Ode to the Ordinary
5 small things that help
Greetings from snow.
That’s where I live now. Snow. It’s been steadily falling, by about an inch an hour, since early this morning. Outside my window, the cityscape is muted by a sheet of white.
My mind feels about as fuzzy. In recent days, I’ve had nothing exciting to report, no great flashes of inspiration, no personal stories to draw from. I’ve seen a lot of time indoors. An inordinate amount of typing. Organizing cabinets and closets. The endless cycle of cooking, cleaning, and laundry. The motions of everyday life.
And yet. Such ordinary days are a gift.
It’s hard to know what to say to be of service at this moment. It’s hard to know what to say, full stop. I established this newsletter as a warm checkpoint, a space for solace and light and virtual camaraderie, and I will try my best to provide that. Absent magic words or sweeping fixes, I humbly share five small things that are helping me through this season. (And I’d love to hear yours.)
Embrace Warmth
I once read that holding a warm mug increases feelings of generosity, helps foster connection, and promotes feelings of empathy. (“Physical warmth can make us see others as warmer people, but also causes us to be warmer—more generous and trusting—as well,” says this study.) That’s a lot for one cup.
Ever since, I keep a mug of warm tea on my desk, particularly during meetings. Maybe it’s the placebo effect, but it never fails to bring me comfort, supplanting any spikes of social anxiety with feelings of openness and gratitude.
In the off-hours, you’ll find me lighting candles, basking in the glow of twinkle lights, scuttling around wrapped in shawls and blankets, and making soup, stew, and chili — most of which use only one pot and easily reheat for leftovers. While I was at the grocery store to stock up ahead of this weekend’s storm, I spied multiple women clearly purchasing the ingredients for Alison Roman’s “The Stew.” I smiled to myself, picturing us in our separate kitchens, secretly on the same page.
When warmth feels in short supply (in terms of both temperature and the pervasive emotional climate), I am a proponent of finding—and creating—it wherever we can.
Do What You (Actually) Can
I’m in the habit of setting myself up for failure. I do this under the guise of being ambitious, or overly optimistic. But every time I set a lofty goal (e.g. pen a to-do list with more bullet points than a human could cover in a lifetime, including items like “write 9,999 pages today”) it’s a little act of self-sabotage. Then when I don’t deliver (because of course), I feel bad about it.
While I recognize this pattern, it’s hard not to romanticize a state of completion — everything tended to, answered, put away — when I’ll breathe a sigh of relief and greet the day with a clear head. Logically, I understand this is an absurd, utopian fantasy — and that the reality of reaching it sounds a lot like death. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.
Lately, I’ve made a point to gently implement setting smaller, more manageable goals, the kinds of goals my former self would’ve scoffed at. Sitting for shorter amounts of time. Writing a very doable number of words. Bite-sized tasks that, once completed, help buoy me with a sense of accomplishment. While my daily progress may not blow anyone away, it does add up over time.
In life, as in nature, there are seasons for blooming and seasons for germinating. Germinating gets a lot less fanfare, but it’s every bit as important. Meet yourself where you are and do what you can.
Nourish Yourself
I’m not simply talking about eating your vegetables. (Though I do find it helps.) I’m referring to all the ways we nourish ourselves — books and baths and talks with friends. Checking in with a loved one. Taking a mental health day. Remembering to take a few deep breaths.
As my regular outdoor walks and runs are currently out of the question, I’ve been finding solace in at-home workouts, restorative yoga, and meditating in a darkened room under the glow of fairy lights. And books, of course. Lots and lots of books.
I often reflect on this quote Lindsey Stanberry offered in a previous post and how very true it is:
“My mother always says the three most important things to do if something feels off (like you’re having a really bad day or you’re feeling homesick or just sad in general) is to eat, sleep, or bathe. I’d add exercise and drinking water to that list. But truly, when you’re having a crummy time of things, most likely, you just need a snack or a nap or a shower. A good cry can also be incredibly therapeutic.”
