There are some experiences in life that seem almost magical or otherworldly as they happen. Sometimes it is when you meet someone and you get a sense of déjà vu or a flash of unexplained feelings. Or when you hear or read something that just seems to strike some sort of chord within you about its unexplainable truth.
One of the dozen or so times this happened to me is when I had first read that the soul is the connection to the divine (God, nature, or whatever you choose to call all that is). I was so moved by this simple statement. The truth of it was so obvious to me in that moment that it sparked one of those otherworldly flash feelings. The article discussed how the soul doesn’t dish out advice like our loud, animal, thinking brains do. But if you quiet the monkey mind and ask your soul for guidance, the right answer is always there waiting to be heard.
Wow. Yes.
I knew that somewhere but didn’t realize it until then. A few hours later, after mulling it over, I posted something on Facebook about it—a short quote I made up as my own interpretation of this. It had very few “likes.” Guess my Facebook tribe didn’t get it.
Not long after, I heard a podcast about the moral compass. The speaker explained how we experience negative emotions (depression, hopelessness, anxiety, etc.) when we aren’t living according to our moral compass.
Right—that makes sense too. And in my own interpretation, I understood that moral compass connection to be through the soul, which is connected to all that is. When we can’t hear or follow that sound advice and live against it, we feel unhappy.
Then, not long after, I started to better understand the deeper meaning of the yoga I was attracted to. The focused attention of breath and movement quieted the monkey mind. Meditation and quieting the mind became a way to really hear that inner guidance—something that, without question, always knows the right and loving way to be in this world.
I felt so inspired to write this morning because when I opened my email, something caught my eye strongly enough for me to open it. It spoke about the idea that love is not something we earn, but something that exists as our foundation—and that it is from that place that real change happens.
The message brought the idea of the soul and moral compass home for me. It reflected on the idea that we are created in the likeness of the divine (or nature, or whatever we connect to spiritually), and that likeness is love.
The takeaway, as I understood it, is that when we are not living from a place of love, we are out of alignment with who we truly are. And when we are living with love, we are acting in accordance with our deepest truth.
Love… Love it. To me that says it all.
Maybe, just maybe… the allegory of the apple and the suffering that followed was about losing trust in that love. Not listening to the soul. Not having faith in what is.
The soul knows. Perhaps we should listen a bit closer. It’s always there—the quiet, steady voice. Not the loud one demanding attention, but the softer one that doesn’t need to shout to be true.
Maybe listening to it really is a step away from fear and suffering.
Hey… it’s worth a try!
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Teleworking really isn’t for everyone. There are so many people that I talk to who tell me they could never do it. If you even think it’s not for you, it’s not. However, if it’s something you have the opportunity to do and are considering, allow me to share why it works for me and how I feel it is beneficial to our workplaces. I now have a full year under my belt of at least one day a week. A few months ago I moved to two days, and most recently, since my office has been under construction, all my work time has been at home.
For starters, I can sleep in much later. When you eliminate the commute time, parking, and walking an additional quarter of a mile to my office, and the time I was spending before work to shower, dress, and primp for the day, I am able to sleep in over an hour longer than I was before. I could stand to sleep in even longer, but I get up to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee, a healthy, non-rushed breakfast, and a short meditation session before I log in for the day. My morning routine is so much more pleasant. I no longer feel tired all the time or dread getting up.
Next, I’m unbelievably comfortable for a variety of reasons. The most striking is in the attire I can wear. When I dress after waking up, I put on comfy workout clothes so I can go for a lunch run later in the day. Also, my desk, chair, and surrounding workspace at home are completely suited to my height, likings, and taste. I can control the temperature of the room. Throughout the day, my cats and dog come to visit, hang around, and sleep on or near me. Their presence reminds me I’m home if I briefly get swept away in workplace politics. Not to mention that looking at them and petting them just seems to soothe my soul.
