Providence

Fate. Coincidence. Providence.

Are they real? Really real?

Thinking about them happening, they might be far off and existential and not as real as touch, but when they happen –

BOOM!

The slight increase in heartbeat, a hitch in breath, the exhilaration of being aware as something remarkable happens right in front of you.

I’ve been aware of the spiritual, the extra-natural, and they are few and far between. Sometimes they travel to my consciousness after the fact, but when they happen within the moment, in the context, they become something special, something extraordinary, something to be held close for all time, and beyond time.

I had two times this week that something like that occurred.

Fate?

Coincidence?

Providence. All the above.

—

Several months ago, my memoir teacher recommended a book to me – one of many – The Cartographers. I presumed it was about maps or map-making, and I wasn’t able to find it in the library app on my Kindle. In the meantime, I read a bunch of other books. On Monday, I decided it was time to try again, so I checked the library app, and there it was: The Cartographers. I checked it out and began to read. Even in the pre-table of contents pages, I wasn’t sure about it – there was a warning of suicidal ideation and self-harm and to take care reading it. I burrowed on.

The main gist is a high school graduate who is lying to her mother about going to college; she lives in NYC with two roommates, meets an odd boy and just shows us her life and gives us some insight and lessons along the way. This did not seem like a book my memoir teacher would be drawn to, but I was definitely drawn to it. I couldn’t believe how much the main character, Ocean, resonated with me in very familiar and emotional ways, sometimes painful. I really related to her, the existential crisis that was continually her personality – I feel that in my bones. As Queen sings, “Is this the real life; is this just fantasy?” Or a simulation on some alien being’s computer. As Ocean asks, “Are you dead too?” I don’t feel that despondency, but it’s a good question.

Are the fate moments real and everything else is fluff? Or the opposite: all the misery and doldrums are real, and the fate moments are the fluff – the golden fleece, the silver lining, the gold at the end of the rainbow.

About halfway through the book, I suggested to my daughter that she would really like this book. She’s seventeen, and it seemed like her kind of style and subject that she might enjoy. She told me to text her. I searched for the book on Amazon to give her the link, so she’d know the title and the author, and I told her to borrow it from the library. It popped up on Amazon: The Cartographers by Peng Shepherd, but the cover seemed different. I thought it was the difference between hardcover and softcover editions, and then I realized that I was reading The Cartographers by Amy Zhang.

Not the same book at all.

My teacher had recommended a book about maps and murder and mystery – all in my wheelhouse, and I was reading a book about teen angst and friendship (and loving it by the way), and I suddenly realized that I was reading the wrong book.

Although was it really the wrong book?

It was the perfect book for me, at this moment in time.

Is that fate?

I don’t know, but it was perfect.

—

Then today. This morning, I had time to attend mass. The homily was about the poor. Blessed are the poor. But not just bless them but look at them. See them. We all come to the poor and houseless with preconceived notions and judgments; even me. Some of the things my priest said resonated with me, and tears welled in my eyes – I felt seen. I wasn’t, and haven’t been at a poverty level, but I understand not being able to move up, not being able to break even, being embarrassed and isolated. I was seen, but that’s not why I’m writing this.

While my priest was talking about seeing the poor and understanding how difficult it was for the poor to rise from their circumstances, I was wishing that a friend of mine could have been there to hear this homily. This friend is a good and decent person. They do so much for so many without asking for anything in return; it is just in their nature to give more; to volunteer; to be Christ in the world. I’ve witnessed that and have been the beneficiary of that. But I’ve heard them talk about people helping themselves and wanting to do more to get people back on their feet, and I wished they were there in the church this morning, listening to this homily that I thought was something they should hear.

The mass goes on, we say the Our Father, and offer peace. I turned to acknowledge the parishioners behind me with a hand wave of peace, and there they were – the one person I wanted to be there listening to the homily – they were there in the pew a few feet behind me listening to the homily.

I smiled.

I was pleased with how the world works.

And I guess that’s how the world works: being where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there.

Providence, maybe.

The Cartographers by Amy Zhang

The Cartographer by Peng Shepherd

September 11th

In our travels, I’ve been touched by how other countries have commemorated 9/11. We saw a tree that had been planted on the grounds of Belfast’s City Hall with an adjacent plaque that touched me deeply.

