Monthly Archives:

April 2020

Pamplemousse Spritzer

A multitude of variations on this grapefruit spritzer are in store for the spring and summer months, though I will try not to bore you with all the mocktail madness unless I can dress things up with backdrops of colorful scarves or poolside scenes. You’d be surprised at the reactions a tall glass of water gets when framed with a Speedo-clad crotch shot. Such is the delicate balance I attempt to achieve on this blog. Cocktails and cock shots. Classy as ever.

This quick concoction is a simple squeeze of a grapefruit (strained to eliminate seeds and bulky pulp), a few coins of peeled fresh ginger, and a healthy spoonful of honey diluted with a few spoonfuls of scalding hot water. Shake vigorously with ice and top with grapefruit-flavored seltzer. Garnish with a twist of grapefruit or some grapefruit mint. (The latter is not yet out in the garden, so a twist will have to suffice.)

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Alone Time by Rufus Wainwright

Rufus Wainwright has been one of the shining stars during this strange and difficult time, with his daily #Quarantunes and #RobeRecitals series. He also just released a new song from his upcoming album, “Unfollow the Rules” and it is a glorious work of art that resonates powerfully with someone like me. Reveling in alone time has been one of the grandest quests of my adult life, and quite often during my childhood as well, now that I think about it. In these turbulent times, it rings a little differently, which is the way relevant art often works.

I NEED A LITTLE ALONE TIME
A LITTLE DREAM TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
I NEED A LITTLE BE-GONE TIME
A LITTLE ON MY OWN TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
TO GET YOU ON THE MISTS OF AVALON
TO SAVE YOU FROM THE CLIFFS OF LOVERS LEAPING OFF
AND ON AND OFF AND ON AND OFF AND ON

Wainwright works in many realms; most of us know him as singer and songwriter, but he’s also a talented artist. His work inspired the gorgeously illustrated video that is both whimsical and evocative. He’s delayed the release of his album at this point because he wanted the album artwork to be part of the listening experience. That is the work of a true artist. The quest for a vision. The hope and prayer for a proper execution. A worthy attempt at finishing the hat.

The push and pull of the artistic life is something Wainwright has mastered, or at the very least has given a great show of having mastered. I wonder how close we can get to the real gears and grids of an artist’s mind. How close would the artist want an audience to get?

I NEED A LITTLE ALONE TIME
A LITTLE DREAM TIME
DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
I NEED A LITTLE BE-GONE TIME
A LITTLE ON MY OWN TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
TO GET YOU ON THE WINGS OF A PERFECT SONG
TO SAVE YOU
FROM THESE STINGS OF HAVING TO TURN OFF
AND ON AND OFF AND ON AND OFF AND ON

There is an art to alone time too. How to get it, how to craft it, how to carve it into the sculpture of your day. Requesting it can be tricky. It’s so easy to offend people these days. And we all want our loved ones to be sensitive, don’t we? But not too sensitive. Not sensitive enough to be hurt by our inoffensive little jokes and actions. Not enough to be hurt by our wanting to be alone sometimes.

There is an art to detachment and distance. It’s more nuanced and complicated than a simple balance. The human heart is not governed by science and calculation, it won’t be swayed by reason or knowledge. It is an impossible thing to calibrate. There are days when being apart is more an act of love than being together. I can’t explain why it should be that way. I wish I could. My life would have gone much easier.

I NEED A LITTLE ALONE TIME
A LITTLE DREAM TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
I NEED A LITTLE BEGONE TIME
A LITTLE ON MY OWN TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY

TO GET YOU
TO GET YOU
TO GET YOU
TO GET YOU
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A Crazy Black Underwear Diatribe

When in doubt, go with black underwear.

Unless you’re wearing white pants, in which case you should go with a shade of nude.

Unless you like to show off.

Then go with plaid.

But for the most part, stick with black.

It lends an element of mystery to all proceedings, even if you’re the only one who knows what’s going on underneath your regular pants.

It manages to be elegant and chic and captivating all at once.

Simple yet complex, revealing yet enigmatic, it invites closer inspection, which is the calling card of any successful seduction of the senses.

