Do you ever have a spell of time where, either because you’re busy or because you fall into one of life’s mysterious boggy patches, you lose track of what most brings you to life?

This happened to me recently.

April’s poetry celebration kept me on the hop, as well as the millions of projects and people that swirl around a self-created working life like mine.

And someone I love died, too, and that opens up all the questions and that can dance you right into the dark without you realizing what’s happening.

Not sleeping – not by choice, I assure you – has also taken a toll.

Before you know it, things look a little bleak. Not terrible. But not your usual excitement and optimism. A little shadowed. Less spring in your step. Less eagerness and confidence for the future and less pleasure in the present.

When I was younger, I believed that we could simply choose to feel differently – and I do still believe this is sometimes an option. Growing up, on the rare occasions when I was snarly or unpleasant, my mother used to send me upstairs to “change my attitude.” That was one of the greatest lessons in my life because – it worked! I found I could go upstairs, adjust my thoughts, make a choice, and come down renewed and happier. (And while it’s great to be able to do this at someone else’s request, it’s even better to do it just for yourself, because you decide you want to feel better).

Now, though, I think there are times when patience and gentleness are the best remedy. We just hunker down and wait it out.

While we do, it’s soothing to return to the most enduring and reliable interests and occupations. For me, those are – not surprisingly – music, reading, writing, and walking. I think it’s worth thinking about what these things are for you. They bring pleasure and well-being in good times, and they deliver solace and steadying grace in the more challenging patches.

My Medicines

These last weeks, I have been playing “The Entertainer” every single day. I wonder if my neighbors are gritting their teeth. “Joplin – again?” I never really mastered it as a kid, and so these last weeks I’ve relished the chance to train my left hand to make those stride leaps and to open up my right hand to those big octave chords. I’ve fallen in love all over with the sheer joy and inventiveness of the piece. I find myself wishing I could meet Scott Joplin and thank him. I hope he knows how much joy his music has brought to all of us.

The woods, too, never disappoint. Companion of my girlhood, they continue to teach and befriend me. There are treasures, surprises, and beauties to be savored on every visit. Just now, it’s the arrival of the mountain laurel that has me entranced – those cunning origami buds opening to flowers that from a distance look like snowfall. Woods-walking is often the thing that comes easiest to me, the thing I’m most tempted to do when I can’t sort myself out. I’ve sometimes accused myself of escaping this way (because it’s certainly easier and more pleasurable than solving many of the most vexing problems in a house or business), but I’ve decided to give myself a free pass. Isn’t everything easier with a clear head and a refreshed heart?

My desk is one of the true luxuries of my life. It sits in the front corner of the house with a window looking right into the beautiful Japanese Maple (which is often full of birds and squirrels) and a large window looking out over the lake. Everything I love and need for a lovely spell of writing is right there to hand. The windowsills are full of pens and markers and bottles of fountain pen ink. The drawers are full of washi tape and notebooks. I’ve taped up cards and beautiful sayings on the door beside the desk, and I love to keep a small jar of fresh pansies or wildflowers next to the pencups. It’s blissful. I take my coffee to the desk every morning and write in various notebooks (my Jumping Fox Design notebooks or the spacious Italian EcoQua notebooks I’ve been collecting for years). It’s calm and simple, and it has helped me so much these last weeks.

Reading, too: one of my first loves! I hope to make another post to share some of my recent favorites, but here, too, the principle of old and familiar holds true. My old “friend” JB Priestley gave me great pleasure and hope in his book, Bright Day (which, when I finished it, inspired me to say out loud, “Oh thank you, JB. That was exactly what I needed.” I’ve just got hold of a marvelous book by Allie Esiri, Shakespeare for Every Day of the Year, and have relished returning to many plays and poems I’ve not read in years (or decades, or ever in some cases). Allie’s headnotes for these passages are elegant and valuable. I also loved Shelby Van Pelt’s Remarkably Bright Creatures, a book I put off reading because I was afraid that if something happened to the octopus main character I would be devastated – but so glad I finally opened it up and could not stop reading. I’m one who keeps many books on the go at the same time, and I’m also an inveterate “dipper in” – meaning, that I love to seize a book and read one poem, for instance, and then drift off to think about it.

But what if?

When things are really hard, it can be hard even to take your medicine. You know what would help, but you feel reluctant to stir and actually do it. (This is me, knowing that an epsom salt bath will help but dreading the whole production of drawing the bath and getting wet). What then?

As ever, it’s the tiniest things that begin the upward ascent. Putting on your favorite socks. Doing a few dishes to clear the counters. Listening to a song. Or lying on the couch and listening to the birds sing. The aim is to feel just the tiniest bit better, not to make some dramatic leap towards business as usual.

I’ve also found that making a list of good things happening right now in the world is very helpful to me. Here’s an example:

Right now, someone is writing a letter to a friend. Right now, a baby elephant is learning to walk. Right now, a symphony is finishing up a rehearsal for a concert that will bring great joy to an audience. Right now, a baker is cutting into a cake to share it with her neighbors. Right now, someone is finding their dog they thought lost forever. Right now, someone is waking from a delicious sleep.

I could go on forever like that. It’s great medicine for when you can’t or don’t want to DO anything. I love knowing that good things are happening in the world while I lie there, thinking.

Come back to what helps you

I like this phrase because it promises help rather than cure or restoration. It’s low pressure. Just a little help to make the day a little better.

Because – and here I am going to be very honest – I’m not always sure that getting back to the way things were is the very best outcome. Maybe this malaise has something to teach. Maybe it is time for a new way of walking in the world, and sorting that out takes time.

My goal is always quite simple: a good day. That looks different depending on the inner and outer seasons and a host of other factors. Even when I’m in a kind of “soul November” (and for more on that, I hope you’ll explore my book, A November Visit), I can touch these familiar preoccupations and feel my roots will hold.

I’m helped. I’ll be alright.

I wish that for you, my friend, and for everyone.

Please know that if you are walking in any kind of shadow right now, I am earnestly wishing you well – and contact and connection with the things that help you.