In our recent tour of the Mohawk village of Kahnawake in southern Quebec, we learned quite a bit about the Mohawk people of the area and their history, including their history of building many parts of New York City. One of the things our tour guide brought to our attention was the primary economy of Kahnawake; it’s easy to see once entering the village boundaries that cigarettes are one of the dominant businesses for the tribe. The second largest career for the Mohawk of Kahnawake is ironwork. This began long ago and continues to this day with many Mohawk men traveling each week to New York City to work as ironworkers, and then returning to their families on the weekend.

We were told about, and I subsequently read about a tribute that the ironworkers did for the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center, creating a replica that is kept in the chapel at the St. Francis Xavier Mission Church. With the WTC replica is a cross made from iron that came from the NYC site, and an artistic sketch showing the relationship of the traditional Mohawk with their older tools of their trade and the more modern Mohawk with their modern tools of the trade. There are also eagles and eagle feathers, both a symbol for the United State as well as an important symbol for First Nations/Native people, all set in front of the buildings rendered before the attacks on one side and the longhouse on the other, with both traditional and modern skylines reflected at the base. The visualization evokes many emotions and feelings for so many thoughts and for me, the pride depicted on the Mohawk faces supplants the sadness and creates a new somberness that dulls the pain and raises the heart.

Looking at the workmanship brings an emotion that welled in my chest: the work put into creating such a piece that is both simple and stunning while respecting the lives lost and the lives changed on that day.

When we returned to Quebec a couple of weeks later, we were able to tour the church itself and it was then that I took the pictures that I’m glad to share with you today on this twenty-second anniversary of 9/11.

Mental Health Monday – September 11th

Today is one of those days that needs some extra quiet.

I drove my son to work, and then sat in the car for over 30 minutes, discussing what I wanted to eat for breakfast with myself. Having not really decided, I just sat there. I knew what day it was, but it hadn’t imprinted on my mind yet. When it did, I at least understood my unexplainable melancholy.

In the interim between 2001 and today, I have met and befriended a few people who were there, in lower Manhattan when the World Trade Center fell, who were in one of the buildings when it was hit. We’ve heard stories of friends with near misses, where fate – or providence – kept them from being there that day, and others who found their way home, ghost-like.

I have pangs of guilt, feeling the strong feelings of Nine-Eleven when I wasn’t physically there, but in the ensuing years, I have come to accept and be at one with my own trauma. No, I wasn’t in attendance, but I had been affected more than a previous tourist, visiting once or twice. This was my home. Both of my parents were from the Bronx. I was born in the Bronx and grew up in Queens and on Long Island. At the time of the attacks, we had just returned from visiting my parents and my mother-in-law the day before, crossing the Throgs Neck Bridge, pointing out the New York City skyline to our four-year-old son. We viewed that sight not twenty-four hours before, the same perfect blue sky guiding our way north.

I resent out of state politicians using 9/11 as their fundraising, their inspo-porn, trauma-porn, and call to arms that they have no right to.

For more than a year after, when I traveled on our local highway to the state capital, I would shudder at the sight of a plane flying overhead, sinking lower and lower in the sky as it descended to the airport runway that I was passing. Our house is in the flight path of two small, local airports, and every time a plane flew low, I would have a visceral reaction. I felt that these reactions and feelings were not mine to have – I wasn’t there!

But in a way, I was.

This was my home. These were my people.

And I’ve decided to own my pain and my trauma of that day.

That’s my mental health Monday suggestion this week: don’t let others tell you how to feel. Only you know how you feel, and you should let yourself feel the things. It’s possible that the feelings can be too much, but if that’s the case, seek out a professional. Talking to someone who is a professional can do wonders for your mental health, not only today, but any day.

Have a peaceful, blessed, quiet, tea-filled day.

❤

Abstinence and Dispensation

^{Ballintoy Harbor. Northern Ireland. (c)2018}

St. Patrick’s Day has long been one of my favorite holidays. Long before I met and married my husband with Irish roots, and well before I set foot on the Emerald Isle. I have always been fascinated by the Celts, their people, their land, their culture, especially in relation to ancient and medieval culture. I have also been a questioner. Why? Why do we do this? Why don’t we do that? As a young child being told that I couldn’t write during Rosh Hashanah, I was devastated. But writing isn’t work; it’s writing, I whined to no avail. Becoming Catholic has not broken me of that – is it really a – failing.

And so, I question – why?