Curate Your Guest List
This is my way of saying protect your boundaries. It applies to flesh-and-blood, IRL humans as much as to media, social and otherwise. Treat your mental landscape as though it were a dinner party, where you are the host. Who’s invited? Who would you like to eject? What vibe do you wish to foster?
After mentally hosting too many people I’d never hang out with IRL, I realized what a strange disconnect this was. If I’d never invite them to my home, why was I inviting them into my brain?
The shape of peace and joy will look different to each of us, but we can all benefit from being mindful of who (and what) we let in. Yes, there is an amount of necessary and unavoidable conflict with being an adult in the world. But in your own time and space, seek out and connect with what feels good. If you wouldn’t want someone’s presence in your home, why would you host them in your mind?
Celebrate the Ordinary
Which brings me back to my original point.
One way I’ve been nourishing myself as of late is by reading (and re-reading) psychotherapist and yoga teacher Stephen Cope’s books. In Yoga and the Quest for the True Self, he describes ten “marker events” which transpire as one becomes more in line with their True Self — a return to the body; more genuine self-expression; the increased capacity to say “no.” Number seven stopped me in my tracks: The relief of being ordinary.
“The false self lives with a chronic sense of separation and isolation — born, simply, of trying too hard. As it begins to fall away, there can be a sense of utter relief at rejoining the human race. ‘Ah, I’m just like everybody else inside. I’m no better and no worse than most folks.’ As the drivenness to earn worth through accomplishment falls away, there is a more realistic perception of the self, and a new depth to the appreciation of being an ordinary human being.”
My first impulse was to breathe a tremendous sigh of relief. My second was to wish that many people in positions of power could reach a similar conclusion.
So often, we’re presented with some call to improve or refine our physical selves, material lives, or outward facing personas. But achievement and self-improvement are, at best, moving targets — liable to shift along with the next trend or season. Embracing the ordinary, both living it and being it, is a gift. And an ordinary day is a beautiful thing, indeed.
*
As I pondered this idea of the ordinary and how it might fit into my larger message, I stumbled across this quote. (I love when this happens.) So, I’ll leave you with these words, from the late, great Joanna Macy, who says it far better than I could:
“Each one of us has been called into being at this time. I am convinced of that. Is it not a privilege to be incarnating at a time when the stakes are really high, at a time when everything we’ve ever learned about interconnectedness, about trust, about courage, can be put to the test? Each one of us, I believe, is a gift the earth is giving to itself now, a unique gift. Every anguish, betrayal, disappointment can even help prepare us for the work of healing. You don’t need to be extraordinary. If the world is to be healed through human efforts, I am convinced it will be by ordinary people, people whose love for this life is even greater than their fear. People who can open to the web of life that called us into being, and who can rest in the vitality of that larger body.”
And one more line, from a text from my dear friend in Minneapolis:
“I’ve seen so so so much courage amidst the terror.”
I love you, keep going.
* This week’s card will be sent to paid subscribers later this week. (I’ll also be releasing appointments for 1:1 tarot readings in February.) Look out for it on Thursday.
As always, thank you for reading. ❤️
What a gift of perspective:
“After mentally hosting too many people I’d never hang out with IRL, I realized what a strange disconnect this was. If I’d never invite them to my home, why was I inviting them into my brain?”
This week’s offering was anything but ordinary. 🙏
As is always the case, help and wisdom appears when we most need it.
I was never so relieved to see 2025 end. My Father passed away in April, and my Mother succumbed to Alzheimers mid-December.
I was my Mother's primary caregiver, and as time went by she required near-constant care. She entered hospice, and passed peacefully at home.
Many people have been or are in similar situations, so I am not claiming to be special.
I feel adrift, with health problems long ignored demanding attention. I am working to establish new routines. Each day runs into another, and I feel no sense of accomplishment despite my to-do lists.
These 5 small things show structure and focus, and a path forward. They are a huge life raft thrown out to drowning souls. I will climb aboard. Thank you.