Hidden between the main house, the former ice house, and a blessedly thick row of brambly hedges, I lay on my back for a few moments watching clouds drift past the tops of giant white pines. Then, without even realizing I’d turned, I found myself belly to the earth, toes curling in the soft grass just off the blanket, journal and pen right under my nose.

Ahhhh ... there it was. The sweet spot of summer I’ve been searching for.

I spent countless youthful summer afternoons on a blanket under the shade of our tree line. Sometimes petting a kitten. Sometimes reading a Trixie Beldon book. Sometimes searching for four-leaf clovers. Sometimes scrawling love-sick poems. Sometimes daydreaming, which usually turned into napping.

There isn’t much else to do when you grow up with no TV. When your neighborhood is cornfields and pastures filled with neighborly cows quietly munching hay.

I remember those summer days as pure bliss. Long, gentle days filled with a magical ease that most teens today probably will never know. I had nowhere I needed to be, and no one could reach me as the phone was firmly attached to a wall inside the house.

I don’t remember feeling lonely.

Now, as an adult, surrounded by people and phones and projects, I feel the deep ache of loneliness often.

Perhaps I’m simply more aware of the troubles of the world. Or I now have more people to miss when we’re apart. My brain has been programmed to crave constant stimulation and connection.

I take a deep breath of late summer air and try to recapture some of that summer bliss that only comes in tiny doses these days.

Picking up my pen, I write ....

I searched for summer, and I found it in a blanket.

A blanket flapping good morning on my mother’s clothesline as I awaken to the warmth of sunlight on my bed.

A blanket spread under the trees where the grass is soft and cool and the afternoon stretches before me like a sea.

A blanket transporting me like a magic carpet as I read of mystery and romance until I doze with the open book on my chest.

A blanket wrapped around me as I roast a hot dog impaled on a stick my father snapped from the nearby tree.

A blanket folded to pad the stadium bleachers at a baseball game where I see a whole other side of my usually quiet father.

A blanket sticky with sand and grass and giggles as I eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with my children by the river.

A blanket that lives in the back of our car for “whenever we need it” moments - a subtle invitation to spontaneous adventure.

A blanket spread with fruit and flowers and bread and art at our local farmer’s market.

A blanket on a dark hillside while fireworks explode overhead and ooohs and ahhhs fill the night air.

A blanket warmed from the summer sun and strewn with sand toys, seashells, and snacks.

A blanket tucked over baby legs in a stroller as I push my sweet grandson around the neighborhood until his eyes droop.

A blanket wrapped around small shivering bodies fresh from a swim and ready for ice cream cones.

A blanket covering a picnic table as aunts and uncles arrive with smiles, hugs, and dishes filled with memories.

A blanket spread by the lake where friends gather to enjoy a summer concert.

A blanket offered by a friend as the evening chill joins our chat on her lovely porch.

A blanket shared by a campfire where conversation gives way to crackling logs and crickets singing.

A blanket under a starry sky with the hoot of an owl as a lullaby.

A blanket added to the bed because cool mountain air through an open window makes for the best sleep.

Summer is already slipping away here in the North Country. Chrysanthemums have made their appearance at the local market. I’m reaching for a sweatshirt in the mornings and evenings.

A few maples turned scarlet. (Yes ... in August!)

Here in this wild and sometimes harsh place, we cherish summer - savoring its magic nectar as long as possible.

I want to fill these next weeks with more moments like yesterday afternoon. On a blanket. By a campfire. Under stars. With kittens. With books. With dreams.

More moments when being alone on a late summer afternoon feels like a full and rich life.

How about you, friend? What places or scenes represent summer to you? What sight or sound, taste or smell transports you to moments of ease and joy?

As we enter Summer’s golden hour, take time to gather your own magical memories - stacking them like firewood to warm the coming months.

As always, I’d love to hear from you. Where have you found summer?

Now, go have a week that your future self will HUG you for!

Join me in discovering the magic tucked into ordinary days and begin creating a life that feels beautiful - inside and out.

About the Author:

Hello there! I’m Amy, a writer, innkeeper, and accidental restaurant owner living in the Adirondack mountains. After years of building a “successful” life, I’d mostly succeeded in being exhausted and depressed. I realized the ache inside was a longing for a beautiful life – for magic in the middle of ordinary days, since those are the kind I keep having!

Pour some tea and stay awhile in this gentle space where I share essays, meditations, and practices for tired hearts longing to live in a more beautiful life.

Go Deeper:

Read my book: The Blessed Home – How Your Words Can Heal Your Home

Download my free Gather the Magic “Treasure Map” to help you spot the magic dancing in the corners of your ordinary day.

My website: www.amyjae.com

I don’t even realize I’m doing it. The other day, I was answering a text from a guest while helping my grandson find JUST the right dinosaur show on YouTube while chatting with an employee. She just stared at me and said, “I don’t know how your brain can switch so fast!”

I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a curse. While my brain has helped me to navigate a very full life, it also makes it hard for me to settle. To be still. To focus on ONE thing all the way from beginning to end.

As if to test me, while I typed that sentence, my phone dinged.

I’m proud to say that I am STILL ignoring it a whole sentence later!

And another one!

I’m on a roll!

Ok .. I’d better check in case it’s a guest with an urgent problem!

So about interruptions ...

My three-year-old grandson is visiting for a few weeks. You may remember him from last summer’s essay “Of unexpected fun.“ He’s still a bundle of fun, but a year older and faster and smarter!

My brain is getting a real workout! Dozens of times a day, I hear his little voice, “Mimi ... where ARE OOOOO. Mimi ... whatcha dooonin? Mimi ... What was THAT? (usually a sound out in the woods) Mimi ... come ONNNNN. Mimi ... wanna a ‘nack! (snack)”

Mind you, this is all taking place while I’m answering emails, trying to sound professional on the phone, folding laundry, training new staff, planning menus, cooking ... thank GOD for my brain that can switch quickly!!

In the moments when frustration creeps in (like, say, he refuses to nap and destroys my perfect afternoon plan), I have to remind myself that interruptions are sacred. (Well, maybe not all of them. I could do without the latest Facebook notifications.)

The interruptions that come wrapped in warm flesh keep us from isolating in a world of productivity and performance. They may be annoying in the moment, but they connect us to what really matters.

* The moment you listen to a customer’s rambling story.

* The extra book request at bedtime when you’re exhausted

* The phone call you almost silenced.

* The incessant questions that disguise a need for connection.

* The dinner guest who won’t leave.

* The slow old woman in front of you in the checkout line.

Life has a way of tapping on our arm like an insistent toddler. It asks us to choose love over the task in front of us.

And what could be more sacred?

Even before I threw back the covers this morning, guests texted with questions. The cleaner needs a day off. I need to make pico de gallo today. My grandson wants to play.

I felt overwhelmed by the demands and needs clamoring for my attention.

And under it all, like a stubby finger poking my arm, are the longings that I have been ignoring. The books that want to be read. The books that want to be written. The places that want to be visited. The flowers that want to be tended. The body that wants to move without a schedule.

I feel annoyed that these things are bothering me NOW. Can’t they see that I’m busy doing really important things?? They grow louder and more insistent until I remember that the thing little people hate the most is being IGNORED.

Just TRY to have a conversation or focus on a new recipe. Little people have a radar for when you’re not paying attention to them, and they INSERT themselves right in the middle of whatever you’re doing.

99% of a toddler’s day is simply a reminder that they’re HERE and they want to be with you - a clever and continuous cycle of Hear me! Help me! Hug me!

In many ways, the people and passions that interrupt us are like little ones - in need of nurture, protection, and a few good boundaries. When we ignore them for too long, they become whiny and annoying! They refuse to let us eat or work or sleep in peace.

Our dreams. Our people. Our life’s work. They keep nudging us and saying, Hear me! Help me! Hug me!

These interruptions persist so vigorously because they know what we often forget ... that THEY are our most sacred work.

The next time something or someone intrudes, inserts itself, and interrupts your carefully laid daily plans, imagine it as a tiny child with big eyes and beautiful curls bounding up and down in front of you - begging for TIME WITH YOU! (This is especially fun with an annoying customer!)

Instead of fighting against the interruption, pull that idea, that dream, that person close and look into its eyes.

Gather its clamoring hands in yours (figuratively if it’s going to be weird!) and hold them still while you say, “Hey there … I see you. I hear you. What you have to say matters. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, but I’M HERE WITH YOU NOW.”

Lean in and ask, “What adventure shall we have together today?” and let THAT be your to-do list for the day. You’ll be amazed at how fun your days will become.

As you nurture your own precious-but-pesky “littles,” they will no longer need to leap in your face. A beautiful, sweet trust grows as you give attention to what truly matters.

And that’s when magic happens, my friend.

We try, honestly, we do. But no matter how good our intentions may be, we always return from a trip with a car that looks like a frat house after a wild weekend.

In our defense, our trips are not neat little events where we wheel beautifully matched luggage sets containing capsule wardrobes through swanky airport coffee shops.

No.

We travel hard!

We’re usually gone for several weeks, visiting multiple states, navigating vastly variable weather conditions, and requiring clothing for everything from sporting events to church services, beach walks and nice restaurants to wrangling grandkids.

After weeks of hauling our luggage in and out of hotels, Airbnbs, and the homes of family and friends, we’ve collected a jumble of gifts and souvenirs, the remains of numerous coffee/fast food stops, a few lost grandkid toys, and a generous sprinkling of beach sand. It’s just not a pretty sight.

Which is why when we pulled into our driveway after our Spring trip, I sat for a few moments, gathering the courage to open the car door and begin the daunting task of unpacking it all.

Finally, I loaded my arms with as much helter-skelter as I could manage and made my way across the lawn and into the home we’d left behind six weeks earlier.

And that’s when I received a beautiful gift left behind by six-week-younger me.

The living room was completely free of clutter, with vacuum lines still fresh on the rug. Kitchen counters gleamed in the late afternoon sun, and the sink sat empty, every dish washed and a fresh linen towel hanging ready.

I stood still for a moment, honestly shocked. Whose beautiful home had I stumbled into with my armload of chaos?

Then I remembered.

We’d planned to leave on a Tuesday.

After a long winter, the call of warmer climates was loud, and we were in “get out of town” mode. Full steam ahead. Load ‘er up and hit the road. Let’s get a few hours under our belts to make Wednesday’s drive shorter.

That was the plan until we had a heckuva Sunday, a staff party on Monday, and now, on Tuesday afternoon, we faced a thousand details of closing down three businesses and packing for six weeks.

The residue of our busy days lay scattered around us: dirty dishes, overflowing laundry, and a jumble of winter coats, boots, tools, and other contents of the car’s hatch, removed to make room for our luggage. We rambled about the mess, ignoring the fact that ... We. Were. Tired.

At some point in the flurry, one of us ventured a crazy idea. “How about we take the rest of today to get more organized and leave early tomorrow?”

Of course, there was a discussion, for the pros and cons were many. However, in the end, we simply didn’t have any more PUSH left in us that day. We took a deep breath and spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening puttering our way around the house, getting our affairs in order.

After a good night’s sleep, we pulled out of the driveway early Wednesday morning to begin our adventure.

Six weeks later, I walked into the results of that decision.

