Ten things

Recent musings/notes/lessons from a life being lived

Human Stuff is a free weekly newsletter. If you’d like to create reciprocity for my work and also access my monthly audio recording & journaling guide, I invite you to become a paid subscriber. Your support means so much. 

Please feel free to share parts of this newsletter that connect with you on social media or send to someone you love.

---

A song I’ve been loving:

The open road in Utah, 2013.

TEN THINGS.

1. Part of me is trying to convince the rest of me it isn’t okay to share a somewhat random list on Substack — that it must be a long-form essay between 1500-2000 words or it isn’t worth anyone’s time, isn’t nourishing, isn’t enough. God. That old voice is so quick to reveal itself these days, which is a relief — I know it’s not actually me thinking those things, and it no longer lingers — but it’s also a reminder that we might have to contend with certain voices/beliefs/fears within us for a lifetime. We may not be able to meditate or self-compassion or exercise or green juice or journal or (anything) our way out of it sometimes. But we can learn to relate to those inner voices, and to ourselves, in new ways. We can catch it quicker, and respond a little more kindly, and let in the goodness when it comes, too. All of this feels small moment to moment, but it is everything.

2. I took my first night away from my daughter this past Tuesday for a quick getaway to Big Sur with my Sister. I was afraid of and guilty about leaving at first, thinking I was doing something wrong or being selfish for taking time for myself. It turned out to be absolute magic and when I got back home, I felt even more present with my baby, more attuned to her quirks, more delighted by her antics. I felt more me, more connected to we, more alive. And that is exactly what I want for her — a mother who is more than a mother. It’s exactly what I want for all of us — whole, full humans who get to exist beyond any single part, knowing each part only amplifies the rest in ways that bring us closer to what matters.

   

   Moments in a dreamscape

3. It’s so damn hard to know someone is misunderstanding you, not seeing you clearly, or not assuming the best about you… and choosing not to try to convince them otherwise. It’s so tempting to make sure everyone knows our intentions, knows where we’re coming from, knows we’re goodhearted or humble or kind… and it hurts to be seen in ways that feel deeply inaccurate, deeply un-attuned to who we really are. Yet when we can let others hold their views of us, without doing the mental gymnastics of trying to convince/prove/show, we remind ourselves of what is and isn’t our responsibility, what is and isn’t in our control, what is and isn’t our problem. None of this is easy — but the work of allowing others to be who they are is a whole lot more fulfilling than the exhausting work of convincing/proving/showing that often doesn’t lead to the results we hope it will.

4. A good 24 hours can shift so much. It can uproot energy that has been stuck for months; it can create ample opportunities for belly laughter; it can turn around a heaviness that has felt parked right on top of your chest; it can remind you of what is possible, of the fact that you are cherished, of the beauty that exists when we choose to look for it, even amid the pain, the grief, the fear. Sometimes, all we need is a quick change of pace, a change of scenery, a change of momentum to bring us back to ourselves, back to our aliveness, back to who we really are.

5. Let people support you. Let yourself need. Let yourself not try to hold it all up on your own. Let your knees wobble in front of others. Let hurt and hope be held. Let your flaws exist out loud. Let yourself fail. Let yourself not know. Let yourself embrace help. Let yourself detach from the notion of needing equaling weakness. Let yourself listen to what may be made easier by no longer trying to do it alone.

6. The grief of letting go is usually more meaningful than the grief of clinging to what is no longer needed, supportive, or nourishing. It often feels more comfortable to maintain the status quo when it’s what we are used to… but that comfort doesn’t equate to aliveness. It doesn’t lead to alignment. It doesn’t create the spaciousness and room necessary to grow, to pivot, to hear ourselves, to honor what’s calling. I always feel a deep wave of grief when I finally make decisions I know I’ve needed to make… and the grief of that feels a lot more whole than the grief of never making the changes and wondering what could have been.

7. I still don’t really know what I’m doing career-wise. I’m in the process of working on another book outline — and I’m brainstorming new offerings — and I’m writing. But other than that, I have no plans or five year goals, which feels scary. I occasionally feel like I’m falling behind or becoming irrelevant by not continuously creating new things. I’m also getting a little shaky in thinking about the financial aspect of being a creative and not knowing exactly what’s next. But it has also felt incredibly freeing to give myself time — to rest — to not be devoted to work in the way I was for so long, but to instead be devoted to remembering myself again after becoming a mother and making some deep, major changes. I am eager to figure out what is next in my work, and I am practicing patience and grace with myself in the liminal and confusing meantime.

