- Move your body, every day.
I'm not an athletic person, but I am an outdoors person. I'm lucky enough to have a job where I am constantly outside, and I have a 1 mile walk to work through a park. This makes it easy to notice the tiny changes of wind, sky, clouds, snow, and the other things that seem relatively unchanging all winter, and to find some peace and inspiration there. More than anything, however, the motion of walking helps keep me balanced. Too often we decide that its just too darn cold outside to do anything more than dash to the car – but really, it's not! You just have to make a habit of spending 10 or 15 minutes walking to understand that the discomfort of winter weather is both temporary and relatively dependent on one's clothes. I get a deep satisfaction from the sensation of my body heating itself up, feeling it pump warm blood into my freezing toes. It makes me feel vital and alive even in subzero temperatures. - Challenge yourself!
This gets back to my general philosophy of embracing the absurdities of life along with the pleasantries. Sometimes, instead of holing up inside when it is freezing cold, it is best to do something completely counter-intuitive. On one of the coldest days of the winter I went down to the shoreline of Lake Michigan, and it was beautiful! The waves were moving slowly and the water was actually steaming. On New Years Eve I ran out onto a frozen lake in the middle of Minneapolis, enjoying the spectacle of fireworks exploding in every direction. This winter I've gone sledding, snow-shoeing, and skiing, which has definitely challenged my athletic abilities and comfort level. It helps me to feel like I can explore, adventure, and see my home in a new place just by pushing past the cold. - Treat yourself with a little tenderness!
I've talked about the physical components of winter survival, but you can't forget that winter is a mind game, too. I tend to get stuck in repetitive thoughts, endlessly spinning the same mental wheels. To break that cycle I try to come up with a few creative projects, such as writing letters or reading really stimulating books. Anything to keep me from zoning out in front of TV shows. But I don't always stick to those projects, and my guilt about that becomes one of the winter thought-loops. This year I decided to be a little more forgiving. I decided that it is ok to not want to move. It's ok to not want to go outside. It's ok to curl up on the couch with a book/movie/cat/mug of tea/hot toddy. It's ok to give yourself a break! - Hot Toddies!
I just remembered this important winter survival tool. Combinations of hot water, tea, whiskey (or the liquor of your choice), lemon juice, ginger, and any other spices you want can bring a little comfort and relief to awful winter days. Most of the ingredients are really good for you, and they sure do warm you up quickly!
Have the end of winter blues? I find that the last few weeks of winter can be the hardest to thrive in. One of my Milwaukee friends seems to handle this season better than most people I know. Laurel is always going on some type of outdoor adventure and has a great attitude about winter. I asked her to do a post, and she put together this list of four tips for surviving winter -- hope this brings you a bit of joy on this cold day. And I hope you enjoy her amazing Wisconsin winter photos. Those ice caves are breathtaking!! For me, finding joy in all things means living in a state of openness to the world, it means welcoming in the many small beauties and absurdities of life. This state of permeability is seriously compromised by the long winter months, when everything seems to shut down. I've spent years trying to work out the perfect way to survive a midwestern winter with a sound mind, and here is what I've come up with. Spring is right around the corner but until it officially arrives, follow Laurel's advice and treat yourself to a hot toddy and get yourself moving! Thanks for sharing your tips Laurel!
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I'm pumped to be sharing a guest post from my friend Meg today on finding God while instagramming. I met Meg while we were both working on our masters degrees in Chicago, and we stayed in touch when Paul and I moved to Milwaukee. I asked Meg to do a guest post after seeing all her beautiful Instagram posts popping up on my Facebook news feed. I loved her perspective and the things she captured in her photos. Meg currently works as a college campus minister and shares her photos at Megotraveler on Instagram. Thanks for writing and for sharing your photos Meg! If you're interested in writing a guest post please send me a message at [email protected]. I'm accepting submissions that incorporate the theme of where you find gratitude and joy in your life. Read other guest posts here. About a year and a half ago I bought a fancy phone (read: phone with a data plan). I was stepping up in the world. I was about to graduate with a Masters degree. I was going to find the perfect job. And I was in the process of beginning the rest of my life. Why not get a fancy phone and celebrate the moment? Well, things didn’t go as planned and so the phone seemed more like a cheap parting gift, and at times I wondered if I should have gotten it in the first place. It sure didn’t help me find a job (that took over a year). And it sure didn’t get me that degree (I earned that way before). I was restless, and in a state of limbo, and so I did what any young, hip, overly educated person might do. I piled the phone with Apps and hoped for the best. This might not have been the most frugal decision, but one particular App became the conduit to seeing the world around me in a totally refreshing way. Call me crazy, or even blasphemous, but the App called Instagram helped me see God in the world around me. And I even found joy in the mind-numbing task of looking for work. In reality, taking pictures of my life and then feeding them through the Instagram filters became a part of my daily living. In fact, Instagramming helped me pay attention, share my observations with others, and push me out of my apartment and into the world. This pattern became a recipe of sorts and maybe a bit of evidence for the redemption of the fancy phone. So how did Instagram help me find God?