Dropping my armload, I leaned against the gleaming counter and whispered, “Thank you” to my younger self who had prepared this gentle homecoming for me.

We are always on the way to ourselves.

The decisions we make today become the template for the life we will be living in a few hours, a few days, a few weeks.

We know this! And yet, the details of the day at hand swirl and shout with so much intensity that we rarely have time to think about what we’ll wish we’d done six weeks or six months down the road!

I’ve been home about a month now, but the sweet surprise of that welcome has shifted the way I move through my days. Several times a day, I ask, “What will future Amy wish I’d done?”

Future Amy loves simple things that only take a few seconds to do!

Things like:

* pulling the covers up on the bed and tucking her pjs under the pillow

* returning the shampoo bottles to the cabinet

* wiping toothpaste and hair out of the sink

* rinsing the tea strainer and returning it to the shelf

* opening and sorting the mail each day

* adding electrolytes to her water bottle

* packing a snack for a busy day

It turns out that future Amy also really appreciates it when I:

* go to sleep at a reasonable hour

* stretch in the morning sun

* take a walk a few times a week

* do laundry BEFORE she’s wearing her last pair of underwear

* choose to NOT eat that thing that will bloat her

* leave a few minutes earlier than necessary for appointments

* make choices with her nervous system in mind

* deal with my inner #%$@

Future Amy is deeply invested in these choices because she’s the one who will enjoy the benefits or deal with the fallout down the road!

She watches me take five seconds in the morning to pull up the covers, and I feel her gratitude at having a calm bed to return to at the end of a long day. She winks when I start a load of laundry so that her Grill shirt will be fresh and clean on Monday. She smiles when I pause and watch hummingbirds for a few moments while her cortisol settles. She applauds when I eat well and move my body because she wants to be a healthy, spry old woman.

Through each decision, I’m sprinkling gifts along the path for my future self to discover.

And here is the magical part.

Every act of intentional kindness makes me smile TWICE: When I make the choice, and when future me discovers it!

I’ve begun to think of these little decisions as preparing a kind space for a dear friend. If my best friend were coming to visit, I wouldn’t welcome her into a bed of tangled sheets or expect her to fend for herself with no food plan for the day. I’d make time to do things she loves - even on busy days.

Future Amy is on her way to me, and I want to create a life she’ll love - one that nurtures her body, mind, and spirit. One that she will lean into with a grateful smile when she realizes I cared about her on a busy Tuesday afternoon.

****

Look around your day. What could you do right now that will make your future self smile? How can you show love to the YOU that you’ll be this evening?

Next week?

A few decades from now?

I’ll warn you ... the “Future Me” game can become quite fun to play because, truly, everyone comes out a winner!

Now, go have a week that your future self will HUG you for!

About the Author:

Hello there! I’m Amy, a writer, innkeeper, and accidental restaurant owner living in the Adirondack mountains. After years of building a “successful” life, I’d mostly succeeded in being exhausted and depressed. I realized the ache inside was a longing for a beautiful life – for magic in the middle of ordinary days, since those are the kind I keep having!

Pour some tea and stay awhile in this gentle space where I share essays, meditations, and practices for tired hearts longing to live in a more beautiful life.

Go Deeper:

Read my book: The Blessed Home – How Your Words Can Heal Your Home

Download my free Gather the Magic “Treasure Map” to help train your brain to spot the magic dancing in the corners of your ordinary day.

My website: www.amyjae.com

A little scuttle in the bushes beside me interrupted my reverie.

What if it’s a snake? What if it slithers across my vulnerable, unprotected toes?? Forget “No Mow May!” We need to cut this grass!

I forced myself to stay still and see what would emerge - although I will admit that I was poised for flight! A few seconds later, a sweet little chipmunk scampered into the grass and stood in a patch of morning sun a mere foot from my foot.

Something in me whispered, “That’s actually a rodent, you know!”

But something else in me whispered back, “I know, but look at those adorable ears!”

The truth is that if any other varmint had emerged from that bush, I’d have been high-tailing it back onto the safety of the porch. But for some reason, I’ve decided that chipmunks are cute. Even though they have continuously growing incisors (yikes!), I’ve deemed them harmless and friendly.

This makes no sense. But it does show me that to a large degree, we can choose what charms and amuses us. We can decide to find certain things (or critters) friendly and adorable and magical.

So why not decide that most things are friendly and adorable and magical? Wouldn’t that make life a lot more fun?

It’s something to think about! :)

In the spirit of gathering friendly, adorable, and magical moments, I’d like to share some of my favorite memories from this Spring with you. As usual, we took some time off to travel and visit family. When we’re out of our usual routines, we tend to notice moments differently.

I love doing these “Gather the Magic” round-ups because it’s interesting to see what caught my attention. Days fly by and become weeks and months. Paying attention keeps me from just existing and missing the good stuff!

WHAT I’M READING

I set a goal to read more this year and so far, I’m doing pretty well. I finished THREE books and started another one during our time off. My favorite was “The Love of My Life” by Rosie Walsh. This book had all my favorite elements: love, mystery, heartbreak, and of course, the ocean.

When Emma becomes seriously ill, her husband, an obituary writer, begins delving into the details of her life. As he starts to unravel the truth, he discovers that the woman he’s loved, married, and built a family with doesn’t really exist.

Emma knows that someday she needs to tell him about the other love of her life ... but how? When? And suddenly, it’s too late.

Note: the purchase link will take you to the website of a small bookstore in Winthrop, WA, run by a sweet young family.

WHAT I’M WATCHING

I’ve been loving the show “Only Murders in the Building” on Hulu. The characters are so much fun, and the murders on the “lighter” side which works for my somewhat squeamish self.

This show manages to be humorous as well as mysterious.

WHAT I’M EATING

This category should, in fact, be called what I’m NOT eating! In early April, I had an appointment with a naturopathic doctor who recommended that I avoid seafood, fruit, and nuts for three weeks. Of course, we were in Florida, where seafood, fruit and nuts are GORGEOUS!

I suffered through my three weeks only to then be told to avoid all grains, nightshades, and still nuts. Sighhhh ...

The good news is that I’m feeling incredible! I guess sometimes our bodies need a break/reset from some of the more difficult to digest foods. .

This morning, I was ecstatic to finally break my no-grain fast with a scrumptious quiche from the French bakery in my little town. Fingers crossed that my body loves it as much as I did!

If you’re struggling with digestive discomfort, you may want to consider eliminating some of these foods that are known troublemakers. The peace I feel inside has honestly been worth it.

SOMEONE I SUBSCRIBED TO

I’ve been falling in love with embroidery again. I’m almost finished with a piece humorously called a “Weekender” that I started about 30 years ago. I wrote about it in “Of Making.”

As my eyes are NOT loving the intricate cross-stitch patterns of my youth, I’m switching over to more modern embroidery designs. I discovered the beautiful, soothing work of , an embroidery artist living in Sweden.

Here is one of her beautiful videos. I just love her soothing voice and the rhythm of the needle and thread.

SOMETHING I PURCHASED

I have a hard time knowing what I want to wear. There are many reasons for this - one of which is that I can’t stand tight waistbands. My closet is filled with failed attempts to buy pants that will fit and not make me want to claw out someone’s eyes.

A few weeks ago, I saw a friend wearing the cutest, soft-looking capri yoga pants. I asked her where she found them, and of course, she’d had them since high school!

But I found a very similar pair, and I’m happy to report that they are very comfortable. They flow and flounce in the most satisfying way when I walk, which is also helping me reach my daily step count!

SOMETHING NEW I’M DOING

Everyone is talking about the importance of getting morning sun on your face - as early as possible upon arriving. This helps to reset your circadian rhythm for the day and results in better sleep at the end of the day.

I can’t yet report any noticeable changes in my sleep, but I am enjoying sneaking out of the house and standing in the one wee spot of sun to be found here in the woods. Bonus points for the mornings I kick off my slippers and nestle my toes in the grass. (Still trying not to think about snakes!)

A PHOTO I FAVORITED

With the combination of grandkid time and beach time, I took a TON of photos this spring. It was hard to choose just one, but this photo stands out because it captures an evening I’m still thinking about over a month later.

We decided to walk up to the tip of Amelia Island one evening. We’d gotten a late start, and I was worried that it would be dark before we got back to our car.

We arrived at the northern tip of the island, part of Fort Clinch State Park, just a few moments before sunset. The tide was out, and shimmering pools covered the beach. The sun was quickly sliding below the horizon, and everything began to glow.

There are no words, and the photo doesn’t begin to capture the magic.

Even though we walked back in the dark, it was a scene that I’ll hold in my heart for a very long time.

WORDS I WROTE DOWN

“You weren’t given wings

to see the world from a tree.”

-Atticus

These words have guided me during the past few weeks when I’ve been tempted to play it safe.

They remind me to trust. To not know the answers, but still delight in the questions. To walk into each day believing that everything I need is already waiting for me.

*****

As we turn the calendar to June, may you enjoy these last few weeks of Spring. May you find that the scuttles in the bushes are indeed friendly, adorable, and even a little magical.

Have a beautiful week,

Thanks for reading Gather the Magic! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Share

Go Deeper:

Read my book: The Blessed Home – How Your Words Can Heal Your Home

Download my free Gather the Magic “Treasure Map” to help train your brain to spot the magic dancing in the corners of your ordinary day.

My website: www.amyjae.com

With a bit of dismay, I realized that it had been three years since I’d last been on a bike. You see, bike riding season in the Adirondacks directly correlates with our busy season at the inns and restaurant.

Also, when you live in a valley, there are no flat bike rides! Your choices are mountain biking which, as the name indicates, requires more daredevil spunk than the good Lord gave me. Or road biking along winding roads with narrow shoulders and the possibility that a logging truck could hurtle by at any moment.

Since I tend to weeble and wobble and be a nervous biker, I prefer to reserve my humiliation for quiet, lonely bike paths on mostly uninhabited islands!

I sprayed on some sunscreen, took a swig of water, and hoisted myself onto the seat - needing to stand on tiptoe even with the seat adjusted to the lowest setting.

It was time to push off.

But wait ... what to do with my cellphone?

I wanted to take photos along the way because I knew how beautiful the path wold be.

However, I also knew myself.

When riding a bike, I need to be ... how shall we say ... FOCUSED. . Both hands on the bike handles. Eyes straight ahead.

The slightest wrong move, like scratching my nose or glancing over at a tree, can send me into a fierce wobble that spirals wider and wider until I run off the path!

Reluctantly, I decided that safety was more important than pretty photos and tucked my cell phone into the pocket of my pants.

Stepping on the pedal, I pushed off. The first few moments were a little messy as I tried to find my balance.

“You need to go faster,” Wayne called from ahead on the trail. “Nobody can ride straight going that slow!”

After a few moments, it all came back to me as riding a bike promises to do. The tires on the pavement, the fresh air, the gentle bumping over twigs and leaves.

The afternoon was beautiful, and I began to feel confident. Confident enough to think about taking pictures.

I was braking to pull over and retrieve my phone (because my precarious balance wouldn’t allow such shenanigans while pedaling!) when a thought came to me.

“How did you remember your bike rides before you carried a camera in your pocket?”

Hmmm.... I wasn’t sure!

