Weekly Jetsam 3.26.23
talking about puttering and sharing poetry by Arielle Estoria
The equinox was on Monday & I didn’t skip a beat. I’ve been celebrating the return of two of my favorite things.
Thing #1: I turned on the outdoor shower.
A quick glance at the 10 day forecast at 6am the other morning & I ran into the basement and turned it on. I love starting my mornings listening to the birds during my shower. Bonus—the shower inside stays cleaner.
Thing #2: This week also felt like the official return of “puttering season”.
Puttering always seems like a term reserved for middle-aged, white dad’s, but I am an outdoor putter-er. Walking circles around my yard, picking up a stick here, moving this bird feeder there—it’s like mediation to me. Puttering inside makes me feel like a caged animal. Puttering outdoors makes me feel like a creative, grounded genius.
Lastly, thank you for all the interaction on my SHEDDING newsletter last week! It’s always fun when the oddball things in my brain connect with others!
Between puttering & human-ing this week, I’m only sharing one thing with you this week, but it’s the one that moved me the most!
I adore podcasts for the intimate conversations & being “introduced” to amazing new humans. This week, the Good Life Project let me to Arielle Estoria.
I listened to her interview TWICE in 24 hours & had her book purchased before the end of my first listen. Her poetry is beautiful & she created a beautiful framework around what she calls “the unfolding”- the process of coming home to ourselves.
Find her book The Unfolding here.
I mean I FELT this poem in my bones. Listening to her read it is even more powerful (scroll down for the YouTube video).
GLORIOUS By Arielle Estoria I have grown familiar with the feeling of holding out my hands with the expectation that I will pull them away empty that a catastrophe would be made in every moment, that instead of shooting stars, atomic bombs will end up falling so afraid that a solar eclipse automatically implies there will be only darkness and I will not notice that the light always returns I have this bad habit of believing that all good things that happen to me are not actually for me that somehow they dodged the person they were meant for and wound up in my lap by happenstance I once attended a retreat where they asked us if the glass was half full or half empty and I said, "Both," but it doesn't matter because it's not my glass to begin with I told them that even though glorious opportunities have happened to me, they did not have my name on them someone else dropped them and I just so happened to be the next one to pass by and picked them up I was asked, "So what does that mean you need to learn to accept?" I said, "I guess it means I need to believe that I am deserving of glorious opportunities." "I am deserving of glorious opportunities."" I am deserving of glorious opportunities. "Now say it with your hands out, like you're receiving." I stood there with my hands open and tears falling down my face see, I am fully aware of the fact that I am human and flawed that the mediocrity of my humanity often shadows the still hint of sparkle in my dust It often blocks the fact that I am human and grace filled and swimming with purpose that there is nothing happenstance about my existence or the things that happen to me that my story is weaved with intention even when I think it is not I want to expect more shooting stars than atomic bombs these days and be in awe of the change that comes after a solar eclipse and learn to sit in the darkness when it arrives take in the moment, wear it like the warmest blanket I've ever worn and then find the light again because the light will always be there I want to look at the glass and know that no matter how much is inside of it, its purpose is to hold things so it doesn't matter if it's half full or half empty it is simply doing what it was made to do. I want to hold out my hands grasp the glorious parts of life as if I were holding on to raindrops watch them bounce on my palms and still find them marvelous even when they disappear because even if they aren't mine to hold forever at some point–no matter how long ago they were still mine and they were glorious
Not really a quote today, but a meme that made me chuckle. This is what I feel like internally on sunny spring days:
Are you enjoying what you are reading? Have ideas for what you’d like to see more or less of? Want to chat? Reach out.
My journal, Lessons from Nature is now out. You can find it here.
Maggie, The poem is extremely powerful. Thank you for sharing. Love the Spring Strut too - D