What will you do with your extra 24 hours?
I wrote down some ideas.
Make a plan to vote.
Take a break from scrolling.
Consider who you were on February 29, 2020. Do you remember that person? Give yourself a pat on the back for all you endured.
Meditate.
Call your state representatives. You can find yours here.
Get outside – from third-floor balconies to the parking lot of your office building to a dirt trail winding through some forest somewhere – go breathe in some fresh air and turn your face toward the sky.
Which reminds me – reapply your sunscreen.
Read something for no reason except sheer pleasure. Pleasure is always reason enough. Here are a few pieces I read this month (some for the first time, a few for the millionth time): Ocean Vuong’s beautiful essay in the archived section of The Rumpus “The Weight of Our Living: On Hope, Fire Escapes, and Visible Desperation,” “The month everything I owned imploded on Unqualified by Emily McDowell,” anything by Mary Oliver, “The Mind-Boggling Simplicity of Learning to Say ‘No’” by Leslie Jamison in the New York Times, and this poem by Kim Addonizio is always close by.
Release your grip on whatever or whoever you’re holding on to so tightly.
Ask how you can help.
Go for coffee – or tea or club soda with a little wedge of lime – but whatever you order, grab the window seat, and eavesdrop as the couple next to you makes plans for a second date.
Respond to that text.
Get your hopes up.
Take your time peeling an orange. Pinch the thick skin between your fingers, rub the velvet soft fruit, and let the sweet scent linger in the air.
Meditate. Again.
Leave your desk on your lunch break.
Eat dessert.
Talk about the The Thing that lights you up.
recently wrote that “we are all meat sacks with dreams. Some of us live down to our toes every day and some of us have been habituated out of it by trauma or chronic pain or corporate norms.” She was talking about self-promotion not sucking and has me thinking that maybe it doesn’t have to?Roll down the windows during your evening commute and recite every word to Mr. Brightside by The Killers.
Make a dinner that sparks joy. Add herbs, use fresh pasta, take time to plate your dish for a restaurant-worthy presentation. Or order takeout. It’s your 24 hours.
Lean into vulnerability.
“Vulnerability is the willingness to be known.” - Kate Bowler
Squeeze your loved ones a little harder.
Watch the sunset. Don’t cheat yourself. Sometimes the best colors come after the sun slips past the horizon.
Make a mental note – however brief – of what an incredible miracle it is to be alive.
I love this!!