comments about being reflective rather than reflexive about what to take on and what to give up.
I am in a subtracting stage, partly because I have added some things I wish I didn't have to and others have to give way (I am doing very little knitting now, for example), and partly because some things are not physically possible, some don't feel worth the money any more, and some don't seem as worth my time as they did. For a while, at least, some pleasures will be on hold while I take the time to physically subtract accumulated things that no longer serve me. I am learning to be more reflective and less reflexive about what I take in and take on.
After the solar eclipse in April, we drove back from Ohio on minor highways and back roads. We noted with relief that we were returning to green and hilly Michigan. I've lived in some very hilly places (e.g. Colorado, upstate NY and Pittsburgh), and/but in my life there's no such thing as "absence of hills in Michigan." I guess your Michigan, or your friend's Michigan just is FLAT. Yes, people can stand in the same spot and be in different geographies.
Good point. I know there are flatter places. But for many years, when I drove I-96 westward from Detroit, and came to a spot near the Kensington exit where there seem to be real hills ahead, my heart rose . . . and then fell. BTW, there's a fine book called Elegy for a Family Farm, a memoir about growing up on a farm in west Michigan during the 1930s and 1940s. The author says at one point that he thought Michigan was flat until he visited Iowa.
Coco Chanel was known for advising: Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take something off.
I love this! Thank you.
As always, thank you for your wisdom. I have to admit I have failed at the Zen of relaxing into less. Don't laugh; my cure is to ADD read, write (a poem/note to a friend/margin note on a book), look hard (at the garden/indoor plants/coffee table book etc) to my TO DO list. Then at least some of my busy-ness is more thoughtful and less stressful. Maybe a half way stage towards really embracing less?
And when Isaac was single-digit young, biking along Burcham once he complained aloud about the big hill...having grown up in Eugene, I just laughed. I literally had never perceived a "hill" at that spot before.
My niece from the west coast visited once. After a day, she said "You keep using the word hill . . . "
But, about Burcham -- when I was a biker, I certainly thought of it (or maybe Park Lake, just south of it) as a hill. Not you?
I, too, have been subtracting and my priorities have become more clear: three sons, three daughters-in-law and five grandsons. Friends are important too. It is still a priority for me to advocate on a local and state level for justice for marginalized groups and for the environment.
Yes, so much thanks for this, Judy! Given that the world adds things (some good, some bad) on a regular basis, mindful subtraction feels like the right math. And I love the previous comments about being reflective rather than reflexive about what to take on and what to give up.
I am in a subtracting stage, partly because I have added some things I wish I didn't have to and others have to give way (I am doing very little knitting now, for example), and partly because some things are not physically possible, some don't feel worth the money any more, and some don't seem as worth my time as they did. For a while, at least, some pleasures will be on hold while I take the time to physically subtract accumulated things that no longer serve me. I am learning to be more reflective and less reflexive about what I take in and take on.
After the solar eclipse in April, we drove back from Ohio on minor highways and back roads. We noted with relief that we were returning to green and hilly Michigan. I've lived in some very hilly places (e.g. Colorado, upstate NY and Pittsburgh), and/but in my life there's no such thing as "absence of hills in Michigan." I guess your Michigan, or your friend's Michigan just is FLAT. Yes, people can stand in the same spot and be in different geographies.
Good point. I know there are flatter places. But for many years, when I drove I-96 westward from Detroit, and came to a spot near the Kensington exit where there seem to be real hills ahead, my heart rose . . . and then fell. BTW, there's a fine book called Elegy for a Family Farm, a memoir about growing up on a farm in west Michigan during the 1930s and 1940s. The author says at one point that he thought Michigan was flat until he visited Iowa.