Our little neck of the woods has finally gotten that much needed rain. But now, the flood gates have opened wide with no let-up in sight. Our grasslands are lush and green now. But with more major storms the land will erode, but the lakes will fill up. There is beauty in both.

          I’ve been pondering the notion that instead of just making a New Year’s resolution, a better idea might be to continually make them—by going within ourselves and touching base with our own hearts. For me, this seems to help with my effort to remain open-minded about things. EVERYTHING. You know that country song line, “You’ve got to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything,”? It states the opposite of having an open mind and the antithesis of what I think we all need right now. The more entrenched we are in anything, the less we are able to move around and be free. This includes our minds. It feels to me like it’s time to get out of the quicksand because we are all sinking fast.

            It could be in all of our best interests to break free of our habit of needing constant input (noise). The more time we spend plugged in, the less comfortable we are without it. Perhaps it’s a little like quitting smoking, but just as important. I’m referring to social media, news, podcasts—anything which pulls us into thinking that our stance on something is completely correct and justified and that the other or opposite is completely wrong. There can be elements of both, and everything in between, in any viewpoint. We can lose sight of this sometimes when we don’t pause to reflect and listen to our own silence within—on a regular basis.

            Steering clear of verbal excess no matter the topic, either listening or voicing, might be a start. As we each face our own challenges, be it health, financial, familial, or relationships—may we try to recognize what challenges others might be facing as well.   

            As I take the time to wander through the canyon, pausing often to simply stand and stare, my soul is restored. This chaparral bathing, as I call it, similar to the term forest bathing, resets my mind and body. No earbuds or headsets or smart watch or Fitbit or any other manmade device to distract me from what is here and now. After all, isn’t that all any of us really have? It’s the real deal and I believe it’s worth showing up for.

            Of course, it can be difficult to remain present and it takes more than a bit of persistence to remember to pay attention to what’s right in front of us, right now, instead of allowing the mind to highjack these moments with its own preoccupations. Repeatedly I have to shake my head to clear the clutter in my mind before I miss something far more valuable than those circular tracks playing nonstop in my brain. Sound familiar?

            How about when our kid, grandchild or student wants to show us something? We may look up from our phone to glance at it and then mutter how nice it is. Did we really look at it? Was our response authentic or automatic? I think we know the answer to this and have all been there before. How much we all must miss with our unconscious behavior.

            Our kids and grandchildren came and spent New Year’s Eve with us, the second in a row. When the youngest one, three-year-old Zoe, needed something more than board games to interest her, I gave her some paper and a box of crayons so she could entertain herself at the table with us. That did the trick and we continued our festivities with everyone having a good time. The next morning, we all made breakfast together and enjoyed the fire in the woodburning stove in the living room. When it came time for them to leave, I snagged Zoe’s artwork from the previous night and went to hand it to them to take home. Of course, they already had a mountain of such scribbles at home and suggested that I keep it, so I set it aside. You see, I also have a plethora of such papers so I didn’t think much about it until I was tidying up later.

            Zoe’s self-portrait sat on the old sewing machine cabinet in the kitchen for days before I decided that more things needed to be put away. It was at this juncture that I picked it up and finally really looked at it. I couldn’t just stick it in the folder with the other pretty pictures. I realized that this piece of art was truly remarkable. At least to me it was. So, I put it on the refrigerator with magnets. Here, I can take notice of it every day, if I’m paying attention. This also helps to remind me to make an effort to remain more present and attentive to what’s here and now. Hopefully this way, I will miss out on fewer precious moments. Happy New Year, everyone!   

Chi Varnado has six published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail, are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.

          It’s no wonder that when we think about being grateful, it’s almost always for those things that are truly positive, with very few, if any, negative associations that come along with it. We like to bring up memories that evoke only warm, fuzzy feelings. Like that great vacation in Hawaii, or of our wonderful family (thinking of that day when we were all getting along so well), or perhaps the raise we got at work (just in time for the holidays). These are all good things to be thankful for.

            But what about those rather horrible things that happen? Events such as a fire that consumes everything you own or a terrible illness that you manage to survive? Often there can be silver linings if we look deeply, or after enough time has passed, enabling us to view the event from a broader perspective. Sometimes when we are in the thick of things, the best we can do is remember the phrase, “This too shall pass.” Our human condition is multi-layered and complex which can leave us burned out and depressed if we don’t learn how to value some of the downs as well as the ups.

