One...One...One...

When I took my first meditation class, I was told to count my breaths. If I ever lost count, I was to bring myself back to one, and begin again, and do it over and over even if the result is

One...

One...

One...

Today I begin to understand the lesson.

One of the best things that coming in early for work has done is that it has enabled me to dance.

Since 2010, I've replaced reading with the news feed. Nonstop, 500+ posts a day, full of all the awful things people do, the destruction of the economy, the collapse of the environment, and the eventual outings of hateful pastors. After spending 15 minutes with a friend talking about history, I realize that newspapers were a blessing, and I no longer care about the outrage of the day. I want my stories back.

I know I'm not very good with a boomerang. At the same time, it's the only craft I know where it's fun to fail, and exhilarating to succeed.

The universe can be saved with a well timed pizza.

The first time I met a masker, and saw that under the glamorous woman's mask  was some guy in his 50's, I had hope.

My boyfriend knows all the awful things about me, and still cuddles me to sleep. With him, my dreams are different.

One...

One...

One...