The thought was enough to keep me pedaling …

And summoned by the rhythmic cadence of wheels and breath, the memories appeared ... returning softly like small snapshots unfaded by the years.

Bouncing along our country dirt road. Braids swinging. Legs pumping under my long skirt. Rattling over the potholes. Sneaking past the farmhouse with the scary dog. My brother’s laughter. Scent of freshly mown hay. Handfuls of sun-warmed raspberries. Queen Anne’s Lace. Racing the last stretch to home. Bikes dropped under the trees. Lying on long cool grass ... tired... happy ... free.

I don’t have a single photo from those long-ago bike rides, and yet each sight and sound and smell lives within me. Etched deeply into my mind and body because I had no other way to capture them.

Growing up in rural Ohio in the 1970’s, being “in the moment” wasn’t the cutting-edge teaching of the latest wellness guru. It was simply the way we lived. We didn’t know there was any other way.

On that Florida bike path, I felt invited to return to that long-ago place where thrill and fun and contentment mingle. To just be a kid on a bike on a beautiful afternoon.

Leaving my phone in my pocket, I simply rode.

Feeling the path.

Noticing what I loved.

Allowing each moment to find a home in me.

Later, I captured these little “snapshots” of my ride in my journal.

As a prolific photo taker, I found it refreshing to experience my ride without taking a single photo. Using my attention, and later, my words to capture and hold the moment in a different way. You might want to give it a try!

1. Lay down your phone and really absorb what’s going on around you during an event or activity.

2. After the event, break the time into smaller moments and jot down a few words for each thing you remember.

3 - Limit yourself to one or two words for each “snapshot” and watch the bigger picture begin to take shape.

If you write your own “Snapshot” piece, I’d love to read it. Put it in the comments or you can directly message me.

About the Author:

Hello there! I’m Amy, a writer, innkeeper, and accidental restaurant owner living in the Adirondack mountains. After years of building a “successful” life, I’d mostly succeeded in being exhausted and depressed. I realized the ache inside was a longing for a beautiful life – for magic in the middle of ordinary days, since those are the kind I keep having!

Pour some tea and stay awhile in this gentle space where I share essays, meditations, and practices for tired hearts longing to live in a more beautiful life.

Go Deeper:

Read my book: The Blessed Home – How Your Words Can Heal Your Home

Download my free Gather the Magic “Treasure Map” to help train your brain to spot the magic dancing in the corners of your ordinary day.

My website: www.amyjae.com

*****

It was the day after Labor Day – the official end of my first whirlwind summer as an Adirondack innkeeper. I’d sent my girls off on the school bus to begin their new adventure. I’d cleaned up the breakfast dishes and waved goodbye to the last departing guest. And now I found myself wandering through the strangely quiet house – alone for the first time in months.

Through the chaos of our move, the months of renovations, the excitement of welcoming guests, and adjusting to small-town life, I’d envisioned this moment. The moment when I could officially say, “I made it” and celebrate the culmination of a dream come true.

It felt nothing like what I’d expected.

The empty house revealed what I’d been ignoring for months … the ache was still there.

The ache that clawed its way to the surface several years ago. The ache that forced me to ask hard questions. The ache that gave me the courage to pack up my entire life, move to the mountains, and become an innkeeper. The ache I thought I’d successfully cured with hard work and success.

The ache that felt like my heart was slowly breaking right inside the life I’d worked so hard to build.

Well darn!

Now what??

Heading upstairs to gather the family laundry, I spotted the small desk in the corner of our bedroom. I’d taken to calling it my “writing desk,” although I’d been too busy to write a single word since our move to New York six months earlier.

I lowered the laundry basket and slid tentatively onto the chair. Part of me bursting with so many stories to tell, so much joy and success. The other part of me terrified of those stories. Of how much I’d changed. Of how I had become a stranger to myself.

Of the truth that even after everything that had gone right, I still felt lost and lonely.

Staring out the window, the thought came …. find your journal.

Of course! That was the place to start. I began rummaging through the accumulated clutter on my desk, looking for journal I hadn’t touched in months.

A glossy pamphlet slid from a stack of papers and landed on the desk in front of me. Designed for tourists visiting the nearby town of Lake Placid, its bold, cheery letters promised that you could “Create Your Own Perfect Day.”

I had no memory of picking up the brochure. It must have been on one of our many trips to the area when we were tourists (not terrorists, as I later learned my daughter proudly announced to her teacher on that first day of school!).

Now it lay before me, glowing in the September sunlight like a golden tablet delivered right from the gods.

“Create your own perfect day.” I knew the brochure was referring to a perfect touristy day with options of restaurants, attractions, and lodging.

But a small door cracked open deep inside me.

One by one, the words seemed to lift off the page – each one carrying a permission, a promise, a possibility that I’d never dreamed of.

The ache swelled as questions swirled.

Could I create a perfect day by my own choices? Not just any old perfect day, but one that felt perfect for ME? Was I allowed to want such a thing? What would my own perfect day even look like?

I had no idea.

Of course, I could rattle off things like read a book, get a massage, or eat delicious food that I didn’t have to cook. But those were surface desires. I knew there was more beneath the emptiness I still felt.

The brochure offered a perfect day.

The ache whispered, “What about creating a life that is perfect for you....?”

Growing up in a loving but strict home, I’d always played by the rules. I’d taken the template that my family and society handed me and dutifully filled in the blanks. Career. Home. Family. Business. Community. Reputation.

Even my big, brave move to New York had been mostly my husband’s dream.

Until that brochure landed on my desk, I’d never allowed myself to admit that I didn’t feel at home in my own life. I’d never dared to think about a life that was perfect for ME.

Just me.

Finding my journal, I began to write … cautiously … as if I were breaking an unspoken rule. Then more urgently. Words spilled out of a hidden place onto the pages until the screech of bus brakes brought me back to my desk.

Laying down my pen, I watched my girls running up the driveway full of first-day-of-school stories that I couldn’t wait to hear.

I felt my own stories rising … as if I’d just returned from my own first-day adventure:

Scared.

Excited.

Awkward.

Hopeful.

The first day of daring.

Of believing.

Of beginning.

About the Author:

Hello there! I’m Amy, a writer, innkeeper, and accidental restaurant owner living in the Adirondack mountains. After years of building a “successful” life, I’d mostly succeeded in being exhausted and depressed. I realized the ache inside was a longing for a beautiful life – for magic in the middle of ordinary days, since those are the kind I keep having!

Pour some tea and stay awhile in this gentle space where I share essays, meditations, and practices for tired hearts longing to live in a more beautiful life.

Go Deeper:

Read my book: The Blessed Home – How Your Words Can Heal Your Home

Download my free Gather the Magic “Treasure Map” to help you spot the magic dancing in the corners of your ordinary day.

My website: www.amyjae.com

“There are men up there right now,” he said. “Do you see them?”

I squinted hard, but I could not see the men. I knew my dad wouldn’t lie to me, but my five-year-old brain had a lot of questions. I fell asleep that evening wondering about the men on the moon - what they were doing up there, if they were cold, and how they would get back to earth.

I’d just experienced my first taste of something so vast and mysterious that I could not comprehend it.

Fast forward over 50 years (yikes!) to this past Wednesday.

We discovered that Artemis II was scheduled to launch on our first evening in Florida. It was a beautifully clear day, and although we would be several hundred miles from the Kennedy Space Center, we hoped to catch a glimpse of the launch from the beach.

We left our son’s house in Ohio that morning thinking that we had a five-hour drive, but to our dismay, the GPS informed us the trip would take almost 7 hours without stops - and we must always stop!

So ... off we went … pedal to the metal, as they say.

With just two short stops and some traffic slowdowns, we found ourselves crossing the bridge to Amelia Island at 6:15 pm with the launch window set to open at 6:24 pm. We headed straight to a beach access that allowed vehicles to park on the sand while streams of people walked and drove alongside us.

Digging up my somewhat dusty Law of Attraction skills, I nervously said, “Let’s manifest a parking spot,” as we waited at a traffic light. It must have worked because moments later, we wriggled into the LAST legal parking spot on the beach - irritating a group of four who had decided it would be fun to park far apart and stand between their vehicles for the event.

Thankfully, the launch had been delayed a few moments, so we hopped out of the car and found a spot to stand. A few moments later, we glimpsed the tiny gleam of a rocket streaking into the evening sky.

Once again, I squinted upward - this time while the sun still shone - trying to imagine how all this was possible.

I understand a bit more about the mechanics of space travel than I did as a child, but it’s still incredible to think that the four people on board will travel further from the Earth’s surface than any human in history.

Back here on Terra Firma, I’ve claimed a small round table on the screened porch as my writing spot. During these quieter weeks, I’m determined to keep my head down and be “serious” about my writing, but my eyes keep drifting up through the trees to the blue sky - to where someone’s child, someone’s father, someone’s friend, someone’s lover is hurtling through infinite darkness at speeds up to 24,000 miles per hour.

I can’t comprehend it.

And I’m glad I can’t.

I’m glad there are still vast spaces I can’t imagine. I’m glad there are still questions I can’t answer. I’m glad there are still situations and scenarios that make me shake my head in curiosity, wonder, and even frustration.

For if I understood it all, life would be quite boring!

Returning my eyes to earth, I notice something I hadn’t seen before. On the trunk of a large tree just beyond the porch hangs a teacup.

What? Why? Who?

Once again, my mind tries to figure it out. Is it a remnant from a child’s backyard tea party? Was it hung there in memory of someone who loved tea? Does a wee fairy sip from it on a moonlit night?

I don’t know.

And I’m glad I don’t know.

Because now my imagination can play with a thousand reasons why there might be a teacup hanging on a tree.

Life offers us countless opportunities to wonder at things beyond our comprehension. Truly, that is one of our greatest gifts as humans. As William Blake wrote in “Auguries of Innocence,”

“To see a world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour.”

This week, I’m marveling that I live in a world where humans orbit the moon while teacups inexplicably swing from trees in afternoon breeze. A world where life begins and ends in every moment. Where magic and mystery weave themselves into ordinary moments just to see if we’ll notice. Where ideas and dreams can become reality when we surrender them to the field of greater wisdom.

Look closely at your world. Squint if you must.

When you peer beyond the normal, you’ll catch the shimmer, the sparkle, the streak of something amazing that you can’t comprehend.

Be glad you can’t.

For you’ve just caught a glimpse of magic.

Leave a comment

My dad was the middle child in a family of eleven. Five older siblings and five younger. His sister Phyllis, just 15 months younger, also happened to be my mom’s best friend and played a role in bringing them together.

Growing up before the era of social media or FaceTime, I rarely saw my aunts and uncles - especially the ones like Aunt Phyllis who built a life far away in a place called Arizona. For me, she lived in black and white photos in my mom’s dusty album.

While I don’t have any childhood memories of Aunt Phyllis, she tells me that the first time she met me, I was sitting on the floor, telling a story. Sounds about right!

When Facebook came along, I connected with a handful of cousins, aunts, and uncles. It was fun to see their photos, but I didn’t know any of them very well. I usually scrolled by their posts without too much thought.

Until one of Aunt Phyllis’ posts caught my attention! She wrote:

“I just booked a dog-sitting job for a year from now. I know people my age who don’t even buy green bananas!”

When I stopped chuckling, I did a little math and figured out that Aunt Phyllis was 85 years old. In that instant, I fell in love with her humor, her spunk, her optimism ...

