So there I was–no phone, no car, no keys, no purse, nothing. It wasn’t exactly by accident. It’s just that I had emerged from a licensing test (long story for another day) where you could not have anything on you, not one thing.(Well, clothes of course. But not much else.) And I’d come out of the test center 20 minutes early. After one teeny, tiny moment of confusion and feeling kind of naked, I felt surge of delight.

Certainly, it helped that I passed the test. But what really fueled my glee was the wonderful sense of freedom resulting from my unconnectedness. The day was mild. There was a place to sit and a bathroom back in the test center if I needed it. For 20 minutes I walked around the outside of the building, situated near a main road and bookended by strip malls, and celebrated just being. I watched the two crossing guards, pondered the source of the cobblestones that took the place of a lawn, and was grateful for the combination of detachment (no tech) and security (I was alive and well and my ride would soon show up).

My health requires staying centered, soul-connected and in tune with my body and the world around me. And I certainly do my best to build quiet time into each and every day. But I do well to also enhance those practices by embracing serendipitous moments of retreat. I could have fretted that I didn’t plan better. I could have paced, anxiously willing my ride to know I was finished early. Many times that’d be my way of responding. Instead I embraced a way to just my self and my circumstances be.

Not a bad 20 minutes work! Here’s hoping that  the little bit will be the seed of more serenity more of the time. After all, I can unplug by choice as well as happenstance, right?

It is possible to slow your life down. Meditation trains us to live more and more from serenity, not frenzy.  It doesn’t have to be difficult. Trust me:

Forget everything you’ve heard or read about meditation. Forget trying to get it right.

Forget trying to make your brain stop spewing. It won’t, it can’t, that’s not its nature.

Let yourself bloom.

Lie flat on the bed or sit in a chair and just ride your breath, feel it come in, feel it go out. Don’t force it. Just be aware.

When your mind drifts, just politely (no scolding!) bring it back to your breath. Do it for as long as you can (set a timer if you want). Start with five minutes, then build.

There. You’re meditating!

With all my unhealthy comfort props gone, what does that leave? No more binge-eating. No more running up the charge card. No more expecting people to be and do what they can’t. Smoking? Drinking? Gone! Junk TV marathons? Bye bye.

I’m no paragon of virtue. Initially I had to find a way to replace food as a god because if I didn’t, I’d die of obesity-related ailments. Everything else, all the other mindless escapes, left in a cascade of understanding that anything I put in front of facing reality would eventually become the enemy. I don’t know how it is for other people (and I’m not opposed to fun, for goodness sake) but that’s how it is for this food addict. At a certain point, I figured I might just as well give up running away rather than tussle with the obsession de jour.

Which brings me to the subject of, if I’m not going to evade reality and be a comfort-junkie, how will I avoid being freaked out all the time? A mentor suggested I think of those times when I feel safe. Initially, I said never, because learning to trust the good in life has not come easily to me. But eventually I started remembering times of feeling loved, connected, touched and protected. Tucked up snug in my bed with a good book. In wide-open nature, beach or woods. When a friend calls to say she’s praying for me every morning. When another takes my call, offers infinite kindness and validation, and waits patiently on the other end of the line while I cry, then dry my tears. Then there’s singing–I always feel in the flow, free, clear and potent when I sing. Private family moments, too, when my guys are all gathered around the table, scarfing down my good cooking and cracking wise about their hijinks, the ones I didn’t know about at the time. How we laugh!

So where does this leave those of us seeking to live substance-free but not wallowing in misery? Once I know what makes me feel safe, I have two responsibilities:

1. Seek out healthy things that help me feel safe.

2. Remember these things, feel where they live in my body, when I’m in the crunch and any time I can.

When I honor my life this way, I get to have my life. I get to be a better, more useful person, to myself, others and my higher power. And I get to realize deep, deep in my gut, that my true state is infinite, eternal—and perfectly safe.

The first time I heard about self-nurture I was 38 years old and pregnant with my third son. I was majorly stressed out and a mentor suggested I add in some self-care to my day. “Huh?” was my response. Didn’t know. Can you imagine? But to be a good mom I needed to chill, so I took the advice. I’m still learning, but I’m getting better at it.

I can get to the doctor when I need to, make healthy eating and enough sleep a priority, and even sit down to relax from time to time. I take a hot bath every night and rub in some nice lotion. I refuse to wear clothes that don’t make me feel good, and pay top dollar to get a really good hair cut. You catch my drift. How can I be the peace I want to see in the world, if I can’t even treat myself with basic nicety?  When I first started, I’d make a list of what made me feel loving and lovable, to refer to.