Why can’t we eat meat on Friday? Is it because Peter was a fisherman? Will there be a dispensation for today? It is a saint’s feast day after all. I waited for Pope Francis, and then was told that it’s up to the local bishops. I still couldn’t find it, so I texted my godmother and she okayed the corned beef which made my husband happy (as if he wasn’t going to indulge on his holiday).

But I still wondered: Why?

In googling and asking my questions of the internet, I discovered the controversy that is North Dakota. Apparently, they have three dioceses, and two have them have allowed meat today, and one has not. The idea that North Dakota has three dioceses makes little sense to me, but I found no less than twenty-five separate links about St. Patrick’s Day in North Dakota. Amazing.

Archbishop Nelson Perez of Philadelphia popped up as did Cardinal Dolan in New York City’s Diocese. I didn’t see Boston, but I came to the logical conclusion that there would be dispensation for Boston Catholics. What holy hell would be raised if even one of those cities banned meat on St. Patrick’s Day? I hope we never find out.

During Pope Nicholas I in 866 CE, Friday abstinence became a universal rule. Fasting also on Fridays was common by the twelfth century. It was expected for everyone, including those as young as twelve with very few exceptions.

It also used to be that you couldn’t eat any animal products on Fridays, not just during Lent, but ALL YEAR. I learned that Fat Tuesday began as a way to use up all of the animal products that you couldn’t eat – butter, cheese, eggs, lard, and of course, meat.

Pope Paul VI changed things in 1966 in his Paenitemini. His object wasn’t to end abstinence and fasting but for Catholics to choose to abstain and fast as part of their own penance practices; let their conscience be their guide.

With Sunday being a weekly Easter, shouldn’t every Friday be a Good Friday? This was asked by the US Bishops in 1966 and I tilt my head wondering the same thing.

Lent is an opportunity to lend mutual support on our spiritual and faith journey. We are in it together and have a shared experience through Christ’s death and resurrection.

So why the exception for St. Patrick’s Day?

^{Filled Soda. Randalstown, NI. (c)2023}

I mean, look at this filled soda from Northern Ireland! Resistance is futile. This was a breakfast sandwich shared between my husband and myself (and after twenty-three years of marriage he still had to take it under consideration).

But also, according to Mental Floss, it’s complicated.

I can imagine that they might have thought they’d lose all the Irish American Catholics if they said no corned beef on Friday of St. Pat’s Day, although this quandary occurs once or twice a decade, so it isn’t exactly a pressing issue.

I would also note that the traditional St. Patrick’s Day celebration food in Ireland is different from the traditional food eaten in the US. In Ireland, sausage is usually eaten, and not your teeny-tiny frozen breakfast sausage, but a lovely, large, grilled bit of deliciousness. Bangers and mash. In the US, we serve corned beef and cabbage with mashed potatoes and carrots. Yesterday, I had cabbage with leeks, and it really boosted the flavor.

What are you to do?

It becomes a crisis of conscience.

Well, as I mentioned, dispensations are local, so check with your diocese.

Is it a pass? Not really. You’re expected to abstain from meat on a different day during the week.

Usually, you’re expected to give up meat on a day before the next Friday after St. Patrick’s Day and (or) perform acts of charity and good deeds to atone or call it even with the meat eating.

We’ll be having corned beef, cabbage, mashed potatoes (possibly champ), carrots, and Irish Soda bread with Kerrygold butter.

My mouth is watering in anticipation.

Travel Thursday – Hostels

When I was in college, my friend was in England student teaching. When she invited me to fly over and meet her and travel the United Kingdom, I thought there was no way I could afford it. She told me we’d be staying in hostels.

I had never heard of hostels before. I had to join the association (for an annual membership) and then I could pay a small fee and spend the night in a safe, clean, dormitory. The Youth Hostel Association was for young adults, between the ages of 16 (without a parent) and 25. This is less common now. At the time, they also suggested that before you stay at a foreign hostel you should have a dry-run at a local, American run one. I did not do this, and it worked out fine for me. Of course, I haven’t gone hosteling in a couple of decades, so I can only imagine how much has changed. Part of that was because of my friend, who was the expert in my opinion, having been in England and traveled about quite a bit during her days off from teaching.