A little voice inside said, “I want to be like her when I grow up!”

It’s been seven years since that post and Aunt Phyllis is almost 93 years old. I don’t think she’s dog-sitting anymore, but I’ll bet she still buys green bananas! She knows how to navigate Facebook - including emojis. She even signed up for my Gather the Magic essays a few years ago.

And then ... using her iPad, she began to send me emails.

None more than a few sentences.

Only a handful a year.

Bits and pieces of her life.

Aunt Phyllis doesn’t know it (although she will when she reads this!), but through those emails, she became one of my teachers. I didn’t really know her as a child, but now in my 50’s and she in her 90’s, her simple words and memories have gently shown me what it means to live a good life.

The kind of life where you can look back over the years and say, “Good job!”

Here are a few life lessons I’ve learned from Aunt Phyllis. Beside each one, I’ve included the link to the essay she was responding to. (I’ve included her exact spelling and punctuation to keep it authentic)

Abundance comes in many ways: (Of abundance)

“When I ponder the abundance, I have felt in my 90 years of living an abundant life, I recall the joy I felt taking my great grandson for a walk in the forest to pick up pinecones, when he was asked by his mother later in life, what his happy memory is of his Gigi, he said, walking in the forest, picking up pinecones.”

Cherish a few items and know when to give them away: (Of histories)

“The oldest thing I had in my house was my grandfather’s shaving brush that he used to apply a lather to his face to shave with his straight edged blade,he had a leather strap he used to sharpen the blade. He lived with my parents from the time they were married until his passing in 1950. Since I’m 91 years old I have been giving away things I want different members of my family to have. The remaining things I don’t care what happens to them when I’m gone.I have many items I have refurbished, that was my greatest pleasure.”

Notice life’s full-circle moments: (Of small loves)

“I look around me at the beautiful snow on the ground, and I am reminded of the snow angels we used to make as children.I am 90 years old, and I can no longer make a snow angel, I can only smile and recall the happy years of growing up in a large family, even though at times I wished I could Have been An only child. Oh, the fun I would have missed out on. I can now watch my great grandchildren make snow angels and share them with my small loves”

Notice the gifts in small children: (Of imagination)

“The first time I met you, you were sitting on the floor, telling a story. I loved your imagination. our family has been blessed by your existence.”

Fill your days with simple pleasures: (Of emerging)

“I’m ready to get my trustee walker out and spend some time outside. we have a little library in our neighborhood. I am able to choose books. I have not read before. I also play euchre on my iPad, which reminds me of the many games we played in Ohio. I give thanks every night when I go to bed that I had another day to live and have my being. I feel blessed.”

Be flexible when life throws a curveball: (Of tending)

“Since I’ll be 91 in a few weeks, I am used to being tended to. But this week things have changed, my sweet caregiver and daughter has pulled a muscle in her groin and can barely walk. I find myself fixing her broth, checking her to see if she needs another ice pack or heating pad. Since neither one of us can drive we have had to rely upon neighbors to pick up whatever groceries we may need, I find I am enjoying being a tender For a while. This too will pass. I will be back to our old routine and I will settle into being an old lady again. My life is full and I am happy.”

You will be many different people throughout your life: (Of returning)

“I have been many things in my 90 years, a daughter, a granddaughter, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and even a great great grandmother. I have made many friends and acquaintances. I have had the pain of losing my child when he was 69 years old. Most importantly, I have loved and been loved and now well cared for by my daughter. I have a lovely home and many happy memories. I have lived a good life.”

Reconnect with your inner child: (Of wonder)

“Growing up on a farm in Ohio, I can recall many happy memories playing in our meadow. In the winter time, there was a hill that we could sled ride on, and a pond To ice skate on, in the summertime, we would dam up the creek in our Meadow and have a swimming pool. As an adult when I looked at the same Meadow, the hill was so small the pond was no longer there, and the stream was very narrow, but oh how we children enjoyed that meadow.”

From 19 to 91, do what brings you joy! (Of continuing)

“When I was newly married at 19, we bought an old farmhouse. It had wainscoting in the living room, I painted it white and because my dad hung wallpaper I selected a solid raspberry color paper for the ceiling and three sides one wall was paper, ofsmall houses. It looked very cute together. That was the beginning of my decorating talents. I did not know I possessed. Later we rented for a while and had to move four times in two years we had the same milkman for each house. he told me one time I had a knack for decorating I made each house attractive. My life became very busy raising four active children. After they were raised and we had moved to Prescott Arizona, I joined classes at the local college and made many new friends. We built a solar home, and I had fun decorating it. I am now in a condo And at almost 91 I continue to jump up occasionally and rearrange something. The talent I did not know existed in me continues………”

You never know when you’re making a favorite memory: (Of toddlers)

“A few months ago, my granddaughter FaceTime me and she asked her seven year old what his favorite memory was of me. He said, walking in the forest, picking up pinecones in my bucket, then he added, but I’m sad now because she cannot walk with me anymore. from the time he was old enough to walk, we walked in the forest, picking up pinecones. Who knew that would be his favorite memory.”

Intend for things to be good! (Of unexpected invitations)

“Merry Christmas. You and Wayne have a good year. I intend to.”

Surround yourself with beauty and friends: (Of being here)

“I like to decorate for each season for spring I have a wreath of artificial eggs hanging on my wall, on my table I have a large purple vase with spring flowers and a garland of flowers and eggs. On my front door, I have a spring wreath. I keep my spirits high by playing cards with my neighbors, and going to lunch with my friends.”

Celebrate your spunky side: (Of attention)

“I remember that church camp. your mom and I wondered down to the lake and I fell in and got all wet so we had to sit on the bank until I dried off.”

Wake up with gratitude for all you’ve done: (Of making a life)

“As a 91 year-old my to do list consists of waking up with gratitude for one more day. my done list was very long. I raised four great children. I survived the loss of one of those children. I helped build a solar home. I survived the loss of my husband. I bought a house on my own. I have made many friends along the way. I have grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great great grandchildren. I am dealing with a loss of mobility. I still enjoy socializing. playing cards with neighbors. having a good laugh, with my daughter, who is my caregiver. I enjoy changing my decorations for the different seasons. I look back at my life and say good job.

That last line of her most recent email has replayed in my mind a thousand times. “I look back at my life and say good job.”

You’ll probably never read my Aunt Phyllis’ name on any billboard. She hasn’t written a NYT best seller or shown up on any “Who’s Who” lists.

But she has something no amount of money or awards could give her ... the knowledge that she has loved and been loved. That she has lived a good life.

Aunt Phyllis, if you read this, I want you to know that my eyes are filled with tears as I type these last words. I lost my mother (your childhood friend) when I was only 23 years old. I never got to see her grow old. I never got to learn from her as a mother myself. I never got to reminisce with her. I never got to care for her when she needed me.

Through your kind words, I feel like you’ve given me a glimpse of the way my mom might have viewed life as an old woman. She, too, was funny and spunky. She, too, loved beauty. She, too, loved to tell stories. She, too, loved and was loved.

Thank you for seeing me as a wee child, and for loving me all through my life - even when I wasn’t aware. Thank you for every message you’ve sent when I thought no one was reading or cared.

Thank you for teaching me that we should ALWAYS buy green bananas and intend for life to be good.

****

Dear reader ... I can barely see the page through my tears, but I want to leave you with this thought. You NEVER know who your simple words will touch. An email to a niece. An old story told in your words. A crazy Facebook post about dog-sitting next year.

Keep doing what you love.

Keep waking up grateful.

Keep loving.

Keep letting yourself be loved.

This is how we live a good life.

P.S. When I reached out to see if my aunt was ok with me using her photos and emails, she had just returned from playing cards with her 70-year-old neighbors. She said, “They don’t really like being beat by a 92-year-old!”

P.P.S. It was a challenge to find a photo of Aunt Phyllis by herself. In every photo, she was hugging or being hugged by others. :)

This year, I chose a puzzle depicting a beautiful outdoor European marketplace with festive stalls and bundled shoppers. It caught my eye immediately in the checkout line at Marshall’s - that corridor of temptation second only to the aisle of shame at Aldi’s! Immediately, I knew this was “the one,” and plopped it in my shopping cart without noticing the vast expanse of snow and sky in the picture.

For those of you not inclined to puzzling, snow and sky mean this: a large portion of the puzzle is greyish white. In other words, a lot of pieces look like they could work in a lot of places.

As I dumped the puzzle pieces onto the table, my inner life coach nudged me with a motivational “Let’s get the worst part over with first.” Obediently, I sorted the puzzle pieces, tucking away the fun, colorful ones and beginning with the boring look-alike pieces.

It’s been two weeks now - maybe more - and working around my inn/restaurant schedule, I’m finally about to finish the sky and snow. Thank goodness for some trees that helped to break up the monotony!

Bending over the puzzle, squinting to find where a piece with the tiniest speck of a clue might fit, I’m tempted to quit. My inner life coach is getting annoyed with the slow progress. My inner critic thinks I have much better things to do with my time. My inner comparer notes that my sister-in-law has finished two puzzles in the same amount of time, one of which was mostly snow, so “get with it, Amy!” My inner child feels like a frustrated failure. My inner old person’s back hurts!

All of my inner parts begin shouting, “WHAT IS THE POINT OF PUZZLES?? After all, you just break them apart at the end anyway ... unless you have the wallspace to laminate and hang them ... which you do NOT!”

A little overwhelmed, I take a break from the puzzle and spend the rest of the day on things that have a clear point, like loading my dishwasher, rebooting the laundry, and planning the weekly menu for the restaurant.

I feel the relief of productivity. My inner coach, critic, and comparer approve. My inner child feels their approval. My inner old person just wants a nap.

UGHHHH .... how did I get like this? What am I even doing? And why do I have so many voices in my head?? (a topic for another day!)

***

What IS the point?

The question kept circling in my brain and growing from what is the point of puzzles to what is the point of ANYTHING without a point:

* What is the point of playing the piano alone in your home?

* What is the point of writing words that no one will read?

* What is the point of painting pictures that you’ll never let anyone see?

* What is the point of walking without a step counter?

* What is the point of reading books that are not “helpful?”

* What is the point of sitting by a window with a cup of tea and watching the snow fall?

* What is the point of hobbies?

* What is the point of playing Solitaire, Wordle, or Candy Crush?

* What is the point of dressing nicely when you aren’t going to see anyone?

* What is the point of baking cookies for just yourself?

The list of questions went on and on....

Now, before you send help my way (what with all the voices and spiraling questions), let me be clear: I realize how crazy these questions sound.

I know the right answers. I know that these activities are valuable parts of a healthy, well-rounded life. I know that people engage in them because they want to. Because they love them. Because they feel good when they’re doing things they love.

I know that doing things you love IS THE POINT, but I feel awkward and empty when I try to do things just because I love them.

Whyyyy???

I don’t know how to sort out the pieces of this life puzzle, so I make a cup of tea and sit by the window to watch the snow fall. This seems like a good way to ponder the deeper questions swirling through my mind:

* Why do I believe it’s ok for others to relax but require myself to work to exhaustion before I’ve “earned” it?

* Why do I think productive activities are wayyyyy more important than “just for fun” ones?