certain pre-tense in my picture posting. I just saw so many beautiful things around me and I wanted to share that with everyone I knew, and those that “followed me”. I took pictures of the food I was making and eating, and even got ideas from other Instagramers that I followed. Every ginkgo tree served as my muse, and people connected those images to me because I LOVE those trees. I started to take pictures of strange things as well, and people wondered where I was and how they could get there too. I started to embrace the perspective that the things I took pictures of brought joy to others as well. Although my photographs could never replace the intimacy of a conversation or a letter, Instagram helped provide me a way to remain connected to people I cared about, and let them know that I was doing ok. It could have all been a ruse, but at least my family saw that I was fed, that I filled my day with good people, and that I was getting out of the apartment to do something other than job hunting. And at the end of the day, I began to receive feedback that others were looking forward to my pictures, and wondered what adventure was next on my list. Could it be that my pictures were helping people see the world in a different way as well? 3. I went on adventures SO THAT I could take pictures. It was hard to find things to look forward to when I didn't have a job to go to, or little milestones to work towards. I had to fight the temptation to think that I was stuck in this place forever, and that my life was going nowhere fast with unemployment. So while I was taking pictures it started to feel that each image was uncharted territory. I would go on a walk with a friend, take a picture of some trees changing in the autumn, and wonder what it would look like if I came back to that same location in the winter. That wondering became a list of places to visit. I found that neighborhood festivals in the city were perfect grounds for people doing funny things, so I took the initiative and planned my day around applying for a few jobs and then rewarding myself with a new experience. Within time I found that my weekends were full of good people and that we were having fun seeing things together. I got out in the world and lived my life…and captured each and every moment of it. After a while, it felt like each picture I took was a moment of gratitude. I could seek a moment out, live in that presence, take a picture of it, and then share it with people I cared about it. Each adventure was a way for me to find more beauty and experiment with lighting and filters. Additionally, each adventure really nourished a spontaneous side of me that could have easily have been squashed in the low budget, depressed, and worried state of not having a job. I could have been stuck there, but I chose to live my life….maybe so that I could take the best pictures. But I also wondered if my adventures encouraged others to do the same? I’ve read a lot of articles about Instagram. There is a lot of criticism out there about this App. I guess that the
fancy filters can make it seem that people are living a sexy, glamorous life, but inside they are really sad and depressed. I’ve heard that people simply take pictures and don’t really experience the moment. And I’ve gathered that some believe that connection to technology draws people out of relationship with each other and into a complicated relationship with a machine. That’s probably all true to some extent. Maybe even true of my own experience, and at the same time I would stress that intentionality can shift the wind of an experience. At a time when I prayed for purpose and joy and connection in my life I ended up finding all of that in my living. Instagram became a neat tool to use but I never intended for it to be a replacement in living my life or making it look like anything it wasn’t. So at the end of the day I'm glad that I have the ability to take pictures, that I can seize the day and go on an adventure, and that my desire to share beauty with others continues, all for the greater glory of sharing God’s world with others. I'm very pleased to share a guest post from my friend Amy with you today! I met Amy when we were both living in Chicago and participating in events with the White Rose Catholic Worker. Amy says this about her life: "I spent the past several years experimenting with truth and living the gospel in Catholic Worker communities in Chicago and New York. I now live and work at the Jonah House community with my husband Ted and we are expecting our first child." Her reflection is longer than my usual posts, but it is so beautiful and so perfect for this autumn season. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and lovely photos Amy! As an adult, I have seldom been worried about losing anything. Besides a brief sense of grief and betrayal after having my bike stolen, I can’t think of an instance over the past several years in which I felt or feared something being painfully taken from my life. This left an odd gap in my emotional universe that I would absurdly try to fill by conjuring up instances in which loved ones died or I was restricted to bed rest and had to grapple with a life of confinement. But I didn’t worry about these things. I watched them like plays, sometimes had a good cry or used my morbid fancies as fodder for an exercise in melodramatic writing. Though I did experience a sense of “missing something,” I also took pride in this lack of worry about losing. I chalked it up to a sense of healthy detachment. This detachment, to some degree, came naturally, but it was also something cultivated over time. I’d recognized over the years, the constant grappling and the deep traps people, including myself, would fall into because of an unhealthy relationship to which they were deeply attached. I’d seen the stressful and guilty compromise that came from an attachment to a job or social position a person was desperate to keep. I’d read the work of many a Christian mystic and Buddhist philosopher and thought, “Aha, I must have successfully achieved detachment!” Contentedly single, I confidently gave advice to friends struggling with a partnership or the lack thereof. I counseled with people in transition struggling with what they were leaving behind; the home, the work, the relationships. I believe in the significance of healthy detachment as a tool to understand one’s self and one’s perception of reality and to navigate right relationships with people and things. However, I’m beginning to wonder if what I personally had been experiencing was not so much this form of detachment as a long spell of living without being in love with anyone or anything. Recently, I moved to Baltimore. I live in a communal home on a cemetery. If living on a cemetery sounds unappealing to you, you’ve never seen this one. It is holy ground and it is, paradoxical to its function, full of life. These twenty-two acres are filled with fruit trees, a garden, a little forest inhabited by deer and a fox and about a dozen feral cats, as well as four guinea fowl who fill me with delight every time I see them. I fell in love with this little corner of creation during my first visit, before I ever dreamed of living here, and that love grows each day; I imagine how I can contribute to its beatification and preservation and how I can derive ways to thoughtfully share it with others who may not for whatever reason have access to such a space. Since I’ve lived here, I’ve noticed something strange growing inside me. The joy of spending each day on this land is accompanied by a growing anxiety. What if we’re not allowed to stay? This is property owned by the archdiocese. What if they tell us they tell us they don’t want us here anymore? This anxiety does not come from any legitimate concern. The Church in Baltimore has had an mutually amicable agreement with Jonah House for twenty years and when it was revealed new young people were coming in there was only enthusiasm – so why the anxiety? I have a sense of a future here, ideas of projects that will fill years to come. This is someplace I want to live, I love it and I’m worried about losing it. A few nights ago, my husband, Ted, with whom I’ve shared just over a year of married life, went to bed and fell asleep before me. This is a rare occurrence and gave me the opportunity to lie beside him and look at him and consider who he is and who he is to me. An increasingly familiar sensation came over me as I contemplated this dear man; along with the sweet swelling of love, I felt a twinge of fear. What if something happened to separate us? What if he died? Ted is not sick; he is not a fireman or a soldier or someone whose life is continually in danger. But, I watch the news. I saw in India that yet another building collapsed on its residents. They weren’t doing anything dangerous, many were simply sleeping. I know that in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Pakistan a drone can drop a bomb on an innocent family sharing a meal in their home. Closer to our own home, seldom a day goes by that I don’t hear about a shooting in Baltimore. My concern though, I admit, is not so specific. I don’t expect anything particular, the feeling is more general. I recognize that I view this fragile human life as one that is integral to mine. I grow ever more in love with him, I imagine a future together with him and I am worried about losing him. As I consider this sensation of worry accompanying love, I recognize that it is not something new that has developed but something dormant that has resurfaced. When I was a child, I had nightmares almost every night. Though the content varied, more often than not the terror centered around something happening to one of my siblings – usually kidnappings, sometimes murder and diseases were a few of the ways that I lost those who were most beloved to me. I remember, before my sister Grace was even born and long before I had any consciousness of debates about abortion I had a dream that my parents had decided not to go through with her birth. This dream struck me with such sadness that it weighed on me after I awoke and for days to come. I think, over the years, I had learned to cope with the fear that accompanies love by loving less. Not to say there were not people or places or things I treasured. On the contrary I’ve friends that feel as close as family and places I continually revisit in memory, if not in person. But I approached all those relationships with a clause of impermanence. I may stay in touch, but I will move on. I began every job and relationship with the preliminary thought, “this is not likely to last.” I didn’t live in