Celebrating 10 Years of Pope Francis

My parish priest was my parish priest before my parish was my parish. There were rest stops on the journey my life was on that were not on the brochure. Detours I guess might be the right word. Every time I had my path laid out, circumstances created change and change created opportunities. Not all of those opportunities were fruitful. Surprise children, unplanned moves, family deaths, loss of self and missed chances.

It’s important to recognize the changes within us. Eventually we can no longer hide them and they burst without. Better to be prepared when that happens.

When the calling came to join the Catholic faith, it wasn’t that I wanted to delay my official, sacramental entry, but I didn’t want to come in cold. For myself, I wanted to attend to join the fall group of RCIA* in 2013. I also felt as though I was already Catholic. I wasn’t receiving communion, but in every other way. I had faith, I believed, and I was content in a way.

My massaversary as I like to call it happened on that Holy Week of 2013. In one year, I would be attending my own Easter Vigil. Despite not starting RCIA until the fall months, I was excited for this Holy Week.

At the same time, or near enough, Pope Benedict retired and Jorge Bergoglio was elected to be the next Pope, the 265th successor to St. Peter. Jorge was a bishop in Argentina and a Jesuit. He chose Francis for his name in honor of St. Francis of Assisi whose model for caring for the poor he wanted the church to emulate.
I don’t know why I was excited to be joining the church when Francis became Pope but being drawn to him also drew me to one of his favorite devotions of Mary, which very quickly became one of my favorite devotions. It is Mary, Untier or Undoer of Knots.

She appealed to me so much and she has stayed with me as this decade has passed.

Unlike Pope Francis, I have not seen the original painting in Augsburg, Bavaria, Germany, but I have managed to find medals, coins, and prayer cards. I am too intimidated to sketch something for this Mary, but perhaps one day.

Pope Francis’ humility and inclusivity to all is one of the reasons I am so fond of him. He walks the walk, exhibited in one way by his living, not in the Papal Residence but in the Vatican guesthouse.

He influenced the change in US policy towards Cuba and diplomatic relations and he supports the causes of refugees across the world.

He is clearly interested in evangelization, the environment, the poor, and real religious persecution.

He is the first Pope from the Society of Jesus, the first from the Americas as well as the first from the Southern Hemisphere, and he is the first Pope outside of Europe since Gregory III of Syria in the 700s. He is the first to choose the name Francis.

He speaks seven languages.

He has a common touch, which I think made me like him more. He is of the people, something as an American I can relate to.

He is quoted as choosing St. Francis of Assisi because “the man gives us this spirit of peace, the poor man, …how I would like a poor church, and for the poor.”

From William Bole’s 2018 article at jesuits.org, he states (and I paraphrase), that it’s not so much about rule following but about discerning what G-d is calling them to do. He purports an ethic of service. This truly speaks to me. I am in constant discernment as to what I’m being called to do. It has given me a new confidence in making decisions when I’m asked to do something and I try to be of service or to offer resources that can be of service to others. It is said that giving feels better than receiving, and when you are the one giving, it is a palpable sensation that remains long after the gift or the day has passed.

Pope Francis is who a leader of the church should be – putting the poor and the earth first and foremost, reminding us of our invitation to be humble and merciful, not only to the people we meet, but to ourselves as well.

Happy 10th Anniversary, Pope Francis. I pray for many more years under your guidance and wisdom.

*RCIA – Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults, which is the process of joining in full communion with the Church.

The Best of Me

When my daughter came along, she was a welcome addition – an unexpected surprise, but welcome, nonetheless. She spent her nine months in womb quietly biding her time; an easy pregnancy during a stressful time, letting her older, soon to be middle brother enjoy his limited babyhood at ten to fifteen months old before she came into our world. Little did he know how his young life would change. Even now, seventeen years later, they continue to have a love-hate relationship.

She was scheduled to be born the first week of January and the c-section was planned owing to the previous two c-sections in my life, but she gave us an inkling to her personality the night when I was in the hospital Christmas Eve trying to convince her and the hospital staff to let her wait a week.

It was a dance we would have with this beautiful, thoughtful, independent, non-conforming girl-child often and we should have known from this unforeseen side-trip to the hospital where she would ultimately be born just shy of two weeks later.

There was one other week where we didn’t feel her moving and went in for an ultrasound prior to this. She was fine. Clearly, she was testing us. She was saving up her energy. You really do need to watch out for the quiet ones.

After she was born, we should have known her devious ways when she was quickly sleeping through the night. Little did we know.