* Why do I feel baffled when I ask someone what they’re doing, and they say, “not much” or “just chillin’” as if this lack of productivity doesn’t bother them in the least? Like, what does chillin’ even MEAN?

* Why do I flounder when I have a day without a clear agenda?

* Why do I multi-task constantly - crocheting while watching TV, listening to a podcast while walking, answering texts while eating dinner?

* Why do I fill long weekends with projects and vacations with “catching up” on reading and online courses?

* Why does my mind race around like a schizophenic rabbit on steroids when I try to do something simple like ... oh, say, a puzzle?

Yes, I have a busy mind. Yes, I have a full life. Yes, I was raised “old-school.” Yes, I’m highly motivated. Yes, I judge myself and others far too much by what we DO.

But I know the answers lie deeper.

The memory comes suddenly.

I’m about four years old, and I’ve been playing outside for hours. My hair is flying in all directions, and my bare feet are brown with dirt. Mom would say I look “stribbly.”

I’ve come inside from playing in the yard to discover a family emergency unfolding in my mom’s writing room.

Mom’s been holed up at her desk for days, under a deadline for the book she’s writing. We’ve all been under strict orders to leave her alone, so I find it strange that the whole family is gathered around her desk.

“It just won’t do ANYTHING,” Mom says, feverishly pressing a key on her typewriter.

Dad does a very dad-like thing. He picks up the typewriter, turns it upside down, and shakes it. Nothing changes.

My sister reaches down and jiggles the carriage return. No luck.

On the verge of tears, my mom peers down into the typewriter's mysterious inner workings. Nothing looks helpful.

She begins punching random keys again, harder and harder in her frustration, but the little metal arms lie strangely still.

As the panic in the room rises, I stand beside my mom’s desk, taking it all in. All of the ‘big people” are upset, so I know this must be very, very bad.

Mom gives another hearty punch to a key, and I see something. Right there under the keyboard, at my four-year-old eye level, a tiny lever jiggles. I notice that it jiggles every time Mom hits a key.

Quietly, I reach out my small finger and slide the lever to the side.

Clackety Clack Clack Clack!

A flurry of jumbled letters spills onto the page.

The room erupts with loud excitement. Mom is clapping in relief. Someone picks me up and twirls me around.

“You saved the day!”

“You’re a smart one!”

“You figured it out!”

****

Up until that moment, I’d just been a kid running around through life barefoot and a little stribbly-haired. I’d never fixed or solved or saved anything or anyone.

But now in the midst of the happy voices, a feeling surged through my tiny body - a powerful infusion that made my heart race and my head rush.

I didn’t know quite how I’d done it, but I had clearly crossed an invisible line in my family. No longer just “little Amy," I had become a hero, and I knew that I would do whatever it took to feel this feeling again and again.

And that, my friend, was the moment I became addicted to PURPOSE.

To fixing and solving and saving.

To making every moment count.

To becoming SO USEFUL that people couldn’t HELP but love me, right?

That was the moment that I became the student who studied during recess and once told a teacher she “felt like a big fat zero” when she got a 98% on a test. The employee who routinely worked 20-plus hours of unpaid overtime a week. The woman who stopped celebrating her birthdays and anniversaries because “it’s just another work day for me.” The business owner who couldn’t turn off her phone - even on vacation. The person who hears, “I don’t know how you do it all” over and over.

The Purpose-Driven Life wouldn’t be published for another 31 years, but I’d nailed the concept at the ripe old age of four.

In my mind’s eye, I watched the little girl climb the stairs to her bedroom. I noticed she stood a little taller now. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone a little brighter.

With the push of that tiny lever, her small life had shifted. Her entire family was happy with her. She felt seen and loved and important.

She had found a purpose before she even knew the word.

After that moment, how could I possibly waste time on things that have no point when there is a whole world that needs me??

More importantly, how could I ever stop being needed when that is how I earn the affirmation and love that my soul craves?

*****

I’ve been walking around with this deeper understanding for about a week now.

Remembering that moment. Remembering the electrifying feeling flooding my body. Remembering all the times I’ve reached for the “levers” that I hoped would unlock the cheers and admiration of others. Remembering how tired I’ve been for most of my life.

While I don’t have any big answers, I’m pretty sure that I need to start running through life barefoot and stribbly again. I need to give myself a break (maybe an hour at first?) from fixing and solving and saving. I need to remember the delight of pointless things.

I need to fire my inner coach, my inner critic, and my inner comparer.

I’ll keep the inner child because she’s pretty darn cute, and she has a puzzle to finish.

And then I’ll let my inner old person take a nice long nap.

Just because.

I want to.

It feels good.

The end.

All. The. Time.

Even when I don’t consciously feel stressed or anxious, I stand or sit like I’m expecting an ice bucket dumped over my head or a gut punch at any moment. Shoulders stiffened. Jaw clenched. Stomach tightened. Breath held.

Yes, I forget to breathe!

Through the intense years of child-rearing and business-building, my body practiced being on guard. Ready for anything because, truly, anything could happen! (Oh, the stories I could tell you!)

The old saying tells us that “practice makes perfect.” But the science of neurology tells us it’s more like practice makes permanent!

I’ve learned well, so now I’m permanently ready for anything! Which is not a very relaxing way to live!

By the way, have you ever noticed that the word intense is literally IN - TENSE?” We are living in a state of being tense when things are intense!

Thanks to the vast knowledge available to us now through books, videos, classes, etc, we know there are many ways to loosen and release tension from the body. Experts recommend gentle stretching, shaking like a dog, slow breathing, and more.

While I’ve tried all of these, ne thing relaxes me more than anything - curling up against a pillow with my journal.

As soon as my pen begins to move across the page, my body begins to relax, and my thoughts calm. I’ve journaled for over 30 years now, which is probably why I am still here. (It’s no doubt saved a few other people too!)

I never understood why journaling helped me so much until I read a quote by Glennon Doyle. It inspired an essay that I published over two years ago. Since so many of you are new to Gather the Magic in the last year, I want to share it again in hopes that it will inspire you to find your own way of releasing the stress you’ve gathered.

(In case you haven’t noticed, there is a good bit of stress swirling around these days ...)

“Reading is my inhale, and writing is my exhale.”

With this simple sentence, Glennon Doyle summed up the last thirty years of my life. I lowered the book and stared into the mystical space where I always look when something profound has just pierced through the haze of normal life.

NOW I GET IT!

THIS is why I often say that journaling saved my life.

THIS is why I crave the act of putting pen to paper.

THIS is why too many days without writing are dangerous for everyone.

As a deeply feeling person, my whole life feels like one big INHALE.

I move through my days, taking in the moods, needs, and attitudes of those around me. The young woman I follow on Instagram who just lost her baby. The adult child who lives alone in a new city. The couple arguing in the grocery store. The high school friend battling cancer.

I can read a room from across the country. I sense when something is wrong with a loved one, and I’m usually right. I feel the weight of news stories long after I’ve seen them. I lay awake, replaying the nuances of past conversations or worrying about how I handled a situation.

All of these people and situations are gathered into me in a thousand inhales. I hold them carefully, tightly, as if I must carry everything for everyone.

And yet, NONE of these people has asked me to do this. Most are not even aware that I have taken on the weight of their sorrow, anger, or pain.

I’ve begun practicing breathwork over the past few months (with Kimberly Rose). As I lie on my mat, slowly breathing in and out, I become aware of how much I hold my breath. How my chest tightens. My shoulders stiffen. My jaw clenches.

Kimberly’s soft voice keeps reminding me to exhale because I forget. (Apparently, a lot of people forget since thousands of us take classes to learn how to BREATHE!)

It sounds like pure common sense, but I’m going to say it anyway: Breathing is supposed to be a two-way exchange!

Breathe in ... nourishing our body with oxygen that feeds every cell.

Breathe out ... releasing toxins with a cleansing breath.

I’m learning that we don’t have to breathe in all of the toxic air we encounter.

We can be a little choosy. We can remove ourselves to cleaner air. We can take longer, deeper breaths of things that feel good like beautiful sunsets and walks with friends and reading good books.

But because life is life, we’re always going to inhale some toxic junk. Some hard things. Some things that are not even our hard things.

We must find a way to exhale. A good way - not the numbing way of binging Netflix, stress eating, online shopping, substance abuse, etc.

We must find a graceful way to release all that we’ve gathered into ourselves.

Some people run.

Some sing in the shower.

Some bake beautiful cakes.

Some practice yoga.

Some punch things.

Some take up a pen and begin to write.

*****

I realize now why my journal has felt like my best friend, my safe harbor, my lifeline for so many years. Why the pen moving across the page always brings me peace.

Writing is my exhale.

How about you? How do you exhale? Have you allowed yourself to find a way?

Please, friend, consider this not only an invitation but a permission (an urging if needed) to find your exhale.

The thing that feels so good you long for it - that relaxes the knot in your chest? That thing is NOT a luxury any more than breathing is. It is not something to dabble in only when all of your work is done. Not a thing to feel guilty about and hide away in the corners of your life.

Find the thing that is your life’s breath and EXHALE OFTEN.

Breathe in ...

Breathe out ....

Leave a comment

January flew by. Scrolling through my camera roll to collect its magical moments, I expected to see a lot of photos and activities. It felt like such a full month.

To my surprise, I saw ... not much! Just a lot of pictures of snow (and cute grandkids, of course).

Hmmmmm.... What exactly did I do in January?

I poured another cup of tea and tried to remember. Slowly, like the scattered pieces of the puzzle on my table, the memories began to sort themselves into a serene image.

Days spun of sparkles on snow, wispy daydreams, and kind moments.

Reaching the end of the month, I realized that nothing “profound” had occurred which, to an overachiever like me, was the most profound thing about the month!

You see, I’ve been clawing my way toward a month like this for decades. A month where the days follow one another in an easy, ordered, rhythm. A month where urgency fades and I can’t point to a single BIG THING that happened.

It feels like a quiet, magical miracle.

*****

One moment in early January shifted my energy for the month.

I’d gone to take care of one of my grandchildren while his mama traveled for work. Usually, I slide right in as she slides out, and he barely seems to notice. After all, I’ve been part of his daily scene from the delivery room until now - albeit mostly through FaceTime.

But this time was different. As I tucked him in his big boy bed and turned out the light, he seemed troubled. Sure enough, as the door clicked behind me, the cries began. “Mommmmy. I want Mommmmmy!”

Although we’d had a fun-filled day, when the darkness settled in, he knew mommy wasn’t in the room next door.

I waited for a few moments, listening to his increasing wails interspersed with sobs. He wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon and my Mimi heart couldn’t take it anymore.

Opening his bedroom door, his little body stood, illuminated in the hallway light, arms outstretched. I hurried across the room and wrapped my arms around him, his curly head burrowing into its familiar spot under my chin. We began to rock, and he was asleep in moments.

I thought of all the times I’d held him just like this. My chin resting on his curls, the warmth of his body against mine. The creak of the rocker. The breath. The heartbeat. The rhythm as old as time.

The next day, I wrote these words in my journal:

“Last night, you rocked little man to sleep. How sweetly he curled into your body - a warm, familiar place where he’s been falling asleep in safety since he was born. Do you know what a precious gift that is?!

Really, if that was all you accomplished during this lifetime, you would have changed the world!”

