I just polished a family heirloom.

It’s a round crystal cut jar with a sterling silver lid—to hold candy, perhaps?

I have had it since my mother passed away 17 years ago. She had it since her mother passed away before that. And before that, her mother.

I’m working on letting go of the need to be right.

Darn it.

Right just sometimes feels so good!

The world is as I think it is. 

I have a picture in my mind of how things are, and that picture is proven true.

Some of the things I get stuck on being right? 

I had a ridiculous week of travel just before the holidays.

In eight days, I facilitated meetings in six different cities: Newark, Nashville, Charlotte, Denver, Burlington, and back to Newark.

In total, it included eight half-day retreats and trips in and out of Boston, all in one week.

Some people hate New Year’s resolutions.

I don’t get it.

I love marking significant transitions, whether they are birthdays, graduations, holidays, or calendar turns.

I led a few strategic planning workshops just before the holidays.

When preparing for one of them, I asked my co-facilitator to lead an opening activity. She asked the small groups to discuss, “What was the best Christmas gift you ever received”?

How prepared is your heart for whatever might happen next?

Psychologist and author Tara Brach says that we must prepare our heart for anything and everything. In other words, we must learn how to access stillness and evenness of mind regardless of the situation we face.

Can you hear that? 

It’s a blissful sound.

Silence. 

I used to be super uncomfortable with quiet—especially in groups. I thought silence was awkward. And that somebody needed to fill it. 

Ever wonder what Future You thinks about Present You?

In other words, if you could talk to a 10-years-older-and-wiser You, what would that more experienced You say?

The question does assume that you are growing, developing, and becoming more like You as time passes—not less.

I wonder where my Girl Scout sash is. 

My mother would not have thrown it away—she was proud of all those little circles. She was the one who sowed them on in perfect straight lines.

I was on Martha’s Vineyard with some friends recently, and we took a 3-hour van tour of the Island.

We learned about the history, the culture, and a lot about Jaws, as the movie was filmed there back in the mid-’70s.

It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world.

This beautiful line comes from Mary Oliver’s poem “Invitation.”

Oliver suggests we must take a moment out of our busy and important day to linger and notice goldfinches in a field of thistles.

I once took a tennis lesson with a pro, Norson, after a year of not seeing him.

When I walked onto the court, he said, “I remember you!"

And, “Here we are, a year later.”

I don’t have to be right.

At least not all the time.

There are some situations where I like to be right. Such as in arguments with my partner or my son.

But other times, I’m open—I love to learn, to be curious, to explore the far reaches of the world that I do not yet understand.

A week or so ago, my BFF mentioned she started going to a yoga studio again.

“Would you like to go”? she asked me.

I hadn’t been to a studio since COVID. 

My local YMCA emailed a video to its donors recently.

The video depicts memorable moments at summer camp: Children jumping into lakes, playing soccer, zip lining, and eating outside. 

I just returned from Cape Town, South Africa.

Lots to say about Africa—once I process it all.

In the meantime, I must share a story about the best hotel I have ever stayed at in my life. It’s called One&Only.

When I try to make sense of these times, I don’t get very far.

How about you?

A study conducted in my state of 9,500 people, including parents, teachers, and community members, showed high anxiety: 73 percent of parents said their child is as anxious or more anxious than the year before.

Ever come across a powerful idea that remains with you?

I'm not an artist.

As in drawing, painting, photography, or design.

But for some reason I have always loved the idea of negative space: That space around and between what’s on the canvas.

It’s the space needed to define the boundaries of the thing.

Ever have to stop what you are doing, and completely start over?

Ever have some grand plan that you realize is not going to materialize?

I had that happen this week.