How do I know somebody’s home? The banner’s flying, of course!
This word started popping up in my art a few years ago, around the time when it started popping up more in my life.
For way too long I’d said no way too often. No to my art. No to self-compassion.
I thought it was a way to get stuff done, a route to the satisfaction of achievement, which would lead to happiness. Instead I found the opposite.
The route to joy is yes. Which often requires us to say no, but isn’t that the irony of life?
Where can you be a better bodyguard to the big yesses in your life?
Ah, weekends. Even though I work for myself at home (usually in my pajamas), I still like to make an energetic distinction between weekdays and weekends. One way that comes out is just relaxing my morning routine a bit on Saturday and Sunday morning.
Instead of going through my usual routine, which gets me to work in my studio by 9:00am, sometimes I lounge and read. Sometimes I listen to the radio.
It’s nice to just let myself ramble a bit.
During my divorce in 1999, I moved into a little one-bedroom apartment that was a few blocks away from the Quaker meeting house, where my synagogue held Friday night Shabbat services once a month. For about a year, on that last Friday of the month, I’d invite a few girlfriends over, and we’d eat a simple meal, chat and laugh, before walking the ten minutes to the Quaker meeting house, where I would lead services.
It was a rough year in many ways, but those conversations over Shabbat dinner were points of light. Just thinking about them makes me smile.
Field trips in kindergarten. A gaggle of doddling children with pudgy cheeks, small hands clutching a rope with little loops tied into it. “Hold onto your handle, everyone,” the teacher calls, turning around to make sure nobody has wandered off. “We’re crossing the street now!”
A clever way to keep a class of 4- and 5-year-olds together, but still, that was one brave teacher, if you ask me.