1. Morning walks. Fall in Colorado is my favorite. It’s just so gorgeous.

2. Practice. I’m loving being back practicing yoga with Red Sage and writing with my Friday morning sangha. Yesterday when we were writing, Ringo got on the bed under my writing desk WHILE I was sitting at it, which he NEVER does but I leave the bed there hoping that some day that will be his regular spot while I’m working, as it was with all my other dogs. 

In related news, here’s something I wrote yesterday in my wild writing group in response to Joy Harjo’s poem “My House is the Red Earth“:

The center of the world is a place I have no interest in going, to visit or to live. There are already too many people gathered there. Give me the edge of the world, the place that is quiet and wild and some would even say lonely, but that’s where my friends are — the trees, the river, the deer and foxes and owls and blue herons. The wildflowers and rocks. I’m okay there’s a trail worn by other feet, I just don’t need to walk with them. I have my dog and that’s enough company. This morning, we stopped by that same tree at the edge of Lincoln, the one where I saw something last time, a pair of eyes in the dark and the sound of claws climbing bark. This morning, Ringo had stopped to chew on a stick and I sneezed, startling something in the same tree, and I tried to guess what it was by the noise it made getting from the tree back to the ground. It’s the season to spot bears and mountain lions or bobcats in this area. Part of me hopes to see one, the other part doesn’t need confirmation or a confrontation. I was reminded as I looked at the deep gold of the cottonwood trees there that the fall color we see isn’t a new thing that arises but rather a revelation of what was always there, we just couldn’t see it because we were blinded by the green. It’s only when it’s too cold and dark for the trees to keep making green that the other colors reveal themselves — the orange, red, gold, and even purple that were always there in the shadow of the green. I brought it up in our yoga class yesterday. We were doing tree pose and I was reminded of the botanical facts resulting in the “change” of color in the fall. Maybe that’s me too? In the fall of my body’s life, as the estrogen and such fade, I become suddenly golden for a moment before I drop to the ground, return to the earth. I am a surge of something so bright and brilliant, you’ll stop in your tracks to wonder at me, all the more beautiful because of my impermanence.

3. Ringo. He’s going to be 11 years old in a few weeks, the day after I turn 57. He’ll officially be our oldest dog, but he doesn’t seem that old. He reminds me of my other dogs when they were about seven or eight years old. He still acts like a kid half the time, like the other day when he was SO excited to discover a forgotten ball under Sam’s couch, which I rescued for him and he proceeded to destroy in less than five minutes.

4. Being okay even when I’m not okay. This past year (or five, even 10) have been rough, and yet even when I’m at my lowest, my most broken, I know that everything will be okay, even when it isn’t.

5. My tiny family, small house, little life. One of the biggest reasons that even when I’m not okay, I’m actually good.

Bonus joy: seeing a show with Eric, getting the laundry done and put away, breakfast burritos, watching TV, listening to podcasts, clean sheets, having a plan for next weeks dinners and all the supplies and ingredients I’ll need to cook them, good neighbors, other peoples dogs and kids, other people’s Halloween costumes and decorations, plantain chips and dip, sugar (yeah, I said it — wanna fight me?!), bread (yup, I said that too!), the hydromassage chair, working out with Shelby and the gang, lifting heavy things, letting go, keeping the house cool enough to be able to wear winter clothes and sit with a blanket, my weighted blanket, my sound machine, my moon nightlight and sunrise alarm clock, waiting to walk until the sun comes up, Bluey, soup, toast, cheese, rain, walking through golden leaves, things still blooming, hibernation, listening to music, naps, a warm shower, a big glass of cold clean water, hugs, reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep. 

1. Morning walks. This week the harvest moon was a supermoon. We purposefully left early one morning when it was supposed to be at its peak to try and get some pictures, but it stayed behind the clouds until the very end of our walk. So, we walked in the dark for nothing and I didn’t get many pictures of it and also missed the sunrise that day because we walked so early — and it feels like there is a metaphor for my life in there somewhere, something about timing or trying to catch and hold on to what is unpredictable and impermanent and so beautiful it will break your heart either way. 

2. Practice. I’m so grateful for what it has taught me about sitting with discomfort, about not rushing to try and fix things or freaking out and running away, about being patient with not knowing, about ensuring I can wait until my action comes from a place of wisdom and compassion, about how to hold space for impermanence, about coming home to myself. 

3. Support and help, all the shapes and forms of it, giving it as well as receiving. 

4. Eric’s D&D “habit.” He first played with a group of friends when he was in high school. They’d stay up all night, eating snacks and making each other laugh. He was always in sports, specifically cross country, but he was also a nerd. As often happens with high school friends, people moved and started families and careers and they stopped playing together. Through some sort of magic, when we were settled in our lives here, he was invited to play again with a new group of adult friends, some of whom had played together since they were in high school. He’s been playing with them once a week for close to seven years. Each year, they have a big event where there’s a theme with multiple smaller campaigns and “dungeon masters” with a much larger crowd all in costume where they play all day. I told Eric the other day, he needs to put in his will that his collection be donated to a high school theater department because he takes it very serious and has some pretty cool costumes. An introvert like me, I’m SO glad that he’s got this group of friends, that his hobby is a nerdy one and not something like drinking or watching sports.

5. My tiny family, small house, little life. I am so lucky to have a place where I can be comfortable and safe and so loved.

Bonus joy: writing with Wendy and Cynthia, golden leaves — both on the trees and the ground, gummies, cancelled plans, cooking, grocery shopping, doing laundry, training with Shelby and the gang, the hydromassage chair, a warm shower, clean sheets, my infrared heating pad, down blankets and pillows and coats, wool socks and sweaters, slippers, being able to still laugh and cry, new notebooks, stickers, letting go, practicing yoga at Red Sage (this is the little dude who was there with us last week — watch this short video and be amazed I was able to teach a relatively coherent class with this level of cute in the room!), watching TV, listening to podcasts, four new books from the library, reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.