I joined her in the kitchen at six every morning to help her prepare breakfast for her guests, but she wanted none of my help.  She sat me at an open window with a cup of fresh coffee and some crackers to feed the birds who perched on the sill.

Mesmerized, I watched her literally single-handedly prepare an elegant feast for six or eight people, with care, with grace, and without rushing.  While her cast iron pans warmed up, she set out her beautiful serving dishes, and chopped and sliced with precision.  She stood quietly before her giant gas stove, in constant but deliberate motion.  Soon, the counters overflowed with pancakes, eggs, fruits, breads, sauces, and puddings.  She carefully arranged everything, garnished the plates with sprigs of herbs and fresh tropical flowers, and only then allowed me to assist her by carrying the steaming dishes of edible art to the dining room.

It was an inspiration to watch.  I told her that watching her cook was like observing a moving mediation.

Since then, I’ve tried to savor food preparation and cooking.  The old me flew into the kitchen and tried to get things done as quickly as possible.   It wasn’t much fun.  As I practice what I learned from Anni, my kitchen is a quieter, happier place. I play music, stay in the moment as much as I can, and even take a look outside as I work, allowing myself to enjoy the vibrant tropical foliage just inches from my fingertips. I think my cooking has improved, too.  It tastes more like love.

And you?  Is there a place in your life that could use less rushing and more savoring?  Here are a few hints that might help:

1.  Set an intention. Before you start, remind yourself that you intend to slow down and that you want the process to be as enjoyable as the destination.

2.  Breathe. Some slow gentle breaths signal our nervous systems to re-regulate and to regain a natural pattern of speeding and slowing.  When our physiology matches our intentions, we have a much better opportunity to enjoy the experience.

3.  Align your thoughts with your actions. Let thoughts of other things go for now.  You can come back to them later.

4.  Feed your senses. Use your beautiful mixing bowls instead of the scratched up plastic ones.  Put on your favorite music and then listen to it. Smell your surroundings, and if there isn’t a smell, add one you love.

5.  Bring mindfulness into your task. Allow yourself to be aware of what you are doing, as you are doing it.  Feel your knives in your hands, your fingertips on the keyboard, your hands in the garden gloves.  Notice your feet in your shoes and how they contact the ground.  Observe what you are doing.  Watch the magic of the sharp knife as it shreds celery. Look at the water from your shower as it falls, and feel it touch your skin.

6.  Allow yourself to play. Approach your project like a small child who is learning to put clothespins into a bucket.  Don’t get hung up on judging your efforts or comparing yourself to others.  Simply notice what you are doing, stay curious, and remain open to let things happen.

So give these tips a try.  See which ones work best for you, and which tasks or projects you can try them with.

There’s a lot to be savored in our lives, wherever we are.  Let’s not miss it by hurrying to get to the end.

Rumi urges us to seize life fearlessly, to let go and merge with it, and to embrace with ease the joy and opportunity as it comes to us:

The Seed Market

Can you find another market like this?
Where,
with your one rose
you can buy hundreds of rose gardens?
Where
For one seed
you get a whole wilderness?
For one weak breath,
the divine wind?
You have been fearful
of being absorbed in the ground,
or drawn up by the air.
Now, your waterbead lets go
and drops into the ocean,
where it came from.
It no longer has the form it had,
but it’s still water.
The essence is the same.
This giving up is not a repenting.
It’s a deep honoring of yourself.
When the ocean comes to you as a lover,
marry, at once, quickly,
for God’s sake!
Don’t postpone it!
Existence has no better gift.
No amount of searching
will find this.
A perfect falcon, for no reason,
has landed on your shoulder,
and become yours.

Has a perfect falcon landed on your shoulder?  What do you want to do with it?  Do you welcome it wholeheartedly?  Will you honor yourself, believe it, and allow it into your life?

Or are you thinking “this can’t be real if it comes so easily”?  Or “this can’t be valuable if it has come so easily”?  Are you believing that struggle is a necessary component of your life?

Where can you be more open to the rose gardens, the divine breezes, and the magnificent oceans which come to you?

A few weeks ago, its mangoes began falling.  I sampled one, but it was tasteless.  The fruit drops day and night, thudding on the roof and plopping to the ground, but I’ve ignored it, except to gather it up from time to time and bury it, to keep it from attracting insects.  I have two other trees providing fruit, so I gave it no further thought, except at midnight whenever a hard, green mango smacks onto the roof and rolls to the ground.

As I cleaned up the fruit this morning, I spotted a couple of really pretty, golden specimens.  Curious, I took them in to sample, and they were an extraordinary surprise–sweet, tender, and delicious.

I think the tree is telling me that we can always regenerate,  sweeten, and offer the best of ourselves to the world.  And that sometimes, our assumptions may not be true, even when we think we’ve investigated them.

Aren’t those messages we can always take to heart?  No matter how many times we’ve told ourselves we couldn’t do something, no matter how many times our creative mind seemed barren, no matter how many times we’ve failed to seize the opportunities that come to us, we can always regenerate and bloom and sweeten.  And even when we’ve told ourselves the same old story, over and over, we can look inside again, and find liberating new truth.

