Welcome friends. Come in, please. Let's pretend we are gathered in real space, real time, together. Happy Brunch Sunday from Florida. Raise your glasses and let's clink a cheers to a bit of connection between work, notices and ads in your inbox.
This morning, on my sunny, mosquito and love bug-filled walk around the streets near our home, I chose to have music in my ear buds instead of a podcast. My brain has had a lot of words in it lately, and music felt like medicine.
I have an eclectic arrangement of songs in the music app on my phone. Instead of planning and searching for what I might want, I selected songs/shuffle and let the phone choose. Unlike radio, all the albums were downloaded by me, previously selected, so I could trust that what would come out would be enjoyable. Compared to radio-listening when I was younger, this feels very controlled. Here's what I got:
London Boy by Taylor Swift, a sweetly-marketed, modern hit, probably about Harry Styles.
Tuesday Afternoon by The Moody Blues, with peaceful staccato, healthy rhythm and flutes.
Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue, an 80s rock ballad, which sounds better turned up.
The phone had set a theme, it seemed. By this time, I WAS walking home, passing trees lining the sidewalk.
Though Tuesday Afternoon did not have the word 'home' in it, all the songs reminded me of my home now and the homes I have made all my life:
the closet-sized room with a communal bathroom in a 100-plus year old building,
a porch 'apartment' with no heater in a Wisconsin winter,
or a two-story in Florida with a pool, across from a swamp reserve.
This viruslife has made us all minimalists. Excessive shopping is gone. Distractions outside of our homes are erased. What three things, in your mind, make a home?
Books?
Blankets?
Refrigerator?
Today's Deep Breath: (Here's a practical juju nugget. May or may not be helpful.)
I'm sure you have done this in the last few weeks, but I enjoy this regular, filtering system: look around your space and notice, just be aware, of what makes you happy to be there.
Until next time,
Tami Lowe