The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

The birds after I filled the feeders. I think all of us feel better.

Note to myself, from myself, this morning, when I realize it’s been nearly a month since I posted a blog, and I can’t imagine what to write next.  This is a bit of a problem, because if you have a blog, ideally you should write regularly. Like once a week, in an ideal world? So you can see how my blogging world is not ideal. Plus it is just a few days before Christmas, and it is “the most wonderful time of the year,” they say, but what if I wake up and it isn’t? What if it’s just me and my dirty house and my ordinary brokenness?

Maybe this is what I should say to myself:

If you are feeling sad, my dear, says my wise self to my broken self, I wonder if it is because it is 10:51 am on a grey December morning one week before Christmas and you are still in your pajamas?  Might I gently suggest that it could be a good idea to get up from the computer, where you are desperately trying to write something GOOD? Or is it that you got lost scrolling through social media apps and are saddened by all the posts from “influencers,” people who seem to have it together in a way that you never will. If this is the case, then get up right now. Turn off your phone.  Shut down the computer. Go get dressed. Getting dressed is a fine way to walk back the sadness, even a little. Fresh clothes, fresh mind, right? I just made that up, but it fits.

What then?  If you got dressed and you still feel sad?  First off, hurray for you! You are dressed!  It’s a win! But let me ask you another thing, says my wise self to my sad self.

Did you sit with silence this morning? When you first woke up, did you go to your chair, the one in the corner of your bedroom? Did you breathe softly in the darkness?  If you didn’t, that’s OK.  It’s not too late. Sometimes you lose a whole day because you think the day is ruined if you do not execute your morning routine perfectly from your first waking breath. That’s not true. Go now. Go back in your room, shut the door, and center for 20 minutes. It’s not like the sitting takes away the sadness, that is a cure for anything, but it serves to anchor you again in the Real, even if it’s for only a few seconds out of the 20 minutes. It’s not about getting it right, you know.  It’s just about showing up. Somehow, the showing up changes you.

After this? Maybe get yourself a glass of water or tea or something to eat. It might also be good to go outside. Could you feed the birds? Do they need tending? Go scoop out the red leaves that fell from the plum tree into the bird bath. Bring out a can of fresh seed. Take down the finch feeder sacks and refill them. Then grab the lazy dog who is very content these days to just sleep on the corner of the couch. Snap on his leash and head up to the cemetery. The cemetery walk is an almost guaranteed happiness booster. First, it’s a hard walk up a steep hill that gets your blood moving. Also, it takes you into the woods along a dirt path covered with pine needles. You know this is one of your favorite spots on the planet. Have you been up here lately? I think not. I’m sure you have good reasons.

Rain! Snow! Mud! Wind! No matter. Suck it up, Buttercup. This is how you feel better. You won’t be sorry.

All this takes time, says my wise self. I know you can’t do it all everyday. But you can  almost always do something. And on days when you are blessed with being able to stay home, with not having to run out for errands or school pick ups or meetings, but you get halfway through the morning and realize you feel inexplicably sad?  Remember this.  Start here.

She’s right, that wise part of me. I feel better now.  I showered and dressed, sat in silence, fed the birds. I went for a walk, drank some tea and closed Instagram. I wrote some words, words that I’m going to share. Don’t know if they are “good.”  I guess that doesn’t matter. It is a beautiful grey day, and I am still broken, but the birds are fed, and both the dog and I are walked, and here is a blog post.

Merry Christmas, friends. Thank you for being here with me.