The mango tree is just outside my bedroom window, and late at night, as I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear it out there, releasing it’s sweet golden offerings.  I hear them rustling through the palm fronds as they descend, then landing in the thick jungle of vines below.  Each time I hear it, I remember all of the regeneration and opportunity and sweetness and truth in the world.  And that whether I pay attention or not, they’re there–delicious surprises,  just waiting for me to notice.

My treat last night was a Yoga Nidra class, which means “sleep of the yogis.”  I normally wouldn’t have considered going to this class, telling myself it wasn’t enough exercise.  But for a treat, why not?

After a series of low to the floor poses, there was a guided meditation, a half-hour of which is said to be as beneficial as three hours of sleep.  I have no idea what the guided meditation was like.  I was out cold.  Strangely, I woke up, a bit disoriented, just at the very moment when it was time to sit up.  I floated home, and slept like a baby.

How are your treats going?

Witnessing this was one of the most moving experiences of my life.  Black and white, young and old, Republicans and Democrats, all patiently and politely waiting together. People stood side-by-side chatting, even though they wore buttons from opposing candidates.  I didn’t see one complaint, one rude remark, or one argument.  No matter how this election turns out, this aspect of it has been phenomenal.

There was a group of five lawyers advising the hundreds of waiting voters.  In the past, I would have sought direction from one of the ones who had been there all week, since I was the newbie.   Being on the joy diet though, I decided to find my own niche, with my heart, not my head.  Now this may not seem like a really big deal to you, but I was there as a lawyer, and trust me, lawyers don’t typically work this way.

As I scanned the lines, I noticed that there were elderly, disabled, and ill folks waiting in line.  Apparently a security guard, who, to be sure, was trying to do his job, was turning these folks back to wait in line with everyone else.

I escorted two blind voters to the entrance.  The guard stood to block the door.  I gently told him that they were disabled and that I was taking them inside to find a place to wait.  He glanced at my ball cap emblazoned with the words “Florida Voting Rights Attorney,” and stepped aside.  They would still have to wait, but it would be in chairs, in the air-conditioning.

So that’s how I spent my day.  Several hours after I’d helped a severely disabled woman with lupus who was dragging a heavy wooden folding chair with her, I saw her exiting the polls.  When she saw me, she lit up.  “I voted honey. I made it.  Thank you so much,” she cried out as she hugged me.  And that was pure joy.

It was a big outdoor party.  A group of drummers were pounding Caribbean rhythms and blowing horns as they stood in line, a woman on stilts danced to the drums, volunteers (affiliation unknown) handed free water bottles to waiting voters.   A truck from a church unloaded folding chairs for whomever wanted one. I chatted with old friends and people I didn’t know.  It was fun.

Everywhere I go, people are asking each other, very respectfully, whether they have voted.  My friend Lise, who lived in Haiti under Baby Doc’s governance and is now a proud US citizen, laughs and says she will only vote on election day.  She’s superstitious about having her vote count.  My postal carrier smiled and told me she will take off Thursday to vote.  I’ve heard that an 80% turnout is expected here.

My strongest desire today is to continue this heightened sense of connection and to be of service.  What can I do after the election is over, to continue this exciting feeling?

Today’s ideas: volunteer in a library reading to kids, volunteer to do something in the schools having to do with civics or the law, continue to speak with strangers after the election as if there was still a good reason to do so, collect supplies for a school in Jamaica, raise money to renovate a school in Jamaica.

The idea that gets my attention today is to continue to speak with strangers, even after the election, as if I  had a good reason to do so.  And I do have a good reason, actually.  It’s called connection and joy.

As we let our struggles go, we discover they are optional.  We learn that we can create struggles, and that we can let them go, for a few moments, for the length of a yoga class, and in many instances, for as long as we choose.

My creative exploration continues.  My list contains Barcelona, Ischia, Italy, the Scottish Highlands, Jamaica, South Africa.  Why?  Barcelona for the beauty of the Gaudi architecture, Ischia to discover my great-grandmother’s home, the Highlands to connect with my mother’s forebears, Jamaica to be of service, Paris because its there.

Then I realized I could probably take my coaching practice to Paris or Barcelona, and stay there for an extended time.  I know a writing coach who is in Paris for six months, and is still working with her US clients.  She speaks with them on Skype, which is a free service.  I could get an apartment in Europe, and stay as long as I wanted. Now that’s an idea that is really exciting.  It seems really far-fetched and scary, too, until I realize that what makes it far-fetched and scary is the way I’m thinking about it.

The writing coach in Paris righ now obviously didn’t think it was such a crazy idea. For now, I’ll take Natalie’s advice, and let go of my struggles.  I’ll just enjoy the excitement of this idea.

For those who are uncomfortable with the word “God,” another variation substitutes the word “Truth” for “God.”  The truth is in the details.  I really like that.

The difference between “The truth is in the details,” and “the devil’s in the details,” is only a change of perspective.  But that’s what Truth is.  If I struggle with the details, my task becomes devilishly difficult.  If however, the details are explored with curiosity, with commitment to full exploration, by showing up fully, then something Godly, spiritual, magical, deeply Truthful emerges.

Isn’t that what Joy is? If I show up fully and explore with curiosity, in the present moment, what else can there be but pure joy?