   

   More beauty from my time in Big Sur this week.

8. I forget myself over and over again. And I remember myself over and over again. The point isn’t to never forget; it’s to cultivate ways of returning when we stray. The point isn’t to never lose sight of our truth; it’s to create ways of coming back to ourselves when things get fuzzy. I used to believe I was failing every time I forgot who I was or what mattered — every time I waded out into a depression or experienced doubt — every time life felt hard. Now, I know that’s just part of my experience of being human, and isn’t something to desperately try to fix. Instead, I know those are moments I need to tend to myself with care, utilize support, and trust myself to return to my truth when I’m ready. It is such a relief to stop trying to fix and change it all — to instead practice being with it all.

9. There is a difference between always having more growth to do because you are human, and thinking you need to constantly grow because you're deficient. There is a difference between orienting toward self-exploration with compassion, and orienting toward self-mining for what's wrong. There is a difference between recognizing and honoring our tender spots, and continuously going over them until they feel like our identity. There is a difference between acknowledging the areas we still struggle with, and assuming the fact that we still struggle in some areas means we're bad, broken, or not doing enough. It is never all or nothing. We will always have more to do, more to understand, more to move through. Growth, healing, and transforming are never done. Yet when we change the way we orient toward those things, they become less about urgently fixing ourselves and more about knowing we deserve a life with less challenge, less difficulty, less pain. Showing up for ourselves from that place, even when we continue struggling in certain ways, is everything.

10. Unrelated yet somehow related recommendations for tending to your heart, your soul, your spirit: Pastries. Animals. Sunsets. Long drives on windy roads. A good playlist. Colored pencils to scribble with. Purging stuff you don’t need. Calling the person you miss. Naming what you want. Soup night multiple nights per week. Bookshop visits. Baby awe. Talking to strangers. Making lists of things on your heart. Silliness. Less fixing, more being with. A view of the ocean. Stepping away from roles and identities for a while to just notice all of yourself. Good company. Laying on the ground. Prioritizing being comfortable over looking cool. Buying the cookie for later. Starting over. Again and again. Forever.

PS. A reminder for those who are dreading the upcoming holidays (for many, at least):
You get to honor your boundaries, honor your needs, honor your desires… even if they differ from those around you. You get to listen to what feels most nourishing for you. You get to say no when you need to and say yes when you want to. You get to set limits on your time and energy. You get to tend to yourself before putting everyone else first. It’s uncomfortable to disappoint others; sometimes, we do need to make compromises. But within all of that is the truth that your own well-being, health, and vitality matters, too, and you are allowed to do what you need to tend to it — to you. Take good care, everyone. And may you find some sense of groundedness, of peace, of presence amid it all.

△ These words, over and over:

△ "Belonging Through Connection, Connecting Through Love: Oneself, the Other, and the Earth" This conversation moved me so deeply. bell hooks is a forever teacher.

△ I loved this blog post on transitions from Elise Loehnen

△ I really appreciated and connected with this essay from

Fanny Priest

On The Discomfort of Slowing Down

△ Dani Shapiro’s podcast, Family Secrets, is so fascinating and moving:

△ It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Holiday Social Anxiety

△ “The energy spent on questioning why somebody has something you don’t is just burned fuel. Use it to create something else.”

△ A place to explore the land you reside on

△ My Sister and I stayed at one of our favorite places in Big Sur. Each room has a guestbook and as we were reading through, we kept seeing people mention a cat named Peewee visiting their room. It was around 8:30pm and I quietly poked my head out the door of our cabin, called out, “Peewee?” and the sweetest tabby came running up the stairs, into our room, and jumped onto our bed. She stayed there until the morning, sleeping with us the entire night. I still don’t understand how things like this just happen but it made me incredibly happy. Love you, Peewee.

Peewee, our esteemed guest for the night.

△ Thank you for this (see below) — your support means so much and truly helps sustain my work. It’s such a joy and honor to share here each week, even when I have no idea how it will land or where it will lead. I’m incredibly grateful for this space and for your presence here… it’s been a big gift in so many ways.

So grateful.

With care,
Lisa