Isn’t it interesting that the word challenge combined with ‘biggest’ gives me a little anxiety? I wonder initially, if I should skip this prompt question.

I might not be up for the challenge.

What are my biggest baddest challenges? What seemingly insumoutable obstacles stand in my way today? Shall I name the people? Discribe in detail all the difficulty?

I think not.

Here’s what I think I’ve learned.

Life is a little like an obstacle course or a complicated puzzle, in that its full of challenging parts. If it wasn’t I might get bored and restless and maybe feel a bit lazy. I’d have no way to know myself, no evidence of strength gained or progress made.

Yet as I roll into this new 2026 year, and reflect back over this past one, the past few, I can’t help hoping for some ease.

Less challenges. Easier ones. Recovery time!

I will say this: Good job me!

I came through it all, battle scars and mental growth aside, intact. Fine. Whole.

Today my biggest challenges will be to let go, slide through the airport drive, stay upbeat, and breathe no matter how any of it goes. Discern which things I can or ought to do, which things to leave alone.

Pouring rain, fog, worry, conversations about worry, stress… another day to breathe through. I am quite tired.

Happy New Year!

Much later…

Here is the Epilogue:

The traffic got worse, the airport was packed, none of the employees would make eye contact or help. There was no special treatment for our 87 year old traveler. (who has never flown alone, and not at all in over twenty years)

We self checked her in, lifted her giant suitcase onto the scale and found her a spot in the TSA line. I stayed with her until she got to the desk. Which was when I realized I didnt have my phone to call G who was still trying to find parking.

That was a whole thing, but resloved quickly.

At first it seemed lucky that the plane was delayed, after the rush of checking in late she could relax at the gate, but then it was delayed again, and then again. We dropped her off at 9:30am. A little after 1pm I got the text that G was heading back to the airport. I was on my way to our friends for the New Years beach walk and ocean plunge.

Then came the texts from the airport, G and his mom. Bags lost, no flights, much waiting, stess over her bag, finally a helpful employee! No they were not in the mood for eating or socializing. By five oclock my good and amazingly gracious friends had prepared a meal and talked them into coming.

Which was lovely. A perfect reprieve in the middle of chaos. Energies shifted. She and G left with plenty of time to park and get her situated on her rescheduled flight.

I went back to pack up and get ready to move today. As of this morning G’s mom has boarded her last plane into Providence after more delays. I personally have never experienced this level of airport difficulty. Earlier the biggest concern was ice on her driveway and porch steps, getting her safely into her house.

What I expirenced was major shifts in energy and experience. Much trouble shooting and regulating. Things that couldn’t be controlled and a few things that could.

So, I guess, more of life…challenges lots of challenges…

This is a question I can’t help but answer.

But

It’s never one book.

What am I currently reading?

Two novels, one memoir, and two non fiction.

I just started Wally Lambs latest because I love his writing, plus I recently found out he’s from CT and refers to places I’m now familiar with, someone gave me the physical book to read.

I’m obsessed with a book called ‘Quantum Revelation’ by Paul Levy. I’ve been listening to it while crocheting and it’s the best book to listen to and make stuff.

Since the ankle incident, my need to read has increased.

Barefoot Contessa memoir is fun.

Book club Ram Das book selection, ‘Compassion in Action’ is worth checking out.

Martha Beck’s interesting allegory, ‘Diana, Herself‘ is harder to recommend. I may have liked and disliked it. I read it several times.

I have been obsessed with this book. (not out of character for me to geek out over a book).

It’s about quantum physics.

It’s a history lesson and a pretty good explaination of how a wave of energy becomes matter. There’s a weird phenomenon. Particles (tiny ones, on the quantum level), need to be observed. Otherwise, they will just stay as waves of energy.

yes, apparently there are devices that can measure energy, electromagnetic waves. Scientists discovered that as these waves are measured, they start to transform. If observed, they then transition into particles which appear and disappear and even change location, as if deciding what the observer is expecting to see.

Its a bit mind-blowing to think that without an observer, there would be no matter. The book goes as far as suggesting that consciousness needs to invent (and continues to invent) ways to observe itself. Light, eyesight…

Early physicists, contemporaries of Einstein wondered if the universe is only able to expand if it is observed.

I can’t help wondering about how influential our perspective of observation really is. We see what we expect, or rather, we expect and then we see. something crazy like that.

There is a whole chapter about the fact that man decided on the concept of time, it doesn’t really exist. (?) Time is a strange construct if you think about it. It’s measurable, but it seems to speed up or slow down depending on our circumstances. Memory is always inaccurate, the future doesn’t exist, though we can spend a great deal of time thinking about the past, or the future, which makes it FEEL almost like we are there, un noticing our present which can disappear into our past, then disappear from memory. Oh my!