Does all this sounds as ridiculous as I think it does, re-reading it back to myself? This is one major load of bullocks and I genuinely don’t care. It’s really just an excuse to post some old photos I found in a folder that should have simply been trashed without opening. I forgot the main rule of unpacking after a move: if you haven’t opened a box in seven years, simply throw it out without examination. I’ve got to do that with some attic items or this place will head into hoarding territory.

Now, where were we… oh yes, black underwear. All grief for Lips, diamond earrings in champagne, and you don’t know if you wanna hit me or kiss me. I get a lot of that, indeed.

Basic.

Just basic.

Basic black briefs.

That’s it.

That’s the blog post.

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The Short Life of Shortbread in My Kitchen: A Recipe

Like many people, I find myself cooking and baking way more now that I’m staying home, and it’s become a bit problematic. For instance, the other day I made a quick batch of shortbread from a New York Times recipe and ate half of it in one sitting. Given that there are two sticks of butter in the recipe, I literally had a full stick of butter in my stomach, which cannot be good for anything. But if you need shortbread in a big hurry, this recipe is a godsend.

Heat the oven to 350 degrees and line an 8- or 9-inch square pan with parchment paper. No other lubricant necessary. In a bowl, whisk 2 cups all-purpose flour, 1/4 cup rice flour (or ¼ cup cornstarch, or use more all-purpose flour), 1/4 cup granulated sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Stir in a cup of melted unsalted butter. Press the dough into the pan, and bake it until golden on top, 35 to 45 minutes. As soon as it comes out of the oven, sprinkle a generous helping of sugar on top. Cut the shortbread into bars in the pan without delay or it was be impossible to cut without destroying it later. 

Is it as simple as it sounds and did it turn out decently? Yes and God yes. Dangerously so. The recipe’s author also indicates a few intriguing amendments can be added. A teaspoon of grated citrus zest (I actually did this variation, using a lemon), a teaspoon of vanilla, or a teaspoon of ground cardamom are all possibilities.

Now seems a good time to remind everyone that I have yet to see a shortage on fruits or vegetables in the grocery store.

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Zoom in on These Feathers

Feathered finery is really the only way to Zoom right. 

I had an initiation into the uncomfortable realm of video-conferencing this week with two (technically three) Zoom sessions with friends. On the advice of my therapist, I’ve been saying yes to things I normally would avoid. (And a video-conference is very much something I would normally avoid.) Phone calls too, so I’ve been asking friends to call me out of the blue, and actually answering, which has proven helpful. It’s also a form of social connection that coincides with the online course on happiness I’m taking, further proof that I’m on the right track the universe has been designing for me of late. 

Baby steps and an O-light. 

It’s all happening here. 

 

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Trickery & Time Travel to a Floating World

Traveling back in time to the tale of the talented trickster, I turn the brittle pages of an ancient photo album, harkening back to the days when we once used physical photo albums. It was a time before photos could be taken on a phone, before they could even be taken digitally. The medium was film, the process was called development, and the whole experience was one that instilled patience and perseverance. It required mistakes and an endless cycle of trial and error, with just enough success to tantalize and keep us working for more.

All of my projects prior to 2004 were created in this old-fashioned way, some even glued and bound within a three-ring binder because that was all my limited resources and technological limits could produce. Yet rather than feel like I missed out on anything, those processes taught me more than the ease of whipping out a phone that gets perfectly-focused shots without a moment’s care could ever teach. It was the same sort of learning that cracking the Dewey Decimal system taught me in the library. We didn’t have information at the click of a mouse. We had to search. And then we had to research. And then we had to search again. It was an adventure, and yes, it took a lot of work. My patience and ability to slowly work through a problem was honed and improved. It wasn’t instantaneous, it wasn’t without effort, and it absolutely made me a better person.

That said, lugging around twenty rolls of film, a heavy, bulky camera, and waiting two weeks for photos to be developed wasn’t the ideal way of getting images. It took me a while, but eventually I came around to the digital camera. And then I gave in to the phones. Today, I find myself taking advantage of the technology, and very appreciative that I didn’t always have it. We tend to value things more when we remember what it was like before they got so easy.