We soon learned that when she wanted something, she wanted it then, that minute or there would be consequences. She did call us with her crying like any other baby, but if we were delayed for whatever reason (I mean we still had a toddler who needed attention, plus all the other household chores and the like), she would take care of business on her own. Her life was too exceptional to waste waiting.

Most babies would cry louder or throw things from the crib. Nope. Not her.

We’d (I’d) ask her to wait a minute, just trying to catch my breath, and the next thing I knew she was standing/kneeling/crawling right in front of me. Yup, that little girl had climbed out of her crib. Once she could stand, she could climb.

She’d appear before us, sans diaper, new diaper in hand, with a look that was not to be trifled with.

I once had a cable rep on the phone ask if everything was all right when he heard her screeching her displeasure. She was on the second floor of the house, in a room with the door closed. I was in the kitchen as far away from the stairs as I could be. We lovingly nicknamed her banshee.

I went into the kitchen on an unusually quiet day to find her trying to get something off the top of the fridge. Most children her age might have gotten a chair and climbed up, reaching, perhaps whining, but not my darling daughter. She had a chair, yes, but on top of the chair was a step stool, a cardboard box, a lunch box sized plastic bin, and her at the top of this precarious perch, reaching for the teddy grahams on the fridge. She looked down at me, oblivious to her instability, grinning that grin. She was grabbed one handed around her waist, terror in my voice, laughter in hers.

As the kids got older and moved into their own rooms, we knew that she could never move to the first floor. Who knows where she’d end up. Even being on the second floor, her windows were checked and secured each night. What she’d get up to, no one could predict. There’s curious and then there’s my adored and adorable girl.

She has remained curious and questioning as well as obstinate and stubborn, all good characteristics to complement her independence. She’s her own counsel, but still asks questions and does her best to already have the answers. There is still so much learning that she needs to do, as do we all, and I know she’ll lead herself down new roads and paths that take her forward, but also upside down and around to fill her personality, but also to expand herself and teach others that they too can be great.

But not as great as her. A healthy dose of self-esteem is a gift, and she has it in abundance.

I’m glad I decided to celebrate my independent, self-motivated, and determined baby, who’s not so much a baby anymore on this International Women’s Day. She is not only the future of the world, but also its present, and using the homonym she is a present, a gift to me and everyone she meets.

Reflection on the First Week of Lent

Ash Wednesday was just over a week ago and I still haven’t settled into my Lenten routine. I read the two devotionals I have at some point during the day, every day, but I haven’t found the perfect time and space for prayerful reading. I want it; I just can’t seem to settle into it. By the time I do, Lent will be over and I’ll have a case of regrets and guilty feelings.

I didn’t give up anything either. I couldn’t come up with anything that felt right. Nothing felt … well, actually everything I considered felt performative and had no deep meaning. What I’ve been doing so far this last week, is thinking more deeply about what I’m choosing to do with my time and choosing to eat and choosing to spend money on. I’m trying to make that part of my contemplations, but I feel as though I’m falling short.

My March is full of study and action and days of reflection and retreat, but even that is missing an emotional component. At least, that’s how it feels to me. Sleep walking through the steps but not genuinely getting anywhere. I even just added another retreat evening to my schedule, but it’s facilitated by two of my favorite religious women and that alone is worth the time spent.

Writing classes are going well – the first class of each are both great groups. I’m very excited for these six weeks. (Surreptitiously waves at any of them reading this right now.)

I have calendars and checklists and fancy colored markers but none of it is giving me any of the impressions they’re supposed to do.

Although Wednesday’s soup delivery is a good time to sit in quiet and peace, smell the soup, taste the bread, and pray on what got that soup to my door. Maybe I can draw a soup prayer. Draw a soup prayer. That’s something different, I think.

Goal for the week to include on my Apostolic Action – look back at my Heart and Soul Quest Letter to myself from November and the green sheet/handout that Sister gave us and use that to try to get into the Lenten frame of mind and after that I can check back next week. It’ll be a date: Tuesday. That comes after grouping on Monday and after planning this week’s lessons and right before I arrange April’s calendar for this site.

BBT*

*Be back Tuesday

Intentions 2023

This post was a lot to write. And rewrite. I hope you will be able to draw out something for yourselves as I call myself out and set my intentions for the next few weeks. If you are inclined to add anything or offer any suggestions, please do so in the comments. they would be most welcome.