What spending all our time rehashing or future-izing CAN do is give us more of the same things we tend to think about. The reticular activating thing in our brains helps us unconsciously sift and sort and look for those things we are used to seeing, or thinking about.

I can’t help wonder if I could train my brain to think more purposely.

The concept of thinking with quantum theory in mind, using thought as a precursor to intention as a precursor to actual events or things is not new.

It’s just that it’s not easy to remember to think on purpose, I’m finding that every time I listen to this book that I’m somehow wanting to try harder.

Sure,

I have many wonderful memories.

As I look back on my life, through pictures or just reflecting back, I really have had a wonderful life.

I’ve had my share of George Bailey-all-is-lost- moments, but as the years march on, I can’t help but be grateful for all of it.

The hard times, the fun times, the sad moments and the boring ones. All my fears and shortcomings. All my mistakes and mistaken beliefs, every day in sequence, I’m glad for it all.

Would I go back knowing all I know now and change anything or appreciate things more as they were happening?

Nah,

I think the way it happened was the way it happened. Neither good nor bad. Some days I wish I’d lived less fearfully, made choices from a different stance, but it was all part of what shaped my life and me. Everything I’ve experienced has shown me, me. That’s how I see it today. (Subject to change of course depending on, well, plenty of things)

About a month into my ankle recovery, I started a crocheting project. I had nothing in mind but to relearn how to make a basic granny square. There was some yarn left over from G’s grandmother in the attic., decades old in an array of colors which I didn’t choose.

Online, I found many different patterns for granny squares. I got a little obsessed with them, learning new stitches, making up my own patterns. Soon enough I had a little pile of squares.

I decided to join them all together, but with what color? How could I possibly unify this hodge podge collection of yarn?

Once I’d decided , still making little squares, I (with my broken ankle) somehow got to Michael’s to find taupe yarn No surprise that the closest to my imagined color was not available. I had to settle on something else.

I was not excited about my project or in any way optimistic that it would turn into anything but a sad amateur attempt (and a terrible color combination) of a ‘throw’.

My favorite activity turned into listening to books or talks while icing my ankle and crocheting. Even sports on tv was a nice back drop to my new ‘hobby’.

In fact, I was actually enjoying sports more. I suddenly was curious. What’s a walk off win? What’s a slider? I googled how it was decided to retire the pitcher and go to the bullpen. Hmmmm

Don’t even get me started on my latest book ‘Quantum Revelation’.

So after bordering my squares and laying them out, G’s mom was suddenly invested. She found more bits of yarn. Used something called a ‘press cloth’ to flatten some of the squares. When I started joining them she wondered about all the loose ends. Ugh. I told her I needed to weave them in. We discussed the size and shape of the eventual ‘blanket’. G had some good laughs at me in the recliner, icing and crocheting settled in and ready to watch the next Bruins game.

Who was I becoming? How was this throw creating itself? If I’d never met my left handed friend, if she didn’t have a terrible crochet teacher, if I hadn’t broken my ankle, if I wasn’t the type to get obsessed, if I didn’t need a ride to yoga, if if if, there would be no pile of squares, no listening at length to quantum theories, no interest in the World Series, and likely no endurance feelings about watching TV. Oh and no sitting comfortably in the recliner…

Laid out, my squares had all kinds of problems. When I pulled one corner to straighten one side, the rest of it needed to be pulled. These squares were a weird metaphor for everything. Affect one part and the rest is affected. As I decided on how they needed to be arranged, several possibilities presented themselves, I was aware that others existed, but I found one that worked for me. As I joined them, they straightened out each other. As they became one, they became something better than what they were as squares and certainly more than the yarn I started with.

It occurred to me that facia in our bodies was probably like the web of energy that we exist in. (similar to my crocheting). My broken ankle has affected other body parts, similarly one strong energetic happening in one place often has affects in completely different places. Tug one corner…

How could I want to relive what has already happened when I have so much more to learn and experience?

I needed these lessons and a few others. A way for me to learn made itself up and occurred and keeps occurring. Am I paying attention? I hope so. I think I am…

I’ve had some interesting down time.

I’ll probably block most of it from my memory as time marches on. Did I really break my ankle? What black boot? Pain? Oh it wasn’t so bad… Oh man.

Going on my eighth week of recovery, something has shifted, and not just with my ankle.

Meanwhile, as this chapter wraps up, I’m finishing up some things.

Like this painting.

I also got obsessed with following different crochet patterns. My friend took a class to learn how. She’s left handed and needed a little extra help. With yarn found in the attic (from G’s grandmother), and patterns from Pinterest, I retaught myself, and her. I now have something to do while icing my foot and watching Boston sports on TV. These squares have multiplied pretty quickly.

