Polite inclusion is the gateway drug to Mercy.~Anne Lamott (From Hallelujah Anyway)

I stood at the edge of the playground, its vast blacktop like another continent. I was eight years old and had started a new school. I had no friends. No familiarity. That first week of school, I wistfully looked out across the expanse at girls jump roping or hopscotching on numbered rectangles. Boys running and laughing amidst a game of dodge ball. I ached to belong.

This week a good friend told me his spouse had let him down. Excluded him. There is almost nothing more emotionally painful.

Let my passion for life be restored, tasting joy in every breakthrough you bring to me.~Psalm 51:13 (From The Passion Translation)

I asked myself what would the taste of joy be like. 

Over the last few months, I've participated in a behavior modification program around food. It was advertised as a weight loss program through my health insurance company. I initially signed up to shed pounds. But the process became much more holistic. The skills learned were not only about eating less and moving more, but also about slowing down and really tasting food when hunger bloomed. Enjoying all the flavors bursting on one's tongue. Allowing the brain time to catch up with the feeling of fullness. Experiencing satisfaction. Relishing the feeling of confidence when clothes began to fit better. Noticing the food cravings, letting them pass and experiencing victory. Breathing into the now, mindful of pleasure.

Perhaps these kind of sensations carried over in relation to tasting joy on the palate of my life...

Despite everything, I believed somehow there was time.~Lily King (From Euphoria)

He died suddenly while mowing his lawn. Somehow I wasn't surprised that he passed away while conducting a task. He prioritized work, performance and productivity. He found it hard to let go, to stop checking off items on the list, to stop worrying about what he would do if everything was lost in a hurricane or if his money ran out or if he could no longer accomplish the maintenance on his home. Or if he ended up alone. I asked him once what he most enjoyed. "Music," he said. "I used to go to concerts all the time." "What if you went soon?" I said. "Nah, I've got too much to do. Besides who would I go with?" "But what if you went anyway?" I challenged. He just smiled and shook his head.

The next time I saw him he said, "Guess what?" "Tell me," I said. "I went to a concert. By myself. It was outdoors, so I took a blanket and a picnic. Priscilla, I sat there and let the music absorb me. It was dusk, the sky beginning to fill with stars, the sky that kind of blue that makes you want to cry. All the songs of my youth. Memories galore. And it was really okay that I was alone. I didn't feel lonely, surrounded by all the other people and the music."

"Sounds like you grabbed a moment. Lived your life," I said.

"Yes. For once."

I have found you in the story again. Is there another word for "divine"? I need a song that will keep sky open in my mind.

If I think behind me I might break. If I think forward I lose now.

Forever will be a day like this. Strung perfectly on the necklace of days.

Slightly overcast. Yellow leaves.

Your jacket hanging in the hallway.

Next to mine. ~Joy Harjo (From Fall Song)

It's been awhile. Since I saw my husband. I would know him anywhere. Know his eyes, green smiling crescents, above the blue mask he wore after a long flight over the ocean. Love and marriage is powered by mystery. Giovanni and I felt that indefinable energy as we fell back into our rhythm with each other. Sometimes, for me, it is tempting to look too far ahead. How will we figure out this next season of our lives? Retirement is new, and there are many hoops to jump through regarding finances and health and assembling two cultures. Then I think of all the hurdles we've already jumped through. The immigration loop was enough to toughen up the strongest of individuals. Thinking back or looking too far ahead is anxiety provoking. Surely now will be lost if I reside in those thinking patterns. I must imagine stringing a necklace of days with colorful beads that inhabit the present.

To stack the woodblocks for The Scarlet Letter in the corner cupboard with her sketch pads, pencils, and watercolors gave her an intense pleasurable feeling of being ready to live.~Wallace Stegner (From Angle of Repose)

This week I watched a movie, Where'd You Go Bernadette?, adapted from the novel by Maria Semple. The protagonist had experienced the knocks and bruises of life, and in the midst of her pain stopped creating. When she ceased creating, she simultaneously cut ties with herself, intensifying the pain. Have you ever experienced this?  Have you ever asked yourself, "Where did I go?"

It is easy to lose ourselves in this culture. We can get submerged in the voices that define creativity and art. "Making art takes too much energy. One must have huge swaths of time to create." "You must be 'good enough' to sell what you make." "You must be like J-Lo (or insert anyone famous here) if you're going to sing, paint, write or act." "You've got to have a lot of money to really be creative." "You must have a huge following on Instagram and TikTok." "You would probably need to quit your full-time job to really have the time to create anything." 

The list goes on and on and on. We become submerged in the cultural voices and sink.  What if it's really not that way at all?