I offered a preview last week of goals, resolutions, whatever they’re to be called this year. That can be found here if you need a reminder of my first thoughts. At the end of that post, I said that I was going to take a break, read a chapter, play a game, and get dinner ready. I did almost none of those things. I’m sure we had dinner, but I can’t think of what it was. Even Saturday night’s dinner was in flux since no one took out the meat from the freezer despite multiple requests. Last night also. (Note that these requests were not always towards others in the house; I told myself to take them out and then forgot to, so it was a multi-person failure.) Pasta until the meat defrosts, I guess.

It’s probably not a bad thing that our (my) new year is off to a less than stellar start since the years that I’m all gung-ho and organized for will often fizzle out by February.

I plan to use my Instagram more, and that was one thing I did do last week: a post on intentions there. You can view it and click to visit there from my sidebar on the left. I will share the picture below since I’m going to try and use it as a guide for my intention setting.

The words I used were:

Focus
Change
Intentionality
Faith
Gratitude
Opportunity
Kindness
Accept
Surrender
Reflect
Begin

Each one has a different thought process behind it, some from years past, others from spiritual direction, some that simply always come up again and again (like focus and intentionality). I may add some as the weeks go by and I settle into my new year.

None of these words are easy to implement in my day-to-day life. I plan to keep a small copy of the list, perhaps with the picture and reflect on it through January, as a mantra, a guide, an accountability checklist. By accountability, I simply mean is this something that I keep in my head. Is it something that I’m aware that I’m doing or am I ignoring it because it’s hard? It’s not a grading system – no A’s or B’s, no failing or unsatisfactory. Am I doing (it, whatever it is) with intentionality or am I sleep-walking through another day?

One thing that I can take a bow on is the following: About a year or two ago, I made the decision that I did not need the last word in online discussions. I also did not need to engage with everyone there. I will still call out lies and misinformation, but at some point, it’s time to walk away. Before I made this decision, I was anxiety-riddled constantly, needing to convince people of the truth, of the facts. This decision needs to be recommitted to every day. I need to know when to walk away, when to push. I’ve been proud of myself, and while this isn’t a new year focus it is something that continues to be encouraged. Every day is a new day.

I will still speak out.

In between birthday fun for my daughter, trying out new Christmas gifts, and just relaxing with the family, I spent Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday watching the vote for Speaker of the House. I have never seen such a shitshow on the floor of Congress, and it was a despicable showing on the second anniversary of January 6th. Two Republicans nearly came to blows, and one had to be dragged away. I was proud of my party; of their commitment to the people, to the advancement of new leadership without in-fighting and acrimony. Over the weekend, I posted part of the speech given by Minority Leader, NY Representative Hakeem Jeffries, where he took us to church so to speak. It was exhilarating, it was motivating, it was inspirational. I look forward to the day when he is Speaker. The Republicans can say they’re behavior was a lesson in democracy, but in reality, it was a lesson in dysfunction and chaos.

As I told my class last semester, everything is political. Everything. From the water that flows through our pipes to the roads we drive on, from the schools to the garbage pick-ups. We all need to be involved, every year, every election, every race. I guess that’s one of my goals. Civics 101.

Apart from politics, I need to see what priorities I need to keep and pull to the forefront. I’ve come up with three in particular, although there is always room for more. They are:

Therapy.

Writing.

Faith.

I need it all, and I need to learn how to blend them, how to connect them, how to live them, and how to balance them. I should add that word to the photo and list above: balance.

It’s all a balancing act. I’m a mom. I was a teacher. I can multi-task. I can also drop all the spinning plates. It happens. I need to accept that and move on – No. Not on; forward.

As I look at each of those words on the list and the three main places I want to focus on, how do I make it happen? How do I use all the tools available to me without constantly running around in circles, thinking I’m succeeding, but really only standing in the same place?

The first thing I’m going to do is to put a note on my calendar, about a week after Ash Wednesday. Lent is a good time for reevaluation, and I can see how and if I’ve moved forward between now and then.

I’m also going to list one specific, tangible goal here related to the three subjects of therapy (which includes talk, writing, art, etc.), writing, and faith. As I’ve said, and as I believe, they are all interconnected in my life. I rely on my faith in my writing, I write about my faith, talking through things (even if only with myself) – it’s all related and yet still separate enterprises that need their own nurturing and development.

