by admin | Dec 24, 2024 | Holism
I truly enjoyed reading this, and it resonates so well. I may not require, expect, measure, opinionate, or judge. But the moment I question something, even what I believe can be good, I am starting to put myself in the way. Me needs to be out. And so, this is the beginning of letters. A project I’m beginning soon. With love…
It hit me during a quiet morning last week. The sun was barely up, painting the sky in those gentle colors that make everything look softer, more forgiving. I was thinking about my recent interactions—with you, my colleagues, even my neice—when that thought surfaced: how much of my responses to them were genuinely about them, and how much were just echoes of my own preconceptions, fears, and desires?
You see, I’ve always prided myself on being a good listener, an empathetic friend, a caring partner. But lately, I’ve begun to notice something unsettling. In conversations, while others are speaking, I’m often not really hearing them—I’m hearing my interpretation of them. I’m hearing the story I’ve already written about who they are, what they think, what they need.
“Let me put a little bit more of you, where there is still only me.”
The phrase came to me like a gentle awakening. It made me realize how often I fill spaces that should be reserved for understanding others with my own narratives, assumptions, and projections. When my friend tells me about their struggles, how quickly do I jump to comparing it to my own experiences? When my partner shares their dreams, how soon do I start reshaping them to fit into my vision of our future?
It’s not that sharing our own experiences or having personal reactions is wrong—it’s human, natural even. But there’s a difference between relating to someone and overwriting their reality with our own. It’s like I’ve been painting over other people’s canvases with my own colors, all while believing I was appreciating their art.
The most challenging part? Recognizing that this isn’t just about my relationships with others—it’s about my relationship with myself too. How much of who I think I am is actually me, and how much is a collection of responses to what I think others expect me to be? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve filled myself so completely with performances of who I should be that I’ve left little room for who I am.
This morning, I tried something different. When my neighbor stopped to chat about their garden, instead of immediately sharing my own gardening stories or offering advice, I just… listened. Really listened. Tried to understand their experience as uniquely theirs, not as a reflection or extension of my own. It felt strange at first, like learning to use a muscle I didn’t know I had. But in that space—that conscious, intentional space of truly hearing another person—something shifted.
The irony doesn’t escape me: that in trying to put more of others where there was only me, I might actually be discovering more of my authentic self. Because maybe the real me isn’t the collection of stories, reactions, and preconceptions I’ve built up over the years. Maybe the real me is the awareness that can observe all of that and choose, moment by moment, to make space for something new.
It’s a practice now, this gentle reminder: “Let me put a little bit more of you, where there is still only me.” In conversations, in relationships, in quiet moments alone. It’s about creating space—in my mind, in my heart, in my understanding of both myself and others. It’s about recognizing that every interaction is an opportunity to either reinforce the walls of my existing perspective or to open a window to something new.
This journey feels both unsettling and liberating. Unsettling because it means acknowledging how much of my perception of others has been filtered through my own needs and fears. Liberating because in making space for others to be truly themselves, I’m also making space for myself to be more authentic, more present, more real.
So here’s to the practice of making space. To catching ourselves in those moments when we’re about to fill the silence with our own noise. To the courage it takes to let others be fully themselves, even when—especially when—their truth doesn’t match our expectations. To putting a little bit more of you, where there has been only me.
by admin | Dec 24, 2024 | Holism
There’s a profound wisdom in observing how life moves when we’re not constantly pushing, prodding, and manipulating its delicate rhythms. Nature doesn’t strategize, doesn’t force, doesn’t create elaborate plans to become something other than what it inherently is. A tree doesn’t wake up wondering how to be a better tree; it simply grows, responds, adapts—existing in a state of pure, unencumbered being.
Human intervention is often a violent interruption to this natural flow. We arrive with our agendas, our desperate need to control, to reshape, to bend circumstances and people to our will. We mistake this forceful pushing for progress, for change, when in reality, it’s nothing more than noise—a temporary disturbance that creates ripples of resistance rather than genuine transformation.
Consider how we approach personal relationships, societal structures, even our own inner landscapes. We deploy strategies, we argue, we manipulate, we pressure. We believe that by applying enough external force, we can fundamentally alter the essence of something or someone. But look closely: what actually emerges is not change, but conflict. Not harmony, but friction.
Natural law operates on entirely different principles. Water doesn’t fight to flow; it simply finds its path. Seasons transition without argument. Ecosystems balance themselves through intricate, almost imperceptible interactions. There’s an intelligence in this approach that our human minds, so obsessed with control, frequently miss.
When we stop trying to force outcomes, something remarkable happens. Space emerges. Potential unfolds. Change begins to occur not through our aggressive pushing, but through a kind of gentle allowing. It’s less about making things happen and more about creating conditions where natural movement becomes possible.