            I suppose one of those downs for me has been a lifetime of frequent headaches. I got them as a kid, while a teen, during my middle adult years, and still do to this day. If I checked out every single time I had one, then I would never have accomplished anything—the college degrees, the dance career, raising a family, writing… And believe me, I’ve worked on myself a lot, trying to find possible causes: food, stress, genetics. So, to lessen them as best I can, I try to get bodywork done, meditate, exercise, eat right, spend time in nature, and laugh. I think these things help, but they haven’t been a cure—so I endure.

            The other night, after dragging myself out of bed with a throbbing head, self-massaging my neck, brewing a cup of coffee and swallowing some Advil, I settled into the recliner with a heating pad on my shoulder and an ice pack behind my neck. I gazed out the window at the millions of twinkling stars and took slow, deep breaths. My hands wrapped around the warm mug gratefully as I closed my eyes. This is often a time, I realize, that the thought of thankfulness registers in my brain. That, of course, is if it’s not one of those extra nasty ones that make me sick. I remember times like this when I was raising young children, of it being one of the rare instances I took for myself. In the quiet of the night, I could allow my thoughts and dreams to wander and sometimes it felt magical. And for this I was grateful.

            Getting up in the middle of the night can be a time when we are able to be alone in the quiet and slow down, allowing ourselves the space to wonder. Without the usual distractions we can go outside and observe the night sky and relish how different our world looks in the relative darkness. Here in the canyon, I get to witness the shining boulders in the moonlight or the constellations, and listen to the songs of the owls and poorwills. Then I smile and remember how grateful I am to be right here, right now.

            I’m sure we all sense, at times, the beauty amidst the storm. Whether it be how good we notice feeling after being sick; the unforeseen career we stumble into after all the job rejections; the surprise deliciousness we discover after substituting for a missing ingredient in a favorite recipe… I believe these kinds of experiences are what constitutes the spice of life. The hidden little happies make me truly grateful for this life that I get to live. So, this year, from the Thanksgiving turkey – to the Christmas tree or the Hanukkah menorah – to New Year’s Eve and beyond: Let’s try to focus on the ups in spite of the downs.

Chi Varnado has four recently published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail, are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.

            Fall has arrived! Crisp, clear days and cool, mild nights. Visually, everything appears so vivid this time of year with less moisture and hovering dust in the air to blur the sharp contrast of edges. Our skin may cry out for hydration, but there is the reward of amazingly distinct images in nature. Yesterday morning as I ran through the canyon a buck with a huge rack and a petite doe moved away into the brush, but paused to look back. Rutting season, I pondered, and picked up my gait again.

            Each season brings change and a new opportunity to alter the lens we look through. The cooler temperatures bring death to deciduous leaves and a striking shift in colors. And then they fall off the trees, dead. The ensuing compost and soil this creates occurs during ‘the dead’ of winter so by spring the world appears new again and full of possibilities. What a beautiful, natural cycle. But if we only see a portion of this circle of life, and fail to allow ourselves to keep seeing and trying to understand, then we miss out on the richness of the whole. It feels to me like this is akin to what is happening all around the world right now, and even in our communities and families.

            Perhaps I’m missing something, and indeed I am. My heart sinks every time someone in conversation chimes in with phrases like, “You always…” or “I’ll never…” Immediately the discussion is no longer a conversation, but a diatribe of one’s opinion without taking the other’s feelings, or new ideas, into consideration. I miss heart-to-heart conversations where both individuals are honestly and openly interested in what the other has to say, without forging ahead with assumptions and putting up a wall because that other person feels and believes differently. How can we ever be productive in moving forward peacefully if we can’t try to meet on some common ground? I really hope this is possible. If both sides are waiting for the other side to do it first then it seems like we’re in a losing battle.

            There are too many shades of gray to lump everyone into either this group or that group. These labels, at least in my humble opinion, have to FALL to start with. I love connecting with individuals from all sides and finding our common ground in order to work together through our differences. I’ve had it with the arguing and the spewing of anger that is rampant on all fronts. Why not instead, strip things down to what we humans have in common? The rest is just beliefs and opinions. Let’s create togetherness.

            As winter approaches, and nature seems to stop or slow down, let’s not get stuck where each of us is right now. Everything evolves and changes, and new information which might alter our perceptions often comes along. I hope to be open to it so I can grow and make allowances for shifts in my perspective. With luck and serious diligence, I’d like to never say “never”— and to have open and cordial conversations with each of you. I’ll see you around, my friend.

Chi Varnado has four recently published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail, are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.