The words sound easy, but we all know that it is also hard. Hard to change, hard to grow, hard to become something different, hard to change. With the internet and social media, we can all be so self-aware and easy to be swayed towards something, even simple, non-hazardous things: a glass or water or Diet Coke?

I know that I’m more outgoing in certain ways since becoming a regular online. I wonder how I managed without the online community that sustains me as much as my family does. I speak my mind more, sometimes to my detriment. I say yes more without saying no first. I realized that I protect myself by declining, and then “changing my mind.” It lets me have the time to think, but I’m getting more comfortable with saying yes (and no when appropriate).

How do I set goals and keep myself on a trajectory of moving forward?

NaNoWriMo really motivated me to write every day, and while I haven’t been writing every day, I have been writing a lot more. I don’t mind the writing without the external validation despite really loving (and needing) the validation. Writing a book won’t work that way, however. I can’t publish every little piece online, can I?

Where do I go from here?

New Year Intentions, Part 1

Every year, dozens of articles, posts, podcasts and the like tell us what we need to do to make this a successful year; the one year we will finally get things done, handled: lose weight, clean the house, raise healthy, well-adjusted children, start our own businesses, and whatever else that will make us content this year.

I have never figured out what it takes to make new year’s resolutions that will stick. I try. I’ve tried renaming them: goals, plans, focus, changes, intentions (my personal favorite and the one I will continue to stick with), and aspirations.

On Sunday, I scrolled through my emails and opened the Target ad, and in a few minutes of turning pages in this first advertisement of the new year, I saw what Target and their advertising consultants think we should be focused on in our resolutions for beginning and following through on in this year:

Healthy food
Vitamins
Skin care
Exercise equipment
Exercise clothes
Self-help books
Tax Software and Office Supplies for Taxes
Storage containers
Cleaning supplies
Laundry supplies
Food Storage
Small appliances – air fryers, roombas, vacuums

A thirty-page ad.

How long will many of the consumers stick with the new exercise regimen? No between meal snacks? Brushing teeth at lunch? Not ripping off a piece of tin foil and covering the dinner plate instead of using those expensive (and very clean) containers?

To be honest, I already have three doctor’s appointments scheduled plus my physical, so I guess I’m ahead of my own procrastination. I’m also planning on replacing all the glasses (eyewear) in our family this spring.

This year, though, my focus is on my writing, expanding my writing adjacent activities, and my faithfulness and becoming centered on my spiritual life. I’m not sure precisely what that means; I’m still defining what I’m looking for, what I need in my world, and what my specific intentions are. I plan to form them in the next week and share them. This is also one reason that I reevaluate my goals and intentions throughout the year. It works out not quite quarterly: Back to School/Jewish New Year, Lent/Easter, Secular New Year. While these times are somewhat etched in stone, I still leave room for reevaluation.

This year is beginning with a few points of stress. My therapist is retiring, and I am in the process of searching for a new one. I begin that tomorrow morning, after Mass. For the last couple of years I’ve wondered if I still needed to go regularly for therapy, but in contemplating stopping, I realized that just simply having it on my calendar gives me a conversation to look forward to, a time to see, and that alone seems to curb my anxiety. Nothing is cured; anxiety doesn’t work that way, but it is part of my recovery. Those little things add up and make a difference; they give me a focus, they offer a routine, a schedule that I can look forward to and as it did when I started (with both therapy, writing, and mass) it gave me a schedule to follow. Many of these techniques remind me of posts from neurodivergent folks and how they live their lives. I wouldn’t call myself neurodivergent, but who knows. There’s something to be said for trying something new. Letting chips fall where they may and seeing what works. Including reusing cliches.

Something I said to my husband about one of our children – if this child was diagnosed as on the autistic spectrum we would make allowances, we would accommodate some of their needs and expectations. Just because they don’t wear the label doesn’t mean that we can’t still make the accommodations that they need, whether we call them quirks or personality or neurodiversity.

There is no reason that I can’t make those same allowances for myself or to expect those same allowances for myself if it makes me, helps me function better. Whatever that means for me.

I’m going to take a break, read a chapter, play a game on my kindle and work on getting dinner ready. Later in the week, I will share my New Year’s intentions. I hope to see many of you along on the journey, whether you’re here as a spectator or a participant. No change is too small. No intention too minor.

Griffins and Ginger Snaps

-I write, and I have a blog because of course I do-