As for these antiquated shots from ‘The Talented Trickster Tour: Reflections of a Floating World’, they remind me a time and space where lessons were learned – lessons that carry through to this day. In some ways, the idea of the floating world is more resonant than ever – an idea that the world is dark and destructive, and we might as well enjoy what beauty and pleasure we can find because everything is temporal and fleeting in nature. In the past, I would sometimes avoid the blooms of the cherry tree because I knew they would not last, and the regret that inevitably came with their demise would be more than the heart could handle. These days I seek out that fleeting beauty, sit with it in appreciation while I can, then move on, grateful for the experience, grateful for the smile it produced, happy with the memory. You cannot buy or keep the transitory beauty of the cherry bloom – you can only hold it in your heart.

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A Rainy Run-down Recap

On a rainy Sunday night, as the Sondheim 90th Birthday Celebration is getting off to a rocky, and late, start, I write this weekly recap before we begin again tomorrow. It looks to be a week of rain, a week of isolation, a week of hanging in there as best as we can. My mind is in a wonky place – perhaps the new normal is finally getting to me. I’m in the midst of writing a bit more about that for a post that will go up later this week – think ‘hot mess’ without any semblance of the hot. For now, let’s go back over what has already happened, because the past is the only thing of which we can be sure. 

I probably should have tried to stop the week when these fucking pancakes happened

A moment of indulgence and calm courtesy of Spring Blossom by the Beekman Boys

Remembering a time in Boston, long ago

The jonquil parade is not quite over

Recalibrating a meditation approach.

Franco Noriega gives the world this gratuitous beefcake post

Getting naked to get happy.

Whispering lily.

I’ve gone six months without alcohol. Good timing or stupid timing? See here.

The MAGA Challenge: whattya got to lose?

A crop-top and some skimpy briefs

Project of the Past: this was StoneLight from 2007.

Our peaceful Sunday night comfort post: awakening to awareness.

Hunks of the Day included Kip MooreJeffrey Bowyer-Chapman, Benjamin Godfre, Ryan Cleary, Nick Zano, Peter Locker and Jeff Goldblum

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Awakening to Awareness ~ Part Four

“Until somebody told you you wouldn’t be happy unless you were loved, you were perfectly happy. You can become happy not being loved, not being desired by or attractive to someone. You become happy by contact with reality. That’s what brings happiness, a moment-by-moment contact with reality. That’s where you’ll find God; that’s where you’ll find happiness. But most people are not ready to hear that.” ~ Anthony de Mello

Oh what happy and reassuring words, and oh how I wish I had heard and heeded them in my twenties! Oh well, absolutely no regrets. We know better, we do better, we are better. All those years of thinking and wishing and assuming that someone else would complete or improve or even complement my existence – my, it almost feels like a waste.

Almost.

Because that was my life in its formative years, in those years when music meant the most, when fragrances were at their most potent, when the emotions felt more powerful and overwhelming than they would ever feel. I’m glad for that. Some of my friends claim to miss it, but I think what they really miss is the uncomplicated way we could live our lives at such a time. I think they miss their youth. That’s understandable. The great realization of coming to live in the moment is that the feeling of youth that I think some of them miss is entirely within grasp again.

Tripping over my words, I stumble on a past that is immobile and set in stone. Though it doesn’t change, no matter how much we want it to, our perception of it is malleable. That is the way we re-route the path from whence we came. That’s how we re-write our history. Most importantly, that’s how we forgive and heal. 

There are many such nuggets of wisdom in Anthony DeMello’s book ‘Awareness’ – and I’m still grateful to my friend Mary who suggested I read it. Her words were the whisper of the universe that I needed to hear. Those messages come when we are ready to receive them, and it’s up to us to watch for and heed them. Now, perhaps more than ever, it is vital to be aware. 