In that moment, I felt deep wonder in the truth I’d just written. In a world rocked by harm and hatred, being someone’s safe place could change the world by the difference it makes in them. Each tiny moment of security and love unlocking a healing cascade through their body. Rippling throughout their lifetime and impacting the way they think, move, and one day, love their own people.

Which, of course, would ripple through the others’ lives. On and on.

I could write an entire essay on the crazy ways I’ve tried to change the world. Some of them mildly successful on a very local level. Some of them downright absurd. Most of them quite exhausting.

Now it felt like I was being let off the hook. A little anticlimactic, if I’m being honest.

Could making a difference really be this simple?

I had to admit that rocking my grandbaby felt like I was holding the whole world in my arms. For those moments, nothing else mattered.

And maybe nothing else does ... which felt like a very strange thought to someone motivated by a lifelong pursuit of purpose.

Creating safe and welcoming spaces is a core value of mine as a mom, an innkeeper, and a restaurant owner. I want everyone to feel welcome and at ease around my table.

Yet, have I ever created a safe place for my own mind, body, and spirit?

For years, I’d excused my busy life by thinking, “I’m just trying to do good in the world.” All the while pushing myself past weariness, jangling my mind with an insane number of details, and ignoring the cries of my own timid inner child.

It occurred to me that I would never drive my precious grandchild that way. And that’s when my January took a turn.

January is typically a slower month at our inns. I found myself not rushing to fill the quiet hours, allowing them to become soft places I could curl into and rest. I stopped asking myself to work from morning til night and soothed my mind and body with gentle rhythms. I began noticing how safe (or unsafe) I felt in certain settings or relationships.

January became a month where self-care moved off the “I should make some time for this” list and began to feel like a really good way to live.

So, my dear friend, I don’t have anything profound to share, and that feels beautifully right. In fact, my January Magic moments just might change the world.

JANUARY’S MAGIC MOMENTS

* time at my writing desk - aka the love desk

* soaring above the clouds (I love my window seats!)

* pecan pie bread pudding with buttery bourbon sauce

* playing trains with my grandson - oh so many crashes!

* loving my inner child - more on that below!

* taking walks in the Georgia sun

* finding a book I’ve been wanting to read in a Little Free Library

* my grandson pointing at a tiny speck of an airplane and yelling “Hi Mommy ... I can’t reach you!”

* Door Dash - push a button or two and food appears on your doorstep (NOT something we can do in the woods!)

* cutting vegetables to simmer a stock

* reading in a cozy nest of blankets

* giant pumpkin chocolate chip cookies

* driving through snowy mountains that look like a movie scene

* Facetiming my daughter while her children make snow angels

* finally finding the courage to put my book on commission at a local shop!

* adding a beautiful teal Apophyllite rock to my collection

* brownie sundaes

* exchanging belated Christmas gifts with friends

* a fun temporary tattoo

* snow falling thickly for hours while I’m cozy inside

* my 81-year-old birthmother shoveling snow in a hunter’s orange jumpsuit!

* Jack Frost painting angel wings on my window

* watching movies with a visiting friend

* a left-behind treasure that will grace my writing desk until its owner returns - a wise and friendly guide

* painting my fingernails a wintry blue

* beginning a puzzle of a European market

* sending a birthday cake to my daughter

Enjoy this little video filled with glimpses of my January Magic

How have you been caring for yourself during these winter months? I’d love to hear if you have a moment. You can email me at amy@amyjae.com.

Thank you for being on this magical journey with me.

Not one of those cute freckles that sprinkle across the bridge of your nose on a summer’s day. No, this was one single dark, intense spot of melanin glaring up at me from my otherwise lily-white skin.

I was horrified as only a pre-teen girl can be horrified.

None of my friends had such a thing on their beautiful hands. Now, not only did I have to bear the burden of being the pale person that everyone used to compare their tans to, but I also had to have a permanent FLAW that looked like I’d dripped chocolate on my hand.

A hand I used a LOT when talking.

I tried to exfoliate it away - rubbing my hand almost raw.

I tried to bleach it away with lemon juice.

I even tried to pray it away, earnestly promising God all manner of things if He would just PLEASE put my hand back to normal.

When none of this worked, I did the only logical thing. I hid my hand.

Like a movie star hiding a pregnancy, I found creative ways to keep my dirty little secret by tucking my offending left hand away in pockets, pulling long sleeves down over it, sitting on it, and when all else failed, covering it with my other hand, which thankfully had not yet betrayed me.

For years, my poor left hand did not see the light of day. At least when other people were around. I truly fretted about the moment a boy would try to hold that hand and how he would drop it in disgust.

I know some of you are probably thinking, “If that’s the worst problem you had to deal with, you had quite an easy life. Buck up, sister!”

I assure you, the freckle was NOT the worst problem in my life, but for some reason, it seemed to carry the weight of all the others. That one small spot radiated all my shame, insecurity, loneliness, heartache, and fear into the world like a beacon on a hill.

More than once, I cried into the heavens, “Why was I chosen to bear such a burden??” (I might have been accused of being dramatic a few times in my life)

*****

Then, thankfully, I grew up.

Some time in my late teens, I stopped noticing the freckle. Or maybe I had actual problems to worry about.

Either way, the trauma lifted.

My hand emerged back into the world, and I even let a few boys hold it.

I went to college, got married, worked a lot, and started adopting children.

The freckle was completely forgotten.

Until one quiet afternoon when magic touched that small spot.

I was rocking my four-year-old daughter. She’d entered our home about six months earlier - a little spitfire of non-stop hyper energy with a nervous system traumatized by neglect and abuse. As part of her attachment therapy, I rocked her every day to recreate the sweet bonding moments she’d missed in her formative years.

Although she usually fought me for a few minutes, eventually she would settle, and her small body would begin to relax. I loved these moments because usually she was raging around the house like a tiny bull in a china shop, and this mama was TIRED.

That afternoon, I hummed a tune while she nestled quietly against me.

Lulled by the rhythm of the rocker and her little brown hand tracing lazily up and down my arm, I was startled when she jolted upright, her eyes wide.

“MOM!!” (She shouted everything in those days!)

“What’s wrong?” I began scanning for the large spider I feared was lurking in the chair.

“LOOK!” She was bouncing up and down now.

“YOU’RE THE SAME COLOR AS ME!”“

Her chubby finger poked my hand excitedly, landing right beside my forgotten freckle. A freckle which was EXACTLY the same color as her rich, chocolatey skin tone.

I felt suspended outside of the scene for a moment while a whirl of voices, memories, and angst raced through my mind. Hot. Cold. Tears. Whys. Shaky. Joy. Calm. Destiny.

It was as if sorrow and joy had swirled their colors through a hundred lifetimes to paint that tiny spot on my hand for this exact precious moment.

Why was I chosen to bear such a burden?

In the same way that my freckle had once embodied all my problems, it now whispered the sweetest of answers to my pre-teen self:

“Because many years from now, on an ordinary afternoon, a small girl who has already been battered by the world will see your freckle as another reason to let you into her heart.”

I wrapped my arms around her and through my tears, said, “Isn’t that so cool?”

And never had a freckle been so loved.

“We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.”
― Robert Fulghum, True Love

We all have things we hide from the world in hopes that no one will notice. Health struggles, fractured relationships, weird phobias, embarrassing failures, or maybe just the way our thighs jiggle when we walk.

Our flaws carry a thousand messages that tell us we’re weird and unlovely. That if others really saw us, they’d turn away in disgust.

And yet, isn’t this how we fall in love?

Think about all of your closest relationships. Haven’t they all been born in some moment where you connected over something you secretly wish were different?

“You have indigestion too?”

“You’re afraid of heights too?”

“You’re divorced twice too?”

“You can’t stand loud chewing too?”

“You’re estranged from your child too?”

“You’re on disability too?”

“You have dyslexia too?”

“You’re in a 12-step program too?”

“You have social anxiety too?”

“You lost your mom as a child too?”

I’ve come to believe that our flaws, our “burdens to bear,” are the most beautiful part of our design. Not because they’re easy or fun or sexy, but because each one carries a fragile strand of knowing from which the strongest bonds are woven.

Perhaps we are given flaws precisely to help us find our people in this big world. To offer us those simple moments when one imperfect person sees the flaw in another and says, “You are the same as me!”

I’m not sure when the freckle disappeared on my left hand. I don’t recall seeing it fading away, but one day, it was gone.

I stood looking at my hand, once again lily white, and felt a twinge of sadness.

My daughter and I had woven those early, fragile strands of bonding into a strong, adult relationship, finding many other beautiful ways that we’re the same. The tiny freckle flaw had done its work and was no longer needed.

Now, a new age spot has appeared on my right hand.

While I don’t yet see it as beautiful, I won’t be hiding this flaw.

It’s as if sorrow and joy have swirled their colors through a hundred lifetimes to paint this tiny spot on my hand. Perhaps so that on a future ordinary afternoon, someone will see it and think, “She’s the same color as me,” and feel a little less alone in their journey.

I won’t tell you to love your lumps and bumps and spots and quirks because I know how hard that is.

I WILL tell you to love the ways your flaws make you real and soft and “the same” as some of the dearest people in your life.

And that, my friend, is true magic.

Leave a comment

I gave it all a swirl and looked up to see Don smirking at me. “You really don’t like coffee, do you?” he chuckled.

I laughed and retorted, “Of course, I like coffee ... it’s the vehicle for all the other things I like!”

The problem was ... coffee didn’t like me.

I’d traveled to Vermont to visit a very expensive naturopath about some tummy troubles. Among other things, she told me, “Coffee is a problem for you. Your body doesn’t like it.”

I thanked her, paid for a small boatload of supplements, and picked up a Starbucks on the way home - a rare treat around these parts! I trusted her advice on everything except the coffee. That was a bridge too far.

Choosing the perfect mug. Milk swirling into the deep brown coffee. The sacred first sip of the day. Ice clinking in my afternoon iced coffee treat. These small rituals had become cherished moments in my day.

I’d swallow any number of god-awful remedies, but don’t touch my coffee!

Fast forward through 13 more years of stubborn digestive discomfort. (And a stubborn ME.) My legs swing off the edge of an exam table in Florida as another very expensive naturopath hands me his list of findings and says, “Coffee is a problem for you. Your body doesn’t like it.”

Sighhhh ....

You see, the second problem was ... I didn’t like tea.

(My friend, Don, would debate if I actually liked coffee, but we’re not talking about that right now!)

Tea just felt ... bland. Boring. Like the stuffy spinster aunt of coffee.

But this time I listened.

Maybe it was the ridiculous amount of money I’d spent over the years on supplements and Starbucks.

Maybe it was the charming Tea & Spice shop in the historic district of Fernandina Beach where we were vacationing.

Maybe I was just 13 years wiser.

At any rate, I kissed coffee goodbye that sunny Florida afternoon and became a reluctant tea drinker.

It’s taken some time, but slowly, I’ve come to appreciate the quieter magic of tea. I love feeling part of ancient rituals that span the globe. I love selecting just the right tea for my mood or the needs of my body. I love that I don’t need all the other “bells and whistles” in my mug.

Just tea is enough.

Most of all, as someone who cherishes the meaning of moments, I love that my days have now settled into a sweet rhythm of tea.

