Gratitude on Thanksgiving Day and always


BlueLakeCabin_chairsFall.jpeg

My husband and I have a place that we like to visit once or twice a year, up in northern Wisconsin. It's a resort on a lake that's been run by the same family since the 1920s. When I say "resort", that makes it sound fancy, but it's actually a group of small wooden cabins you can rent for less per night than it costs to stay at a Best Western.

The bed in the cabin we usually rent is small--especially for two tall people--but we still manage to sleep well there. The kitchen is also small, but you can cook a meal in it. There's a cosy living room with a fireplace, an itty-bitty bathroom, mix-and-match rustic decor that hasn't been updated in a long time. No wi-fi or even a TV. We love everything about this place--how simple, quiet and old-fashioned it is.

One time we were up there and had just finished our dinner (ribeyes, baked potatoes & salad) and were relaxing with some red wine while watching the stars come out over the lake. The thought occurred to me: "Do people who have zillions of dollars more than I have, enough to buy this little old resort and this beautiful lake and all the land around it and a bunch of other stuff besides--do they experience exponentially larger amounts of joy than I'm experiencing right now?"

I knew the answer was no.

With all the constant messaging of "more money is always better" so you can buy more things and more things and more things, with the ever-present drumbeat of "get rid of that old thing so you can get this newer better thing that will finally make you happy", it's worth remembering that it's not how much we have that brings happiness. It's how much we appreciate what we have.

We all have the capacity to feel joy, to see beauty in our own lives. We don't have to postpone happiness until we've acquired enough things, items, and objects to "complete" us. We can choose to feel grateful and fortunate for what we have now.

I'm thankful for everything I have. Not just today, but every day.

What's sparking joy for me lately: cold workouts!


Not Hawaii

Not Hawaii

What's sparking joy for me lately? Working out outside, in the cold. Yes, really.

I'm originally from Hawaii, where it's almost always T-shirt weather. But I live in Chicago, and it's winter here right now.

As a dyed-in-the-wool fitness dork, I don't like to let coldness and snow get in the way of what I want to do. I'm a rucking enthusiast (rucking = hiking with a weighted pack), and rucking takes place outdoors, whatever the weather. That includes when it's cold, freezing, or even frigid.

Darn low basement ceilings!

Darn low basement ceilings!

True, I also do non-rucking workouts in my snow-free basement. But due to the low ceiling, if I want to do certain exercises, such as pull-ups or lifting weights over my head, I have to go outside in my yard. Like this:

I don't actually enjoy being cold, and I'm definitely not one of those "hot blooded", no-hat-or-socks people who don't seem to feel the cold.

However, I figured out a while ago that if I decided to like cold weather, and expose myself to it often, it actually ended up feeling much less uncomfortable and more bearable. Not just bearable, but even beautiful. Exhilarating. Whereas if I hated winter, only exercised indoors, and only exposed myself to perfectly climate-controlled temperatures until spring came and the weather turned "nice" again, it made me less tolerant of the cold, and not quite as physically fit. And winter still lasted the same amount of time.

Follow this trail to the discomfort zone.

Follow this trail to the discomfort zone.

This doesn't have to do only with rucking or cold weather.

The act of confronting our relationship with our belongings--which is really the act of confronting how we want to live our lives--can be uncomfortable.

It can be hard to leave our comfort zone because it's familiar, and the area outside that zone looks different than we're accustomed to. Just thinking about going out there can cause us to recoil, to stay where we are, even though we're not satisfied with where we are. But it's hard to make any progress at anything if we stay huddled within those boundaries. It's hard to pursue the lives we truly desire, to recognize the things, activities, ideas, and people that bring us joy and let go of those that no longer serve us--if we don't look beyond the fence.

I'm not saying you have to be into winter rucking. Believe me, I understand that's not for everybody. I'm saying get uncomfortable with being uncomfortable some of the time--whatever form that might take for you.

If you've made yourself go outside and you're standing there shivering in the cold and you start moving around, you warm up. You might even start sweating and have to remove a layer of clothing. You might start enjoying being out there, and noticing the beauty of winter. The solitude of having the whole trail to yourself. Naked trees revealing their true shapes against a grey-white sky. The particular blue color found only in shadows cast on snow. The way the winter sun touches the ice, turning it into molten gold.

If you're okay with experiencing a bit of discomfort, you recalibrate your sense not just of what's comfortable, but what's possible.

Winter has its own beauty.

Winter has its own beauty.

What's sparking joy for me lately: fishing


I got into fly fishing this year. It was kind of an accident. Back in April, I had set aside a weekend to do a backpacking trip with a group from my gym, but the trip got cancelled due to lack of interest. Disappointed, and determined to use that weekend to do something else fun, I searched around on the internet and found an activity that caught my interest: a two-day fly fishing school in Wisconsin, run by a fishing store here in Chicago.

Turns out, the southwestern part of Wisconsin is a hot spot for trout fishing, with thousands of miles of beautiful trout streams.

I hadn't gone fishing since I was a kid. "I dunno, two full days of fishing might be way more than we're interested in, but we'll see how it goes," I remember saying to my husband. Six months later, we both now own fancy fly rods and reels, polarized sunglasses, waders, and a variety of accessories. We've fished in three states (Illinois, Wisconsin and Wyoming). We've caught actual fish, and have the "Hey, look at this fish I caught!" photos to prove it.

Did I mention I read whole books about fish and where they might likely be found in streams?

My first brown trout

My first brown trout

Don't get me wrong, I'm mostly still a newb. There's so much to learn! There have been times I've gotten frustrated (like when I've gotten my line tangled or my fly stuck in a tree). But mostly I'm really excited about it.

So, what's so joyful about fishing? Well, for starters, it's something that my husband and I can enjoy together. It fits right in with our love of camping and the outdoors.

Fishing brings you closer to nature--to the fish, the insects and other critters they eat, the streams, the surroundings, the weather, the seasons.

Fishing is a skill. You learn by experience--and from other people. The hubs and I hired a guide to take us on a half-day fishing trip recently. He taught us so much & we had a blast.

Catching a fish is a thrill. There's this wild animal on the end of your line, all shiny eyes and sharp little teeth and beautiful colors, so alive. (So far, I've let most of my fish go. I've only eaten a few, with gratitude.)

Fishing is physically, mentally, and spiritually satisfying. It's all about being present in the moment, about focusing on what you're doing right now.

Fishing is an activity I hope to enjoy for the rest of my life.

What’s sparking joy for you lately?