the same house for more than a year or in the same region for more than three years. Now, an enduring commitment to a particular person and to a particular place has robbed me of that strange security of transience. I am sincerely attempting rootedness in an ever-shifting world. In marriage, the tool of detachment, as I had utilized it before, no longer brought the sense of healthy boundaries it had but acted instead as an infringement on the intimacy and trust that are so key to the unique bond Ted and I had intentionally chosen. Likewise, to always have the attitude, “I can leave at any time,” while trying to form a new community, inhibits me from being a truly engaged participant both in challenges and in celebrations. I do believe in healthy detachment but I am learning to detach not from love and its inherent risks but from the accompanying fear of loss. Each time I feel that fear creep in I try to remind myself to transform it with gratitude and the paradoxically peaceful urgency of treasuring each moment I have with this person, this place, this way of life. I practice trust in a God that abides as everything else changes and that this God is the source of love that abides even if, even when, the objects of our love are lost. I practice recognizing that what I love is not mine to own but a tremendous gift to experience and engage with, with thanksgiving, as long as I am able. Really, nothing is mine except the moment by moment opportunity to live out love… and that is one thing that is worth holding onto.
Today Finding Joy is featuring a guest post from my friend Kate from Say Yes! Change Things. We met while we were volunteering in Syracuse, New York, and we recenlty reconnected through the blogging world. I love Kate's reflections on her blog, and I am so happy to share her thoughts with you! When in the summer, Mary asked me if I would guest post, I jumped at the chance! I love Mary's words and felt honored to be asked. But, I may have overlooked the new and radical change that was upcoming: GRADUATE SCHOOL! Nevertheless, I wanted to write. Yet, have not found the time to let alone think these words, lest even write them. Further, once school began, the focus became adjustment. Survival. Transition. So where is joy? I find myself challenged to answer this honestly. The gut reaction is "What? Joy? I don't know! I'm so overwhelmed as it is, who has time to contemplate joy?". Oh, what's that inner voice? Me! Joy elements from today:
One thing I don't want to loose in graduate school is balance. This means moments to explore, to laugh, to love, to find incredible joy. Whether it's yoga one day, and improv show another, or a deep belly laugh with new friends, these moments are the essence of my joy. Sure, finding and honoring this necessity will be different than before, but I am committed because balance and joy are deeply intertwined. So, for me, I want to still seek and be surprised by the moments of joy that abound, especially in the busyness. Life won't always be at this frenetic pace. But while it is, its' important to find my joy. It's my essence. Photos by Mary.
Note from the editor: no dogs were harmed in the writing of this post. If you haven't done so already, be sure to leave a comment here for a chance to win my favorite summer cookbook! Giveaway closes tomorrow.
Dear Mary, As your favorite alpha dog, I would like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to write about your blog. I have been a religious follower over the last 7 dog years. Wow, how time has passed. Here are some of my favorite postings in no particular order. Diego the Beagle Diego is relatively new to this doggie pack. He came to us in about the last dog year. Though Mary gets it wrong that he is the best cuddler, he is still one of my best friends. Walking Pedro Walks are my second favorite thing of the day (eating is my favorite time of day, OF COURSE). My favorite part of this post is how Mary reveals that she is obsessed with me. Silly human. Pedro the Beagle I do not understand what you are talking about when you say you take turns voicing what I am thinking. I am quite capable of speaking in my native tongue. I say hello to my doggie friends who pass by and to my humans when they come home after being gone a long time. Pedro found a fan I still do not understand how that thing works. It is almost as baffling as that mystery dog I saw on the coffee table last night. Acceptance You talk about my smelling habits. You realize I am a beagle, right? The best hunting dog in the world (notice how many strangers tell you that)? If you let me hunt rabbits like I want to, you might understand that better. Gratitude: My Dog Pedro One of the best pictures of me ever. Well, I have done enough writing for the day. I am going to go to guard the house now. With Loving Affection, Don Pedro P.S. This is my least favorite posting. Such animal cruelty! P.P.S. Diego says "I love you!" I'm very excited to share a quest post from Katie Morroni who is sharing 28 joys from her 28th birthday. Katie and I went to high school together in St. Louis and roomed together during our trip to Italy our freshmen year. We go way back! Katie made a great resolution to write down 28 joys every day for the next year. So happy to share the start of her challenge here! You can follow Katie on twitter here.