WAKING: My tummy is often unsettled in the morning, so I begin my day with a cup of Pukka’s Lemon Ginger tea with Manuka honey. We’ve set up a little tea station in the hallway right outside the bedroom door so I don’t have to go far for the first cup. I bring it back to bed and sip while I read or journal. It’s a gentle way to ease into the day, and I very rarely skip this sacred time.

BREAKFAST: My years as a pseudo coffee lover trained me to want a little caffeine boost with breakfast. I have several favorites teas that I rotate. Right now, I’m loving Harney & Son’s Victorian London Fog. A splash of milk perfectly accents the smooth black tea with hints of citrus, sweet vanilla, and lavender. I also love a good chai in the morning, so I’ll treat myself to Tazo’s Chai Tea Latte - so easy to make, and honestly, it’s what many coffee shops serve. In the fall, nothing can beat Harney & Son’s Hot Cinnamon Spice tea for a robust autumnal start to the day. The smell alone is enough to guarantee a great day!

I also enjoy Cacao from Crio Bru. Their ground cacao comes in many seasonal flavors and can be brewed in a coffee pot or steeped in a French Press. I’m currently enjoying Peppermint Mocha which is perfect on a wintry morning.

AFTERNOON: Every afternoon, around 3 pm, my mother would reach into the cupboard and pull out a canister of Lipton Lemon Iced Tea mix. The clink of her spoon in the ice reverberated through the house. She didn’t know it, but she was teaching me the quiet art of self-care. Just a few moments each day to reconnect with something you love that refreshes you.

On summer afternoons, I reach for a good peach iced tea. My favorite is PureLeaf when I can find it. I make sure to clink the ice cubes just for mom. In winter, I bring a hot mug to my desk as I work - my current favorite is Steep’s Organic Dandelion Peach Rooibos & Green Tea. Other times, I’ll enjoy another chai or a mug of Yogi Tea’s Honey Chai Turmeric Vitality which never fails to lift my flagging spirits. It’s like sunshine in a cup!

EVENING: Our evenings are busy with restaurant and innkeeping duties. But when I can sit down long enough, I enjoy a post-dinner cup of tea as a way to wind down. I rotate between a good organic Peppermint, Harney & Son’s Yellow & Blue (a lovely chamomile and lavender blend), and my latest discovery, Pukka’s Peace Herbal Tea with spearmint, ashwagandha, and hemp seed oil. It’s incredibly soothing, just as its name promises.

MEDICINAL: For millennia, tea has been revered around the world for its healing properties. Just this morning, a cup of Yogi’s Throat Tea calmed my scratchy throat. I’ve also used tea to detox, to boost immunity, to aid digestion, and to reduce stress.

It feels like there is nothing a tea bag can’t do!

I now proudly claim my identity as a tea lover. One of my favorite moments was having tea with clotted cream at Lucy’s Tearoom in Stow on the Wold, England. It was a rainy June day, and truly magical to enjoy the ritual of afternoon tea that is so central to British tradition.

As a fun sidenote, while enjoying my tea, my cellphone rang with a +44 number. I answered and took a reservation for our Adirondack Inn from a gentleman with a British accent. At the end of the call, I told him I was speaking to him from a British tea room. He asked where and we learned that we were only 20 minutes apart. What a small world!

Tea has also become a beautiful form of self-care for me. I’d like to close by sharing this piece I wrote recently as part of ’s Winter Writing Sanctuary.

****

Last night I dreamt of a forest.

Frozen and frightening. Every footstep crackling loudly through the night air - setting my nerves to crackling too.

I felt quite alone, although I knew that mustn’t be true.

Surely eyes were watching me.

Surely I was moving among creatures safely bedded down while I wandered.

My coat drawn snug, I kept walking. It felt like I must - although it was quite unlike me to be in such a cold and lonely place.

I hoped I would stumble upon a clearing like the ones in the fairy tales - complete with a warm, quaint cottage, smoke curling into the night sky, and a kindly grandmother to offer me tea.

But there were no clearings. Just more trees.

No warm cottage. Just deeper snow.

No smoke curling. Just my breath on the air.

No grandmother with tea. Just the beating of my heart.

I walked until the sky turned pink and the birds began to stir.

I walked until I could finally see the path I’d been following led straight to a warm and kind place.

And I made myself some tea.

Leave a comment

Now that we’re past the holidays and taking our first steps into the fresh new year, I look forward to reclaiming my scattered energy and bringing it more often to this sacred space.

Candle.

Tea.

Words.

Snow.

Silence.

The first week of January feels like the true beginning of winter for me. Of course, we’ve had snow for over a month now, but the combination of travel and glittering holiday festivities have delayed the frigid reality of winter ... until now.

Now winter gets real.

While we certainly have our share of snow and cold haters here in the north country, there is also a thrill of excitement in the air when the snow falls. A charming coziness that settles in when the world lies blanketed and still.

Two years ago, I wrote an essay called “Of burrowing.” It’s one of my favorites, so I’m sharing it again HERE for all the readers who’ve joined me since then. And welcome!

****

Just a few hundred miles from here, Oswego, NY lies buried under four feet of snow. The photos are incredible, reminding me of deep snows in my life. Long winters that shaped me ...

The Blizzard of 1977 - Our family lived on a dirt road in Salem, Ohio - a half mile off of Route 62. In January of 1977, with temperatures plummeting and heavy snow falling, our electricity went out, leaving us stranded in the cold darkness.

Dad climbed into the attic to find our family sleeping bags while we children scampered about gathering our favorite toys and books to set up camp in the living room. With a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace, Mom slid the heavy pocket doors shut - sealing us into the warm room, protected from the deepening cold of the unheated house.

For a week, our entire family lived in that one room.

By day, we ventured outside to play while Dad shoveled snow onto banks far over his head. My sister, who was an RN, needed to get to the hospital to relieve the other nurses who’d been on duty for days.

My brother and I climbed the stairs to a freezing bedroom that faced the road. With chins resting on the windowsill, we watched two tiny blobs (my dad and sister) thrash their way through waist-high snow up to the highway, where a National Guardsman picked her up on a snowmobile! To my 10-year-old mind, nothing could be more exciting or glamorous!

By night, we ate canned soup heated in a pan over the fire and played games. We even popped popcorn in the fireplace. Tucked in our cozy sleeping bags, we watched the firelight flicker about the room as Mom read aloud from “The Long Winter.” Listening to Laura Ingalls Wilder’s tales of her family’s struggle to survive the relentless blizzards of 1880 added to our sense of grand adventure.

The Blizzard of 1996 - By Christmas 1995, I was married and living in a tiny cottage in south-central Pennsylvania. Our teenage son humored me that December when I sat him down at the table to paint wooden Christmas ornaments to give as gifts. Choosing a snowflake shaped ornament, he painted “Let it Snow” around the edges and 1995 in the middle.

And snow it did!

On January 7, snow began to fall, and once again, I found myself marooned in a cozy bungalow while wind and snow howled around us. Except this time, I was the mom who had to keep things together!

With work and school cancelled and travel forbidden, we had nothing to do but spend time together. Quite the dream come true for a 15-year-old boy to be trapped with his parents! (NOT!)

As these were the days before texting, scrolling or Netflix binging, we spent an entire week playing board games, putting together puzzles, baking cookies, shoveling snow with lots of laughter, and climbing over snow drifts to share dinner with our neighbors.

A local news reporter had the brilliant idea to interview local chefs who were also stuck at home and ask what they were cooking. Which is how I landed the coveted “White Chicken Chili” recipe that I’ve been making ever since ... 30 years this month!

Fun facts: We still hang the painted wooden ornament on our tree every year. AND, we now serve White Chicken Chili at our restaurant, the Monday Tuesday Grill, during the cold winter months.

The Long Winter of 2008 - On March 14, 2008, our moving truck almost flipped as the wheels ran up on a rock-hard snow bank at the end of our new driveway.

We’d arrived to begin our Adirondack adventure.

Having just left a lovely Pennsylvania March with blooming tulips and daffodils, we surveyed the three feet of snow covering the ground and reassured ourselves that Spring would arrive in a week or two.

We could not have been more wrong!

Snow kept falling for weeks and it was COLD!

With fuel oil at over $5.00 a gallon that winter, we were horrified to realize that we’d blown through half a tank of fuel oil that first weekend (hello, drafty 4000 square foot house!)!

We immediately shut down 90% of the house and spent the next month living in two rooms. Wayne located a ridiculously heavy cast-iron insert in an outbuilding, dragged it (with the help of three other men) into the dining room fireplace, and promised to buy firewood.

Newbie mistake ... turns out you CAN’T buy firewood in March in the North Country!

Thus began a routine that still makes me chuckle.

Every day after work, Wayne would head into the woods to scout for a dead tree. He’d fell the tree and cut up the logs for the next day’s heat. My job was to keep logs on the fire all day, which sounds easy enough unless you’re highly distractible like me. Out of shivering necessity, I became an expert at reviving almost dead fires!

After a few days, he’d used up all the dead trees near the house and had to move further up the mountain.

But how to get the logs down the mountain?

Pulling the logs down the mountain on a child’s plastic sled seemed like a great idea until the momentum of the sled loaded with logs almost ran him over!

So ... Wayne began RIDING the load of logs down the mountain ... creating a path as slick as an Olympic bobsled track!

On moving-in day, we’d set up my computer in what was now one of the coldest rooms in the house. Every few days, I would pull on my winter coat and hat and venture into the “office” to answer emails from family and friends.

“We’re doing great!” I typed with stiff fingers while wondering what on earth we’d gotten ourselves into.

But something magical happened on those cold evenings ...

Over a year earlier, I’d started reading the Little House on the Prairie series aloud to our girls, and in the perfect timing of life’s magic, we were reading “The Long Winter” as we waited for our own long winter to end.

I was now the mother, bundled in a thick sweater by a crackling fire, reading old stories to the sweet children cuddled against me.

Once again, the words Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote over a hundred years ago guided me through the cold darkness. My trials didn’t seem so bad by comparison. I consoled myself that at least I didn’t have to break ice on the water bucket to wash my face each morning!

The snow finally stopped falling, although the piles didn’t melt from our yard until mid-May. We celebrated the first 75-degree day by making homemade ice cream using the SNOW from the last remaining pile!

It’s dark now.

The evening chill is deepening, and I’ve drawn the drapes closed.

It’s time to blow out my candle, lay down my pen, and make dinner.

Although I’ve traveled through memories of long, snowy winters, I feel beautifully warmed inside.

From a claim shanty in 1880 South Dakota to 1970s rural Ohio. From 1990s suburban Pennsylvania to the early 2000s in an Adirondack forest, the same story has been written over and over.

Of fathers facing the elements with courage and resourcefulness.

Of mothers warming cold bodies with love and soup.

Of little ones with trusting eyes and adventurous spirits.

Of families huddled together - life reduced to the simplest elements - and finding that as long as we have each other, we have enough.

As I make my way to my kitchen, I imagine the families huddled together tonight in Oswego and other snow-buried towns.

Making do.

Making memories.

Making magic.

****

No matter what the weather where you live, I hope that you find a way to gather the magic of this winter season.

Perhaps you could turn off the lights some evening.

Light a candle and watch it flicker.