It’s been an interesting summer here.

As fall takes over the landscape, I realize that I’ve adjusted. I love my yoga studio and the community there. I love my garden. I love the trees. I love the water. I love the routine we’ve settled into. I finally get it. Our little corner of New England is charming in ways that are both obvious and in ways I never knew to look for.

I’m going to miss many things about my life here. It seems that there IS room for me to be me on this coast as well.

My East Coast adventure felt very much like I was a fish out of water. No matter what I did, no matter how many questions I asked, I didn’t get it. So many little things perplexed me.

I was as out of place as I was in seventh grade when our family moved from California to Canada. I never figured out that town either. Instead, after floundering for few years, I left for college

I do get to return to California after trying my best to be an east coaster. This year, I think I’m a little closer though. I may not be blending exactly, but I’m finding appreciation and I’m finding things to love.

How did I do it?

Well, I stopped trying to understand. Maybe living here was like learning to swim, I needed to just get in the water and knock off trying to understand why water was the way it is.

Things are done the way they are because that’s the way they’ve been done and it doesn’t matter if in other places it’s different. No sense losing sleep. No sense wasting time or space in my head wanting to change any of it.

What I could do was make myself comfortable. I could work around most of the personally difficult things and let the rest go.

I may have been forced by a broken ankle and some strongly vetoed decisions to let go, but the truth is, I needed the pushes. I needed to, at long last, accept. To find my own version of radical acceptance. To find my own work-arounds.

The first time I snorkled was in Hawaii. I was standing in knee deep water arguing with my son that I saw the fish clearly and did not need the snorkel or mask. He said :

Mom, just put your face in the water.

I insisted it wasn’t necessary.

He insisted I just do it. I insisted I not.

Finally, I gave in

Wow. WOW

I create my own resistence.

Even big parts of my own holding back, often my own suffering.

I cant go back and un resist. I’m not sure I’ll be able to not resist something else in my future.

But

I can enjoy this little moment of peace. I can even appreciate my broken ankle and all the surrounding events that led me here. Life is long

and a bit weird.

Out of the boot

(Heres a one I never posted from when I first broke my ankle)

Time has slowed down for me.

Details are more obvious when I’m not rushing. Lately rushing is a distant dream.

Its been such a weird gift.

I like being busy.

I like moving fast.

Whenever I first arrive in CT, I have to really adjust to the slower pace. In the beginning, I had such impatience over slowing down. Every time I was jarred out of my fast flowing woosh of energy, into what felt like painful waiting, minutes ticking by slow, slow, so s l o w l y, I could hardly stand it.

How was I supposed to get through a whole day at this pace, much lesss a whole season!?

Now, here I am learning to walk again. Speaking of slow, I’ve taken slowing down to a new level.

This has me noticing all sorts of different things. Important things. I am right here in every space filled moment, giving myself my full attention.

Apparently I have some fear.

Fear.

hmmm.

I don’t like to dwell on it, but well, it turns out, fear is a thing.

Instead of rushing past, not dwelling, kind of ignoring it, there is another way I’m learning.

I can stand and face fear, which I hate to admit , is an on going part of my life. Fear can really follow me around, so instead of pretending it’s not there,

I’m learning that I, single handedly, can calm myself. I don’t need anyone to come along and make things safe. I don’t need to ignore it or block it out by being busy and moving quickly. I can actually confront fear and calm myself.

This is a detail I have been paying attention to. I don’t even need to figure out what I’m afraid of. Now that I’m slowed down, and noticing, at the very first sign of fear (often it’s a tiny sick feeling), I just start deep breathing, asking myself what I need, how can I help, giving myself words of reassurance. It sounds a little crazy, but

It feels like I’m laying a new foundation. Adopting a new stance.

I have officially given up trying to be fearless.

Instead, I’ll be looking for ways to feel safe whenever I feel the first inkling of fear. So, slowing down and navigating safety, that’s the detail that I’m giving attention lately.

A strange little gift. From a really bad fall. And a really weird life situation.

When I broke my ankle several things changed.

That was four weeks ago.

It was a fairly minimal break, also a sprain on the opposite side of the same ankle. Small problem, but I was suddenly unable to walk, drive, carry anything, do yoga, cook or even pour myself coffee. Standing balancing. Stairs.

I found myself lying on my back, leg on three pillows (above my heart), icing my foot and ankle several times per day. Swelling was an issue. Everything I did, had to be modified. Crutches were a nessasary, exhausting and painful new friend. I figured them out eventually, but ugh, every place I went was an ordeal, just getting to the bathroom.

Sitting, something I barely did, I now do, a lot.

What have I been doing? Not blogging.

