Flourishing with Sensory Processing Sensitivity
I’m pausing in the shade to allow Mother Nature to refresh my spirit. Late August in the Midwest expedites a daily deep appreciation for anything summer that remains: visits from hummingbirds on my salvias, rolling thunder with pelting rain and still getting to head outside wearing shorts. Growing up my Mom reminded us “the only constant is change” and each time I’d feel a mild panic as if whatever goodness was in front of me would quickly disappear. I’m gently learning change is not only inevitable but critical to life’s evolving and transcendent nature. I don’t have to fear it and (cringing as I type this) can even look forward to it.
And speaking of appreciation I have my trait to thank that I derived so much pleasure and rest and love from my flower garden this summer. My tendency to dial into details and notice every aroma, pollinator and unfolding color offered me great delight.
I don’t take it lightly we are in this together. Stay (and enjoy) the course my friend.
What film I can’t stop thinking about. One of those films I kept saying out loud “I can’t believe this really happened!” yet it did. I was in awe and moved and inspired.
What I find immensely rewarding and fun! Talk about appreciating the trait: being outside, attention to detail mowing, getting to reflect deeply. For those of you wondering what I’m talking about it’s cutting the lawn on a zero turn tractor.
What has made me giggle. This guy deserves an award. Talk about getting to laugh while you work and bringing others joy!
Poem I’m pondering:
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
~ “Messenger” by Mary Oliver