This isn’t passive acceptance. It’s a profound active receptivity—a willingness to listen, to observe, to understand the inherent intelligence of systems and beings. It requires tremendous courage to step back, to trust that life has its own momentum, its own wisdom that doesn’t require our constant intervention.
Our attempts to control are often rooted in fear. Fear of uncertainty, of letting go, of trusting that something larger than our limited perception might be unfolding. We clutch, we grip, we strategize—all while missing the gentle, powerful currents of natural progression that are always moving around and through us.
Sustainable change doesn’t look like conflict. It doesn’t announce itself dramatically. It’s quiet, almost invisible—like roots growing beneath the surface, like subtle shifts in ecosystem balance, like the gradual opening of a flower. It happens when we create space, when we remove obstacles, when we stop being the primary actors and become curious witnesses.
This approach requires a radical reimagining of our role. We are not masters directing life’s symphony, but participants—sometimes conductors, sometimes listeners, always part of a larger, more intelligent movement. Our most powerful act might be learning to recognize when to act and when to simply allow.
Transformation isn’t something we do. It’s something we permit—by being present, by being responsive, by understanding that true change flows not from force, but from profound respect for the natural intelligence that surrounds and inhabits us.
by admin | Dec 23, 2024 | Holism
Here’s a profound wisdom in observing how life moves when we’re not constantly pushing, prodding, and manipulating its delicate rhythms. Nature doesn’t strategize, doesn’t force, doesn’t create elaborate plans to become something other than what it inherently is. A tree doesn’t wake up wondering how to be a better tree; it simply grows, responds, adapts—existing in a state of pure, unencumbered being.
Human intervention is often a violent interruption to this natural flow. We arrive with our agendas, our desperate need to control, to reshape, to bend circumstances and people to our will. We mistake this forceful pushing for progress, for change, when in reality, it’s nothing more than noise—a temporary disturbance that creates ripples of resistance rather than genuine transformation.
Consider how we approach personal relationships, societal structures, even our own inner landscapes. We deploy strategies, we argue, we manipulate, we pressure. We believe that by applying enough external force, we can fundamentally alter the essence of something or someone. But look closely: what actually emerges is not change, but conflict. Not harmony, but friction.
Natural law operates on entirely different principles. Water doesn’t fight to flow; it simply finds its path. Seasons transition without argument. Ecosystems balance themselves through intricate, almost imperceptible interactions. There’s an intelligence in this approach that our human minds, so obsessed with control, frequently miss.
When we stop trying to force outcomes, something remarkable happens. Space emerges. Potential unfolds. Change begins to occur not through our aggressive pushing, but through a kind of gentle allowing. It’s less about making things happen and more about creating conditions where natural movement becomes possible.
This isn’t passive acceptance. It’s a profound active receptivity—a willingness to listen, to observe, to understand the inherent intelligence of systems and beings. It requires tremendous courage to step back, to trust that life has its own momentum, its own wisdom that doesn’t require our constant intervention.
Our attempts to control are often rooted in fear. Fear of uncertainty, of letting go, of trusting that something larger than our limited perception might be unfolding. We clutch, we grip, we strategize—all while missing the gentle, powerful currents of natural progression that are always moving around and through us.
Sustainable change doesn’t look like conflict. It doesn’t announce itself dramatically. It’s quiet, almost invisible—like roots growing beneath the surface, like subtle shifts in ecosystem balance, like the gradual opening of a flower. It happens when we create space, when we remove obstacles, when we stop being the primary actors and become curious witnesses.
This approach requires a radical reimagining of our role. We are not masters directing life’s symphony, but participants—sometimes conductors, sometimes listeners, always part of a larger, more intelligent movement. Our most powerful act might be learning to recognize when to act and when to simply allow.
Transformation isn’t something we do. It’s something we permit—by being present, by being responsive, by understanding that true change flows not from force, but from profound respect for the natural intelligence that surrounds and inhabits us.
by admin | Dec 16, 2024 | Holism, Minimalism
Let’s be honest—life can feel like a never-ending race sometimes. We’re chasing achievements, collecting stuff, and staying busy just for the sake of it. But at the end of the day, all that noise doesn’t always leave us feeling fulfilled, does it? Here’s the thing: finding meaning doesn’t come from adding more to our lives; it comes from focusing on less. Less stress, less clutter, and less chasing things that don’t matter. That’s where something as simple as a benefit statement comes in—a small, yet powerful way to reflect on what actually makes you happy.
What’s a Benefit Statement, Anyway?
A benefit statement is just a short, personal reminder of what you gain from something—whether it’s an action, a habit, or an experience. It’s not about what you do but why it matters to you. Think of it like a little snapshot of what’s truly important.