28 joys on my 28th birthday mountain views… familiar friends who know you and allow you to grow… unexpected new friendships… the stillness and contentment of solitude… orange sunsets… the smell of old books… hot breakfast… cold water down a sore throat… my husband's soft kisses… the smiles of strangers passing on the street… friendly flowers… tasting something new… unexpected phone calls… picnics… a friend who backs you up… the comfort of a sweet dog drawing near… handing over anxieties to the Sacred Heart… public libraries more than 100 years old… mini-champagne cans… taking 20,000 steps in one day… public parks of all sizes, especially the tiny ones… the warmth and weight of a light blanket on a summer day… my husband's smile… unexpected gifts… affirmations of joy and peace… little, simple luxuries… planted roses… feeling encircled in joy and the warmth of many positive thoughts I'm very excited to share Finding Joy's first guest post! Sara from Fabularz: In Pursuit of Fabulous is sharing her thoughts on finding joy in small things. Sara is a St. Louisan/Bostonian who loves everything international and fabulous! I know Sara from high school and have always loved her small but mighty nature. Enjoy! I cried when my pediatrician told me I wouldn’t get any taller. But he was right. I was always the smallest kid in my class, and I’m still the smallest person in my family. I believe our physical characteristics do a lot to shape our personalities and attitudes. The really short kids usually grow up self-conscious and a bit defensive (the really tall kids probably feel this to an extent, too, or really any kid who stands out for a noticeable difference). It took me a while to shift my attitude from “small as weakness” to “small as strength.” But it turns out that being small is pretty great, and particularly the concept of feeling small has huge lessons and benefits on the way I live my life. But you don’t have to be below-average height to feel the strength of small. Here are three major areas where feeling small is most meaningful in my life: Feeling small in a big world I travel a lot, for work and for fun, and I surround myself with people who plan on stepping foot on every continent. My favorite part about travel, equal to the joy of learning about new cultures, is the feeling of modesty it gives me. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in our own personal drama. The best remedy for that? Going face-to-face with a breathtaking mountain range. Going to a massive religious structure belonging to a faith you’re unfamiliar with. Going to a city where you are completely illiterate and need to rely on sign language or pictures to express what you want. It’s humbling. Compared to the magnitude of natural wonders and the dizzying flow of an unfamiliar culture, our squabbles seem minuscule and even irrelevant. Travelling makes me feel small, and it feels great. Having a small space in a big city I have always lived in cities, some of them massive (Beijing) and some of them medium (St. Louis). One of my favorite parts of cities is the way people manipulate small spaces to create their homes. We live in a society where “big” is glorified – superstores, mega-mansions, and cars that could double as boats – but living in the tight quarters of a city makes you question all that. I am forced to be considerate of my neighbors who would not be happy with a noisy party and of my fellow commuters who have to share space on a packed train. I have to think about every purchase I make, because we don’t have customized walk-in closets or garages to store the occasionally used things. And I like it that way. If I find myself wishing I had more storage space or fewer neighbors, I remind myself that stockpiling stuff is not freeing but disabling, and that sharing small spaces makes me more tolerant, selfless, and cooperative. Small judgments make big impressions
A question that I still get a lot from people is, always awkwardly, “…but how old are you?” My height, weight, and I guess youthful looking face make people think I’ve barely graduated high school. This used to make me feel annoyed and insecure. But as I went through the graduate school and job search process, I realized this was actually an advantage: the younger people think I am, the more impressed they are when they find out all that I have accomplished! Acknowledging my smallness ends up making me feel more confident. But more importantly, it’s taught me a valuable lesson about how I treat others: replace assumptions with conversations. Just as I don’t want people jumping to conclusions about me, I cannot let my assumptions get in the way of my new relationships. If your knowledge is small, grow it. |