Read a book of wintry survival.

Write your own memories of long winters past.

Life is beautiful - even on the hard days.

Leave a comment

Part of me loves all that stuff. For years, I had an annual practice where I journaled through a set of prompts that dug into all the “stuff” of the past year. I mined those moments and memories as if looking for gold. Once I was satisfied that I’d adequately analyzed the past year, I would then turn toward the new year and spend an afternoon writing dates and goals into my squeaky-clean planner.

It felt good.

Kinda.

In the way that you feel better after a root canal.

But a few years ago, I got tired of poking around in the painful moments of the past year. I got even tireder of using my precious energy (already exhausted by the holidays) to push myself toward the “next thing.”

I think I just plain got tired.

You see, I’ve lived my entire life either looking longingly backward with a mix of aching nostalgia and nagging regret. Or looking longingly forward with a mix of dreamy anticipation and queasy anxiety.

I even perfected the skill of looking BOTH directions within seconds of each other, resulting in the emotional version of a whiplash.

I am as sentimental as it gets.

And I’m a huge dreamer.

The good Lord did not leave out ANY of the dramatic emotions when I was designed. I feel it ALL.

And sometimes, it can be a lot.

Sometimes we just need to end the year with a cup of tea and simple gratitude for the moment right in front of us.

The one that isn’t flashy or particularly memorable.

The one that doesn’t look back or ahead, but allows us to simply exhale for a moment.

The one that softly whispers, “This is enough. You are enough.”

The one that holds us with grace before we must go on with the rest of our day.

My December held a LOT of big moments with family and friends - memories I will cherish for years to come. But I’m retraining my brain to not just hone in on the brightest moments, but to also notice the simple ones. Moments when I felt seen, held and at peace. Here are some of my favorites:

DECEMBER’S MAGIC MOMENTS

* stunning sunset at “Moonlight” beach on our last day in California

* my grandsons splashing in the surf

* best Chinese food I’ve ever eaten!

* warmth of sunlight on my skin

* flying home with my little hot chocolate mug “stuffie” that my grandson picked out for me because it “looks like Mimi”

* magic of city lights from airplane windows

* seeing my son happy

* roar of a crowd when their team scores

* buying wintry books in a quaint bookstore

* mailboxes for letters to Santa

* planning the menu for Christmas dinner

* holding my newest grand-nephew

* a snowy drive home to the mountains

* the kindness of a hard talk with a friend

* silly moments while spraying snow on windows

* making new friends - even if just for a weekend

* adorable gnomes

* watching dear friends exchange wedding vows

* unexpected kindness during a stressful evening

* marshmallow snowmen in hot chocolate

* fairy lights (what a marvelous invention)

* my grandson’s first haircut (horrible because he grew up overnight and also utterly adorable!)

* sparkles in snow

* fire on ice as we attended a friend’s skating show

* Transiberian orchestra concert (not peaceful, but definitely magical)

* crocheting by firelight while watching football!

* the Patriots are in the playoffs! (that’s a miracle!)

* my daddy turning 94 years old and still doing the daily NYT crossword puzzle

* children making gingerbread houses

* smell of pumpkin pies cooling

* brilliant color of fresh cranberries

* Christmas morning Face-times

* serving dinner to almost 60 community members on Christmas Day

* light sparkling through wine glasses

* first bite of our annual Christmas cheeseball

* hugs ... always hugs.

Enjoy this little video filled with glimpses of my December Magic

PODCAST NEWS: The final episode of The Blessed Christmas Podcast is called “A Brave and Beautiful Story” and it weaves all of the bits and pieces of the previous episodes into a love story for your soul as 2026 arrives.

If you haven’t had a chance to listen to the previous episodes, don’t worry. They’re still available so you can listen and fill out the worksheets even now and begin 2026 with a truer story. One that holds your heart with care and magic.

Listen on Apple Podcast or Spotify.

Have a MAGICAL NEW YEAR! Joy is waiting for you ...

Leave a comment

We’ve been on a beautiful journey this month ... examining and reimagining our own personal Christmas stories. Now, as the new year approaches, Amy guides you through this final episode to reflect on the past Christmas, celebrate what worked, learn from challenges, and envision your next year with intention.

Don’t worry if you missed the previous episodes. They’re still available, so you can listen and fill out the worksheets at your convenience and begin 2026 with a truer story.

A story that holds your heart with care and magic.

In this final episode, we’ll use the tools you’ve created over the past weeks to write a letter from your future self, imagining your life a year from now.

It’s been a joy to journey with you this December. If you’ve found greater joy and calm this Christmas through The Blessed Christmas book or podcast, I’d love to hear from you.

Have a magical new year. Joy is waiting for you …

Resources / Links:

• Purchase The Blessed Home

• Download your Free “YOUR STORY MATTERS” worksheet

• Connect on Instagram: @amyjae.writer

Subscribe now

If we could sit together for a moment on this darkest day of the year, I would brew us some tea and listen to all your stories of these magical days of December.

And then I would tell mine.

Stories of the little moments that matter.

And the big ones that test our stamina and creativity.

The warm ones that melt our hearts like a snowball in an oven.

And the ones that carry a twinge of sorrow in a season of joy.

But since we can’t meet for tea tonight, I want to say hello and share a few wintry words.

A few years ago, I was invited to write a Winter Solstice Blessing for our local church. I’ve recorded it for you to enjoy this evening - perhaps with a lone candle flickering.

Cozy socks, sappy movies, mugs of steaming hot chocolate, the aroma of baking pies, and beautiful decorations. Christmas ambiance has blanketed the world, and we’re soaking up all that’s cozy and twinkling. Bonus points if a little “snow globe snow” is falling to truly set the scene.

But sometimes Christmas delivers sad or difficult memories in its beautifully wrapped package. We have to dig deep to find the wonder and magic.

This week on Episode 4 of The Blessed Christmas Podcast, Amy shares a core Christmas memory from her childhood and invites you to connect with your own early memories. Whether your memories are good or painful, you can create a sense of safety and enchantment for yourself this year.

Take a few moments to consciously nurture your inner child as we enter these last few days before Christmas. You (and your little inner one) are worth some awareness and intention.

Listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify and write a more enchanted story for your spirit this Christmas week!

Share

On Sunday evening, we attended the Lake Placid Skating Club show. Several members of our “Grill family” were skating and we loved seeing them perform.

Each time I attend an event at the Olympic Center, I remember a special evening shortly after we moved to the Adirondacks. “Stars on Ice” kicked off its tour in Lake Placid with dazzling lights, beautiful costumes, and inspiring music. The artistry of the skaters combined with the energy of the crowd to create a truly magical evening!

As the star-studded cast took their final bows and the audience began to gather their belongings, a familiar dynamic figure skated onto the ice. Scott Hamilton, the host of the evening, grabbed a microphone and asked us all to take our seats. Surprised, we obeyed - wondering what was going on.

What happened next was better than the entire show!

You see, that night’s performance was being taped for national television, and the NBC producers expected perfection. Even Stars on Ice professionals are human, and a bobble, a wobble, or a missed lift can happen to the best of the best.

It was time for the Do Overs.

One by one, skaters who had messed up on a portion of their program returned to the ice. The technicians cued the music as the skaters eased back into their program ... picking up momentum until they reached the trouble spot.

For some, it was a jump. For others, a spin.

One by one, they perfected their routine while the crowd clapped supportively.

Until one young skater.

This young woman had wobbled on a jump during the show. Now, as she took the ice, she looked extremely nervous. She kept stretching and shaking out her arms and legs. As the music began, she skated tentatively ... cautiously .... none of us were too surprised when she wobbled again.

She skated in slow circles around the ice, shaking her head and shoulders. The music began, and she merged back into her routine, but again, her nerves showed in every movement. This time, she didn’t wobble .... she outright fell.

The third time, she didn’t even attempt the jump - defeat written across her face as she skated to a stop.

The arena grew quiet.

My heart ached for her. What a horrible position to be in! I could feel her desperation to flee into the wings, but knowing that she had to stay and somehow try again.

The music started for the fourth time, and she began to move across the ice. By now, I was familiar with the routine and knew that the dreaded jump was drawing near. Everything in me wanted to see her succeed. I found myself on the edge of my seat, willing her forward.

Apparently, I wasn’t alone. As she neared the trouble spot, clapping, cheering, and shouts of encouragement swelled to a crescendo through the arena.

And magic happened.

She didn’t jump that time either.

Lifted on the wings of 8,000 encouragers, she left the ice and absolutely soared. Gracefully spinning through the air and landing perfectly to a collective shout that was pure electricity.

I had tears in my eyes as she finished her routine. Her head held high, her face shining, she pumped her arms in the air and blew kisses to all of us.

It was OUR victory. Together, we had all landed that jump!

But there was still more magic to come.

Now, a young man took the ice. He skated toward one corner of the arena, fell to his knees, and spun in a circle, jumped up, and shook his head “no.”

Something had not gone right.

He tried again.

Same thing.

By this time, it was getting late. A steady stream of people filed up the aisles - too tired to stay any longer. He tried a third time. And a fourth. None of us was quite sure what was wrong. The man in front of us mumbled, “Looks fine to me.”

But this young skater knew something we didn’t. He knew that he had more to offer, and he didn’t want to settle for a mediocre performance. He skated in circles, his head down, waiting for the music to re-cue.

As the strains filled the arena for the fifth time, something powerful happened. That young man suddenly straightened. He squared his shoulders and lifted one finger, and shouted to the crowd, “One more!”

A chill raced down my spine. I knew he had decided.

As his trouble spot approached, he moved as a completely different skater - as if someone had plugged him into a power source - every movement filled with power, confidence, and expectation.

Again, I perched on the edge of my seat.

Nearing the center of the rink, he fell to his knees and did a spin that made all his others look weak and pathetic. The crowd roared as he leaped to his feet and spun down the ice with sheer joy on his face.

This time, we cheered because it was HIS victory. He knew he had more to give and had reached deep inside to find it.

Each of us encounters trouble spots in life. Sometimes we manage to land on our feet. Sometimes we fall hard, sprawling embarrassingly in front of others. Sometimes we skate in circles trying to find the courage to try again. Sometimes we long to hide backstage and never come out!

These two young skaters reminded me that no one gets it right all the time. It’s ok to need a “Do Over.” And cheering each other on empowers and lifts us all.

Look around you. Do you see someone who needs your encouragement to soar?

Look within. Do you need to straighten your shoulders and DECIDE to offer your best one more time!?

Living and loving are not about perfection. They’re about courage and the magic that appears when we try again.

Whatever your mid-December week holds, know that I’m on the edge of my seat cheering for you to nail it! You’ve got this!

Leave a comment

With Christmas only 10 days away, it’s getting REAL, and self-care often gets kicked to the curb in the flurry of last-minute shopping and planning. Episode 3 of The Blessed Christmas podcast is out now and focuses on caring for yourself during these final weeks of December.

Don’t worry … I’m not going to tell you to just go take a bubble bath! Instead, using a Wellness Wheel to assess our current mental, emotional, and physical state, we will send some attention and love to the part of us that is most tender right now. This episode ends with a brief but beautiful meditation for healing during the holidays.

Take a listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify and allow a little peace to settle into your soul as you wrap and bake. You’re doing great!

Share