Here are a few examples:
- Spending time in nature helps me feel calm.
- Talking with close friends reminds me I’m not alone.
- Taking quiet moments for myself lets me recharge.
These statements are simple, but they’re powerful. They help you see what actually makes your life feel full and meaningful—no overthinking needed.
Why Simplicity Matters (and How to Keep It Simple)
Sometimes, we overcomplicate the whole “search for happiness” thing. We read a bunch of self-help books, set huge goals, or try to fix everything all at once. But here’s the truth: happiness often comes from the little things.
So, ask yourself:
What small actions bring me joy? When do I feel most at peace?
Don’t worry about coming up with something profound. The answers are usually small and quiet—like a morning walk, a moment of stillness, or a laugh shared with someone you care about. Those moments are gold. You just have to notice them.
How a Benefit Statement Helps You Focus on What Matters
Taking the time to write down your benefit statements isn’t just about feeling good in the moment. It helps you take a step back and see patterns in your life. You start to notice what fills you up and what drains you. You realize which relationships bring you joy and which ones leave you feeling empty.
When you focus on the things that benefit you, everything else gets clearer:
- You start to let go of things that don’t matter.
- You choose presence over perfection.
- You look for balance instead of constantly trying to do more.
And the best part? These little realizations add up. The small joys you focus on start to create a bigger, more meaningful picture of your life.
How to Write Your Own Benefit Statement (It’s Easy, I Promise)
Here’s a simple way to get started:
- Find a quiet moment—just a few minutes is enough.
- Think of a time recently when you felt happy, calm, or at peace.
- Ask yourself, What about that moment benefitted me?
- Write it down in one short sentence.
That’s it! It doesn’t have to be fancy or perfect. The most important part is being honest with yourself.
Example: Sitting outside in the morning sun helps me feel grounded and grateful.
Whenever life starts to feel overwhelming, come back to your benefit statements. They’re like little reminders of what really matters.
Less is More: Finding Peace in the Simple Things
Here’s the truth: You don’t need to chase more to find happiness. Sometimes, the peace you’re looking for is already right there in the small, simple moments—you just have to notice them.
A benefit statement helps you do that. It cuts through the noise and brings you back to what’s real, what’s simple, and what makes you feel alive.
So, let yourself slow down. Reflect on the small benefits in your life. And remember—sometimes, less really is more.
Let your benefit statements be your guide. They’ll lead you to more joy, more clarity, and the kind of peace you’ve been looking for all along.
by admin | Jul 28, 2024 | Holism
In an effort to be mindful and place myself even where I cannot be, I have decided to write down my thoughts on where nature is taking me. As a flawed human being, I always think I have too little time to do too many things. When I feel a lack of time and start doing things too quickly, albeit various things, I end up completing nothing.
A highly knowledgeable book I have been working on told me that today, I should go outside and experience nature. So, in my mind, I am stepping outside. I am stepping outside my door and reminded of how I used to love being barefoot at all times. These days, I rarely walk without slippers or shoes. I do, though, wear socks at home, which take the place of rubber souls most of the time. I look to the right and disregard the door I see there since it’s not aesthetically pleasing. I do, though, think beyond the door. I think of the sounds I hear. Let’s say I am not pleased, which means I will hear nothing. I will hear no people, no music, no television, no splashing of pool water, nor my niece’s voice. That would be when I look to the left, possibly ahead of me in disdain, and open my door to step back into my humble space, where I attempt to feel tranquility.
In better circumstances, I hear people and music. I don’t open the door and walk through—no. I just listen and enjoy their presence from afar. I make an attempt to foreshadow anyone opening the door from the opposite side so I am not present when they do. Needing to stop my imagination, needing to stop the pleasant sounds of beautiful human beings gathering and enjoying themselves by saying excuse me is definitely outside of my comfort zone.
Then I stop listening because I am secure that there are happy people there. I smile and possibly look down as if mesmerized. Then maybe I look up. Then maybe to the side. Then maybe I stop right in front of my door and walk back in without wanting to step inside and back into the safe space I call home.
This is a culmination of my minimalist experience these last few moments: stepping into the world and feeling happiness by knowing others are living life fully surrounded by things they love. You see, now I have to step back into the many things I have to get done with little time. I need to step back into reading and writing and attempt to finish this five-year document that has been weighing on my mind and heart since day 1. To keep things simple, I am reminded of what makes me smile for a few seconds. That’s all I need. What makes you smile for an instant? Would you want it to stay, or do you relish that you experience it in special moments and not feel it’s all-consuming? Do you like the ability to breathe in happiness and exhale love?
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