Transformation//
Reish Hay Ayin
After many failed and distacted draft attempts, I write this one to you.
The kids are upstairs playing Barbies with a neighbor.
Rather than go on with essays exploring each of the 72 names, a few months ago I had a clear knowing of the one name I was meant to focus on for the foreseeable future. Hard to believe I’ve written essays exploring half the names already.
Reish Hay Ayin. It’s a name I’ve written about before.
It’s about, I think, letting immense pressure transform you. Like carbon to diamond.
It’s how life feels for me pretty dang often.
So before I press pause on this writing project, or pivot it, I wanted to share a few things, as a thank you for being a reader, and as a way to recognize the spiritual work of ordinary, sacred living.
Here is a gentle list of December moments of catharsis that I hope to remember.
The warm whirring roar of blow drying Leah’s wet braid atop her snug jammies. Feeling comforting and stabilizing.
Going into Ben’s room and turning off the Thomas the Train podcast he likes to fall asleep to. Kissing his warm cheek, tucking an extra blanket over him. Feeling motherly.
Watching Jon play monkey in the middle with them in the cul-de-sac as a stall tactic, eventually and finally tending to the hundreds of pounds of wet backyard leaves accumulated in about ten days’ time. The perfect hour spent outdoors on an otherwise too screen-filled Sunday. Feeling content.
Grooming Barley on the front porch. Giving him daily spoon hugs on the floor and behind-the-ear skritches. Feeling caring.
A tear surprisingly rolling down my cheek playing a single line of a beloved song on the piano. Feeling sadness.
An extended hugging of the neck of a horse I’ve been leading in lessons this fall after our last session. Letting another barn volunteer witness this sweet moment and resisting the urge to break contact when experiencing the feeling of being seen in that moment. Feeling honest and vulnerable.
My feet carrying me down a different road on one of the many cold morning runs, discovering a new favorite route in the process. Feeling inspired.
Cutting my run today short, on this last day of the year, to hit some tennis balls against my favorite tennis wall in the sunshine, and once again tend to the backyard leaf piles. Feeling peace.
Wishing you a new year full of ordinary moments that take your breath away, reminding you that the hard things in life might be the way to the growth you are seeking, and encouraging you to embrace change.