I can even ask for what I need. Case in point: I have no shame, none at all, in telling folks when my birthday is and well ahead of time. See, I can’t expect people to

Is the rose you pick yourself less sweet?

read my mind. Not even about stuff that seems obvious. Now, I’ll make sure I get to have a fun day, or even a few days. It’s special to feel special. And I’m delighted to give folks the opportunity to join the celebration.

For the record, the big day is next Wednesday, August 24. Party on!

The sun also rises.

This is dedicated to all my friends, colleagues and family members who’ve had a loss recently. My heart is with you. Because I know how it feels, and I too am grieving, I wanted to share some basic ideas that help me:

• Reach out for hugs, prayers, coffee, a listening ear. People want to help but don’t always know how. As best you can, clue them in. Yes, they’re going about their daily lives. But most people will make a little space for you if you ask.

• Let in the love. When my mother died several years ago, a mentor told me to let other women nurture me. So I did. But I also had to soften my belly, unclench my chest and feel what they were offering.

• Treat yourself tenderly. As much as you can, add in lots of extra self-care: healthy, tasty meals; sweet lavender lotion; massages; a new novel to lose yourself in a little; an evening to veg on the couch with goofy old TV reruns.

• Use rituals. One friend tells how she’ll be burning a candle next to her dad’s photo for 42 days, a Buddhist practice. Perhaps you’ll write a daily letter to your loved one. I invoke my late friend Karen’s spirit during my morning meditation and blow her house a kiss whenever I pass. These repetitive actions soothe our soul and are a form of permanence in times of enormous uncertainty.

• Drop your expectations. Grief takes many forms—irritation, irrationality, fatigue, depression. It can get pretty grungy. Don’t put pressure on yourself to do better or be better than you can. It doesn’t work, and it’s not kind.

• Don’t listen to the lies. Regret is part of grief. We will always want one more hug, one more visit, one more moment. It’s not our fault that that can’t happen. We didn’t cause what happened. If there was something we maybe could have done better, we have to let that go. Our loved one is at peace and he or she forgives us. We can forgive ourselves.

• Schedule your tears. One way I learned to manage the crying, because it can be awkward bursting into tears at, say, work, is to plan for a time of day when I’d find a way to be by myself, lean into the sorrow, and let it rip. Sometimes when I need to cry and can’t, I watch a sad movie. For years, Out of Africa did it for me. This tip, by the way, is for a few weeks or months down the road. Early on, crying all the time, well, it is what it is, whenever, whereever.

• Use the yearning. I employ that hungry ache inside as an avenue to feel a connection to the one I’m missing, and to my higher power. And from there, draw in as much consolation as I can hold, even as I still feel the ache of the loss.

We just gotta keep on keepin' on, don't we? Where-ever, whenever, however.

You’ve probably seen this before. I know I have. I just stumbled on it again and printed it out for my wall. This is where I’m at, just for today, as I reinvent my work life after being laid off from a staff job.  To me, this is about courage, something I, like most folks, always need more of. Let me know how it works for you

The following is credited to Mother Teresa.

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

Karen postively radiated sunshine. She was the gentlest person I ever knew—but she was no wimp!

I was blessed to have a best friend in Karen Cummings for 20-plus years. We lived in the same neighborhood, suffered the same anxieties and compulsions, and loved our husbands, kids and lives with equal passion.  Whenever we got together, we thoroughly explored the latest crisis, incident, lesson or cause for celebration, and nearly always spent some solid energy congratulating ourselves on our good fortune to have such a friendship.

We lost Karen in June 2010. But she continues to teach me still.I miss her bright smile and her sweet energy and every day remember the things she taught me:

1. A BFF reminds you who you are when you forget. Should I go ahead and get that rescue dog I’d signed up for and now felt skittish about? “It’s what you wanted,” she reminded me.

2. She always believes you can do it. I was 254 pounds. She never stopped being totally confident I’d lose the weight and keep right on growing and changing.

3. She forgives your missteps, and is quick to apologize when she slips up. After years of talking to me nearly every day, for 12 days one spring she didn’t return my calls at all. She was upset with me, how I’d called and left a long, meandering, complaining voice mail on her family’s phone; finally she called, apologized for leaving me dangling, and explained she wanted our friendship to be on a more positive footing–not just about our recovery from food disorders. Then she said with great compassion, “I know it’s tough when someone changes the rules midstream without warning.” And we moved on.

