Are you Okay?

Checking in

Hi dear one,

I’m sharing an article from the archives today; and really I want to know: How are you? What are you excited about? What are you struggling with? How are you navigating these times? Hit reply if you want to share privately, or pop something into the comments below. I answer every email and comment, though it may take me a few days. Big love to you.

From the archives: written March 2023

Yesterday I visited my almost 95-year-old neighbor, Connie. She lives at the front of Roxie Road, and originally owned the land which is now Warrior Heart Ranch.

Connie called me last week and said, “How are you? Everyone has been worried about you! Are you doing okay with the fire?” Her call brought tears to my eyes; she is such a generous and loving woman, and at almost 95 she continues to check in on the people around her.

When I visited we talked about last year’s wildfire and the impact it has had on so many of us, and she fed me her freshly-made bread. (“How long have you been making bread, Connie?” I asked her. She paused for a minute. “Well, I made my first loaf in 1945.”)

We talked about who used to live on the ranch where our community kitchen now is (David, Ruth, and their child named Pony, “now they were hippies!” Connie exclaimed with a smile), about past border disputes, and the woman down the street who had too many cows. I sat on the floor, ate bread and butter, and pet multiple dogs as I listened to stories.

After so much time focused on writing a book, creating a new website, and helping stabilize two different nonprofits it was such a joy to be slobbered on by dogs and listen to stories about people I didn’t know.

Every once in a while Connie and I would just look at each other and smile in silence, two hearts connecting in joy. As I left she hugged me and said, “Don’t forget to laugh! You can’t take things too seriously. Stay light.”

Connie has been through two major wildfires, outlived three husbands, raised her own children and mama’d many other teenagers, and has been the home where people who had no place else to go would come to get a fresh start or to finish out their days. I’m sure she has experienced much tragedy and loss and grief and heartbreak in her days. And yet, she continues to twinkle like a star, radiating light and good will and a warm heart that needs no words to let you know it is going to be okay.

Today, my heart is lighter, and I woke up inspired by Connie’s laughter and thinking about play and pleasure and why they are so essential to navigating modern life.

Pleasure is about fully receiving the tastes, touch, sounds, smells, and sights around us as gifts. The shift to showing up for what is here that enlivens our senses takes us from dragging through our days to delighting in the precious moments. When we relax and (even momentarily) celebrate the wonders around us our brain slows, we stop pushing or forcing or worrying, and answers arrive fully formed, like mushrooms popping into existence after a rainfall.

Play is about allowing ourselves to delight in our bodies and minds. Whether the play is an intellectual wondering or a physical outlet, the act of exploring and adventuring opens up our horizons. When we engage in something for the sheer fun of it, with no agenda on what we look like or if we are adulting properly, what seemed rigid can release into creative curiosity and multiple new choices.

Being in touch with our play and pleasure is to reconnect with the magical, wild child part of us, filled with possibility and wonder. And I dearly believe we need much more wild in our days. More time sitting outside listening to the wind and watching leaves. Less time mentally worrying or scrolling until we are numb. More time consciously cultivating little acts of pleasure rather than criticizing ourselves for not getting enough done or making another impossible to finish to do list.

I believe play and pleasure are revolutionary, not something to give ourselves as a reward, but something that is as important as breathing and eating.

These are hard times, so we actually need to amp up our play and pleasure, not bury them under the weight of false responsibility or caretaking.

Take a moment to stop and imagine someone like Connie — an elder who has lived through wars, loss, grief, enormous changes — giving you a tight hug and saying:

“Don’t forget to laugh! You can’t take things too seriously. Stay light.”

How can you take this wisdom into your days to stay more sustainable, active, creative, hopeful, intuitive, and present? Share what keeps you strong, or any stories of encouraging elder moments from your experience.