I like to move slowly and intentionally, so how nice after teaching at the Snow Farm Art & Wellness retreat to spend Monday morning moving with care, finding my way to a wood bench under a tree to sit happily and reflect.

During the opening session, I guided mindfulness and close-looking at artwork. Everyone went from silent to bubbling: 

“We noticed that we each had a character in the artwork that we thought of as ourselves…“

“I noticed every time you guided me to close my eyes and go inside, it changed what I saw on the outside when I opened them…“

The invitation was to reflect on how you’ve been feeling lately and then notice what you see in the artwork. Questions implicit in this process are, how does who we are right now in the moment impact what we perceive? And how can our perceiving impact our internal state?

Looking closely lets the nervous system notice that we’re safe.

Breathing slows, heart rate slows, and then we might begin to see ourselves projected and gain insight, just as much as we might begin to bring the calm from outside in. 

As I sit and reflect now, it’s the same. Everywhere around me, I notice the cacophony of birds. Near, farther, far, I hear layers of sound on repeat, pause, repeat. I hear them pecking and landing on the apex dorm roof. I hear a flutter of wings gushing past, a burbling babble, a wobbling warble, a piercing straw call. I hear a scratching short guttural putter and the long, low coo-o coo coo coo of the mourning dove. 

Last night I was teaching about welcome and wonder, compassion and curiosity. Inside me now, I notice I feel dazzled and proud to be living by these tenets that are at the core of mindfulness. As Pema Chodron said, “Let your curiosity be greater than your fear.” 

So here I am in this special, sweet place, teaching and learning in this way because I let my curiosity be greater than my fear. 

I manifested this moment—right now with my feet on the moss, my butt in the chair, my pen on the page, and my senses doing their delectable sensing that lands me in the present—because I let myself want what I wanted. Fully, truly, unapologetically. 

I didn’t want to settle for a career that excluded crucial parts of who I am, so I created a way to welcome all of it.

And my friend, if you want to, you can too.

I didn’t want to choose between my passions or do what was safe or expected of me, so I stayed curious, followed joy, and enlisted compassion. 

And if you want to, you can too.

All my agendas are paused, now. I can’t remember for sure if they matter. It feels good. 

The black fly lands on my thumb. The breeze is cool and damp and carries the smell of the apple blossoms. The sun creates shadows, tree leaves dancing against the leaves of my page. Outside meets inside. Integration.