{See also Awakening to Awareness: Part One, Part Two and Part Three.}   

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Project of the Past: StoneLight

Our homebound circumstances showing no signs of letting up, here is the start of a limited filler-series spotlighting former projects. First up is ‘StoneLight‘ from 2007, which feels like a lifetime ago. Who is that naked guy coaxed into a stillness as solid as stone, touched only by the light, and the shadows? C’est moi!  It formed the naked-ass impetus for my very first gallery show ‘The Eye of the Ego’ the following year. More moving to me was the dawn of the realization that I was documenting what would one day be no more – youth and innocence and abs – in the ongoing quest for an identity I sought to both embrace and destroy. ‘StoneLight’ was an effort to still time, to capture and freeze a moment, to bend and twist the cruel ticking of the clock. A futile effort like it always would be, it partially succeeds because the images are still here, even though thirteen years have passed.

Crumbling gravestones will not mark the dead forever. I do not have the faith in humanity to believe this earth will spin on in perpetuity. Look around – we inch closer to its destruction at an increasingly alarming rate. But for this moment, for this corner of the internet, perhaps I have slowed or given pause in the rush of living and dying. When light and shadow work together, the beauty of their marriage creates a magic that lasts a little longer than it should by traditional measures and means.

See the rest of ‘StoneLight’ here.

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Mr. Pac-Man on a Crop-Top

“My peak? Would I even have one? I hardly had had anything you could call a life. A few ripples. Some rises and falls. But that’s it. Almost nothing. Nothing born of nothing. I’d loved and been loved, but I had nothing to show. It was a singularly plain, featureless landscape. I felt like I was in a video game. A surrogate Pacman, crunching blindly through a labyrinth of dotted lines. The only certainty was my death.” ~ Haruki Murakami

All 80’s thunder and glory, the pixelated video-game dreams of my youth battled with my longing for the natural world, and while it was the latter that would win out in the end (nature always did and always will), I had my moments of sitting spellbound before a television and masterfully manipulating Player One or Player Two depending on how my brother or his friends allowed it to be. 

These photos were bonus shots from the ‘Weird Science’ underwear homage taken a few weeks ago. Also, they were taken right before we all started putting on the Quarantine 19 – so much more vicious than the Freshman 15 because, DUH, we are so much older than Freshmen and it’s so much harder to stay in shape. I’m not walking up five flights to get to my dorm room in the top turret of Usen Castle anymore. (And thank God because those quarters sucked.)

The party continues in the back, and if/when I get back into the fitness regime, I’m bringing the crop top back this summer, especially since it looks like we may not be having guests anytime soon. (I don’t see myself cropping it up when actual people are in my presence.) 

A nod to Inky, Blinky, Pinky and Clyde. I thought there was a Sue but maybe I made that up?

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The MAGA Challenge

Donald Trump, in his own words, posited the idea of injecting disinfectants into the body to help combat the coronavirus. He did this quite earnestly in a live press conference that was shown to the world (I was watching it as it unfolded). A short while later, Dr. Birx (the woman who seems to be hiding more than her neck in that endless supply of scarves) defended Trump by saying he likes to talk things out first. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the talking points that Trump had tried floating at around the same time, saying that he was only being sarcastic. Oops.

Anyway, the new MAGA challenge seems to be disinfecting the body with poisons found in most households. And since Trump is such a fan of sarcasm, I challenge everyone who still supports him to the MAGA Challenge! Find your prettiest bottle of Clorox or Pine Sol or Ammonia and set up your cocktail. (Ratio of cleaning product to mixer is entirely up to taste.) Bottoms up! And don’t forget to post your video to Twitter and tag @realdonaldtrump to win this challenge!

PS – Remember to toast to sarcasm. Trump loves it. 

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Half A Year Went Quicker Without Liquor

First, I thought it would be impossible going to Savannah with my family and not drinking, but it wasn’t that difficult.

Then I thought it would be impossible to get through the holidays without drinking, but it wasn’t that difficult.

In the last few weeks I thought it would be impossible to get through all this isolation without drinking, but it wasn’t that difficult.

Today marks a full six months of not drinking alcohol, and guess what? It hasn’t been that difficult. I feel healthier, happier, and slightly more present. I’ve lost some weight, kicked up other healthy habits, and have more time and money for better pursuits. I’m not saying everyone should curb their drinking habits (it seems to be the one thing that’s getting a lot of people through this isolation/social distancing spell) it just doesn’t appeal to me as much anymore. In truth, there are actually times where I feel a genuine distaste for the stuff now, which is strange.