I haven’t clicked ‘publish’ at all lately. I have had an additional crash course in radical acceptance. I’ve devoted hours to reading. And drawing…

Drawing because most of my paints are in the attic, an impossible ladder climb away.

I might be the most boring person ever.

Drawing…

And reading.

Here I still sit. Though I’ve mastered crutches and stairs and can even do some yoga. I’m practicing standing and balancing. Even walking

I have this weird appreciation for these last four weeks. It’s a thing no one would ever wish for, but

Being limited like this has given me some different perspectives.

Sometimes subtle shifts change a person. I can’t explain why or how, but here are some

I notice myself more. I care for myself better. I intensely feel when I over do it. My human body has been hurt and needs things to heal. So with no judgement whatsoever, I do my best to accommodate my healing. I do my rehab exercises, I eat the best foods for bone health, I ice and rest and take it slow. I have no choice but to accept help. I thank everyone for stepping in, offering when I don’t ask, I have a deep appreciation for being cared for.

G brings me coffee and ice every morning. On top of doing everything else.

My MIL has been wonderful.

My yoga friend has come to pick me up for every class I feel up for.

I have experienced the compassion of so many in sweet and unexpected ways. I have not, and this surprises me, felt sorry for myself. I do not feel sad or mad that I fell. I actually feel like this happened because I needed this experience somehow.

Life is not meant to be all smooth and easy. Aiming for that is not why I’m here. I think Im starting to understand that some things need to break down in order to be rebuilt better. Me, I needed to break. I needed to spend sometime doing this.

And so I am

(From a several months ago, I wrote this after returning to CT after a meandering trip to see my kids and brother. It was just weeks before breaking my ankle)

What brings me peace?

Peace is one my favorite things.

As a child I sought it out every chance I got. I mean, I like a little chaos too, but my small child system felt the best when the energy around me felt peaceful.

All these years later, I still search out and enjoy peace.

Beaches, water, being near the ocean.

A walk in nature, music, silence, reading. Lots of things bring me peace. I can walk on a beach or sit on one for hours. The sound of waves crashing on or gently lapping the shore soothes my every mood. Even a pool or hot tub can do the trick.

There must be something to this. I have always been that ‘too’ sensitive sort and tried for years to be otherwise. I may have toughened up slightly, but in general, before I think to read the room, I’ve already felt it.

I’ve wished, that I didn’t, but somethings haven’t changed.

Too often I burst into a room and realize one second too late, that who I am in that minute does not match how the others are feeling. Then what? Would I be better to bravado my way through, ignore the feeling?

One day I’d like to feel or not feel clashing energies and confidently carry on when things are not fine. Maybe be the one to project peace?

When things ARE fine, I relish it. I love a light peace filled moment. I have so enjoyed the friends and family I have interacted with for these last two weeks. (this is an old draft that I didnt post, written right before I broke my ankle) Each interaction was easeful, fun and peace filled.

Truly, a bit of peace can erase it’s opposite. Thank goodness for our tiny beach by the dock in Connecticut. A sweet patch of water too soothe me. My first full day back and whew.

Some time well spent in the blessedly air conditioned yoga studio, another two hours on the beach, some nice chats with neighbors, time in my garden, all bring me some very much needed and very appreciated peace.

Ah peace.

What I’ve learned in truly uncomfortable moments, is that I carry my own internal peace with me. No one or thing has to change for me to find it.

That little nugget of understanding has changed me

Has changed everything

If I want to feel peaceful energy, I can.

I may have to step away. I may have to look hard for examples of good. I may have to get myself to a beach. It might even be a few slow deep breaths or a moment in a garden that will do the trick.

Just to know that its there and I can find it.

It still takes a minute, or several, but I know its there.

For me, knowing this is completely helpful.

I had to slowly learn over time, that art is not a good photographic copy of a picture. I know now, when everyone says ‘wow that is so good’, they usually mean ‘wow, that is a good copy of a picture!’ It’s a great exercise, but true art is more.

When I learned to let my mind go and let the art decide what it would be, I started doing artwork that I really loved. Not every time, especially not at first. Even today, I still need to take some long deep breaths, remember, and let my brain get out of the way, which can take a minute.

Art always comes through from somewhere beyond.

Practiced talent, can take anyone only so far, then it’s up to the real force of universal creation.

Which is why I can love my paintings, because I know if I’m plugged in, they aren’t really mine. When I don’t like a painting, I now know to wonder where I’m holding on, trying, putting in too much effort, relying on my human skill or knowledge. That is my own little recipe for disaster.

I’m not sure if I should have learned this in art school, because skipping the basics is skipping the foundation. Even Van Gogh had to practice drawing. So maybe it wasn’t too late a lesson after all.