4. She dares to tell you what you really, really do not want to hear. And she does it without making you feel bad.  I’d gained back 7 pounds of the hundred I’d lost. “I just call that average fluctuation,” I told her. “I wouldn’t,” she said.

5. She gives you her own copy of the awesome new book she’s been reading, because she knows you’ll just love it, then goes out and buys herself another copy. That was The Secret, from which we both learned, drew out the good, then moved on.

6. She’s endlessly patient. I’m a horrible housekeeper. I talked about it all the time. She never said, “Enough already.” And she never once told me I talked too much (thought I sometimes do).

7. She’s the first to arrive and last to leave your parties. And she forgave if I arrived at one of her parties late or had to leave early.

8. She dares to ask for what she needs and understands when you can’t be there for her and accepts the love you have to offer, the way you are able to offer it, no strings, no expectations. When you do come through, she is so grateful. When she was sick at the end, I was working mega-hours and hated that I couldn’t get to her house more often. “We get together when we’re meant to get together,” she told me. And she meant it.

9. She accepts your differences. We used to laugh, contrasting her tendency for quiet service to others with my more worldly activities and activist tendencies. It was all okay.

10. She gives you so much love and acceptance that you can feel the energy even after she is gone. Now when I meditate and want to feel the love-energy that creates, guides and nourishes us all, I just feel the Karen-love and know I have my very own angel.

My sweet, mindful girl: She knows what matters most.

My curmudgeonly friend John Brzostoski, a Quakerly Buddhist (who was friends with the Dalai Lama before the rest of us even knew who he was) once told me: Live like a dog. As in, jump around joyfully when people you love walk in the door! Love everyone! Kiss them juicily, breathing in their scent! Insist that a partner, child, friend or co-worker take you for a walk! Devour your next meal with gusto! Be here, now!  Mindfully, in the moment, in other words.

Shadow Edelman, right, is our 12-year-old English Spring Spaniel. She’s soft as velvet, funnier than a clown and the best therapy any one of my five-member family could need. Now she’s also teaching us about growing old with grace; she’s slowing down, her hips hurt, and she’s going deaf, but she’s just as sweet and loyal as ever. I should be so grand when I’m an old dame.

She lives in the moment, the way I aspire to because it’s the only real way to be fully, totally, joyfully alive no matter what’s going on around you. Shadow’s  my mindfulness idol. Who’s yours?

I think it’s pretty common in our culture to put people, places and things in front of what we need and value most, connection with our deepest, truest self. In my case that was binge-eating sweet, greasy, bready things. But it could be really anything. Busy-ness. Thinking instead of acting. Acting instead of thinking. TV. Being angry all the time. Worrying every minute. Taking on too many responsibilities. Etc. Anyway, here are a couple of exercises I thought you’d enjoy:

When negative feelings and thoughts rise up, soften your belly. Drop your shoulders. Even if you’re the negativity starts to intrude or entrenches itself, breathe deep, release the tension. Connect with all your senses, one at a time. Come back to your body. Come back to the moment. You can deal with any single moment, if you deal only with that moment.

Greet every single feeling you have with an open heart. Just hold it gently with love, and breathe normally. Don’t push, judge, analyze or try to decide. The feeling itself will inform you what it is, what it needs, what (if anything) you should do. This is loving yourself. This is being honest with yourself. This is being truly alive.

Looking for my higher power—my highest self—is as simple as being touch with my physicalness. My first inkling of this was years ago when a mentor, at the end of a conversation sensing my frustration and out-of-touchness, asked me to remember the last time I felt IN touch. I pulled up a moment. “Where is it in your body?” she asked. l told her it was in the region of my solar plexis, a sort of calm coolness.”That’s God,” she said.

And so it is. Years later, working to stay in the moment as a way to heal anxiety, I learned that the quickest, most accessible way to be fully where l was, not in the past, not in the future, was to connect with my senses. Over and over, when the freak out looms, I learned to use my five senses, and my breath, to ground myself in all there is, really—the present. Lo and hold, wonder of wonders, along the way that practice has merged with my meditation and prayer practice, to put me ever closer to the Source. I am not physical becoming spiritual, I am spiritual being physical.

Where’s God? She’s right here, in me, with me. As psychologist Belleruth Naprastek says, my body is my oldest friend and closest companion. When I honor it by being in touch with sensation and breath—as well as feeding it well and moving it gently and purposefully—I have my whole life to live, really and truly, right here and right now, right now and forever. Amen!