Not to say I don’t have moments when I think how nice it would be to sit at a bar and have a Manhattan on a cold, rainy night, or sip at a sparkling glass of something near the pool, but those desires are more about atmosphere and setting, and easily conjured with mocktails or food.

Such as in the featured photo, which was crafted on one of the first sunny and warm days we’ve had this year. It’s a simple hard squeeze – the juice of a single lime, in a tumbler of ice, topped with some grapefruit seltzer and garnished with a thin lime wheel. It was a reward for a bit of work done in the service of future bamboo plants. I sat down by the pool – still closed, but void of ice and snow – and sipped on the cool, refreshing tartness. If summer might be spent in such beautiful spirits, perhaps it won’t be so bad. 

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Whispering Lily

Its message was, quite simply, summer

It whispered with its potent perfume

It shouted from its chartreuse throat. 

It seduced with its promise.

And in the midst of this claustrophobic darkness, I needed such a promise. If you do too, and you find a balm in beauty and flowers, seek out similar posts in the archives. The lazy isolationist side of me is winning today, so finding the links will be up to you. 

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Getting Naked to Get Happy

The great and all-powerful RuPaul once proclaimed, “We’re all born naked and the rest is drag.’

When we are children, we don’t think anything of nudity, and society generally doesn’t bat an eye at a naked child either. When I was a kid I used to proverbially swing my dick around all the time as far as running around naked went. My parents, usually so clinical and scientific in their words and analyses could somehow only bring themselves to call a penis a ‘thing’, so for a couple of years my brother and I referred to our dicks as our ‘things’. Probably a good idea, as we no doubt would have run around screaming ‘penis’ at the top of our lungs. (Not gonna say it didn’t eventually happen anyway.)

As a child, I remember being without pants a lot. I don’t know if I specifically enjoyed being naked as much as I simply enjoyed being free and unfettered by the bonds of clothing. It sometimes felt like such a Herculean task to simply get dressed with all the socks and belts and tucked-in-shirts. Too much bother when all I wanted to do was run around the yard in my underwear. So I often did.

I still don’t know when exactly the shame crept into being naked. It happened prior to the onset of adolescence, because I remember knowing that showing off your body was not something we were supposed to do, and it was around that time that I suddenly became very shy. It wasn’t just about the naked body either – it was a shyness I can now see as the initial onset of the social anxiety that would haunt me for my entire life. Intertwined was the shame and guilt of the Garden of Eden and a bunch of other religious dogma that fucked me up in ways I’m still trying to fix.

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that my getting naked here on this blog is a way of reclaiming that childlike innocence, when I felt absolutely no shame whatsoever about the human body. It’s not easy getting rid of that kind of shame, particularly when society heaps on its antiquated enforcement of such tenets. America is hypocritically prudent when it comes to nudity, and when there’s any aspect of sexuality imbued in the mix it proves doubly resistant.

Fuck all that. We’re all naked under our clothes. Our bodies are the maps of where we’ve been – physically and mentally – they are marked with scars and flaws unique and special to each and every individual. No two are alike, but our basic make-up is remarkably similar. Underneath it all, it’s very hard to tell who is who. We should celebrate our bodies, and our differences. Every wrinkle and gray hair, every ounce of weight, every hidden muscle, every line that could tell innumerable tales of happy laughter, sorrowful tears, or righteous anger.  These bodies are our shells, and no matter how gaily or extravagantly we dress them up, in the end they will return to the earth, becoming part of the universe in some form. We will fold back into this universal womb, no longer skin, flesh and bone, but only the eternally-fading remnants of such stuff. In some ways, life is but one long series of degradations of our physical form. How much of my newborn self still remains? I can’t say I remember much of my soul in those days. We change so much.

Here, then, is a marker of where I am right now.

You can go back several years on this site to see where I was back when.

And when I’m gone, and my body is nothing but ash or dirt, maybe these photos will survive, existing in the technological cloud we’ve created, living on as proof that I was here, that this body once existed, that it once laughed and wept and breathed, that it once ran and played and danced, that it was an element of matter that, to a few select and magnificent people, actually mattered.

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Finding a Practical Method of Meditation

While meditation has proven to be a grounding and quite possibly life-sustaining practice for me at this peculiarly-trying time in our history, I know that it isn’t the instant solution for those looking for immediate peace and inner-happiness. Honestly, I don’t believe there’s an instant fix for conjuring those things or we’d all have them by now. I was talking, well texting, with Suzie and my Mom, actively encouraging them to try it out, and following up to see how they were doing, and it turns out neither has taken to it like I have. I was sorry to hear that, though I completely understood.

Meditation is not easy at first. It feels hokey, or silly, or simply a waste of time. And our lives are busy and full and there are so many other things we could be doing. But studies have shown that when done consistently, meditation actually increases the gray matter of the brain (the good stuff I’m assuming) and helps us focus and follow our thoughts better even (and ore importantly) at the times when were not meditating. (As much as I adore both Suzie and my mother, both could use a little more focus now and then – and really we all could. Myself most definitely included.)

That said, the reality of knowing this and actually putting a meditation plan into practice are two very different things, one of which doesn’t necessarily create an impetus for the other. And so I’m giving one more push for everyone to try it out and give it a whirl, and offering a few hopefully-helpful hints on how to start it out.

First, start small, start short, and start with a set plan. This is both the easiest and hardest thing to do. There will be many reasons not to begin. Dinner needs to be cooked, the kids need to be schooled, it’s already time for bed, it’s too soon to settle down for the evening – I know how difficult it is just to make a moment for yourself. But if you can’t take care of yourself, you can’t effectively take care of anyone else. Begin there.

It need not be a long commitment. Start with five minutes a day. By all means do more if you’d like, but you’ll find that sitting in silence is probably going to be uncomfortable, and five minutes will feel like five hours the first few times you do it. The important thing is to find a quiet space where you won’t be interrupted for five minutes.

Next, it is vital to set your phone or an alarm for exactly five minutes, and don’t start it until you are in a comfortable position on the floor or a chair and you’ve calmed your breathing. Don’t rely on a clock or other method of keeping track of time because that will be all that occupies you and will derail the entire point of meditation. Set the timer and then focus on your breathing. The last thing you want to do is be looking at a clock or wondering how much time has passed. Give yourself the full five minutes and then forget about time.

Breathe into your belly, expanding your diaphragm slowly and gradually, then pulling it back in. Let whatever thoughts that cross your mind present themselves, then let them drift on. Let another thought come and go. In the beginning these thoughts will likely be of what you have to do after you meditate, or what you have planned for the day or week ahead, or maybe something that bothered or upset you previously. Acknowledge them as they arrive, then let them pass. If one returns, do the same thing – acknowledge and let it go, and eventually it will stop presenting itself. Five minutes will pass soon enough.

The next day, try it again for five minutes. See if you can do it with less thoughts presenting themselves, or if it’s helpful to focus on something, go through your day and what you felt at each moment. If you were frustrated by something, acknowledge that you felt frustrated, breathe in on that frustration, breathe out on the frustration, then let it go. Another feeling presents itself – worry and stress over a situation. Acknowledge your worry and stress, breathe in on them, then breathe out on them, and let them go. You’re not focusing on the situations or issues, but rather on your feelings toward them, because that’s all we really control. It’s ok to feel these things, and when we don’t that’s when things get bottled up and present problems later on.

If you do this every day for a week, try increasing the timer to seven minutes and staying with that for the following week or so. If you’re anything like my Mom or Suzie, you do a ton of stuff for other people, but don’t take nearly as much time for yourself and your own well-being. Meditation is a healthy way of feeding your own soul so you can be even better at everything you already do.

As for my own meditative journey, I’ve only just begun. It felt strange and uncomfortable at first, but I’m up to nineteen minutes a day, and it’s an integral part of what is keeping me sane during these troubled times. I’m aiming to increase minute by minute until I’m up to half an hour by the fall. It’s not the length of time that matters, however, it’s the practice. Start with five and see how it goes.

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