I move around much more. My chair swirls and doesn’t have weird side bars that give my legs bruises when I curl up in my chair as I type away. I’ll take stretch breaks and do some reinvigorating yoga poses that I wouldn’t dream of doing at the office. When I get up to make cups of warm herbal tea throughout the day, instead of walking across the room to the microwave like I do at work, I walk down a flight of stairs and don’t feel grossed out by the water supply or my surroundings. But my favorite is that I use my lunch break to run. I used to use that same break to walk at work. This required changing my shoes, never being appropriately dressed for the weather, and worrying about getting too warm. Now I can perspire as much as I’d like without worry.
I am so much more focused and productive. I’m not distracted by idle chatter or sharing my own nonsensical stories. There are no crazy alarms going off, constant overhead announcements, or loud trash barrels rolling by as I try to converse over the phone. I don’t see or hear the dings and distractions of other people’s computers, desk phones, and cell phones. I don’t overhear anyone else’s personal or professional conversations. Two job roles back, I worked for 7 years in a corridor that had a one-person, non-gender-specific restroom right down the hall from my desk and around the corner from the transportation department, where the drivers would pop in and out all day to use the facilities. The noise of a flushing toilet and horrendous smell would permeate my senses all day. One of my favorite funny memories from that job was when my then boss, who had an adjacent office to mine, said, “Not only do we have to put up with a bunch of sh!t, but it actually has to smell like it too.”
Along the lines of focus, I pay attention during conference calls like I never had before. Unless I have a part to play in a conference call meeting, at work I find it nearly impossible to pay attention. I’m in front of my computer and always multitasking. Now I use conference call times to walk around the house and do some mindless work. I’ll sometimes sweep, start dinner, grab the mail, or do some other random things. Because I’m physically moving while mentally listening and not trying to do two mental activities at once, I am paying far more attention than I ever had on calls before. I’ll often unmute my phone and pipe in or stop to take notes in my email. That is something I hardly ever did at my desk.
It’s overall healthier too. I am in touch with what is going on outside weather-wise because I have windows. Many spaces I have worked in over the years have had no windows or access to the outside. Sometimes, on a sunny day, I will take my laptop out to the deck and actually feel the sun on my skin. The air quality at home isn’t “iffy.” I’m eating better too. At the office, if I forgot my lunch or decided I am not in the mood to eat what I brought, I would stand on a long cafeteria line and purchase something overpriced and not quite as good for me as the things I have at home.
At the end of the day, I log off and hop into the shower. I’m dried and ready for the evening before I would have even been on I-91 sitting in traffic and feeling extremely agitated.
Monetary savings in food, gas, and clothing. Comfort. Healthier atmosphere and food. More sleep. More time. All good stuff, huh?
Enough about me—this can reap great benefits for employers as well.
For starters, there is likely less unexpected or short-term notice time off. Snow days are just as productive and not to mention safer on both ends. If an employee doesn’t feel well but slugs into the office, other employees get sick, then they get their children sick. Then the children need to stay home, be picked up from school, or not be allowed in daycare, which is more time off for others. An employee without a telework agreement who opts to stay home will cost the organization a full day of work. An employee with one who opts to work sick from home loses the organization very little. Additionally, a doctor appointment in the middle of the day before telework for either my children or myself used to mean a whole morning or afternoon off—usually the afternoon, because trying to find a parking space by 8am where I work is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Speaking of parking and space, allowing employees to telework creates both. Office space in many organizations is at a premium. Even having everyone telework one day a week (staggered) would free up 20% of office and parking space.
There is overall less wasted time throughout the day. Lines at the coffee shop, lines in the cafeteria, waiting for elevators, looking for an open bathroom, being in a queue just to warm up food in the microwave, that third Wednesday of each month where the computers reboot for what seems like infinity… just to name a few. Not to mention a lot of time chit-chatting and socializing. Yes, there are times the remote connection kicks me off, but the overall time savings favor the employer with all the other time wasters that happen in the office.
Safety is always an issue. When I was the strategic planner for VA Connecticut, one couldn’t imagine the number of complaints that would come in every week about air quality, requests for asbestos checks, mold checks, ripped carpets that folks trip over, furniture with sharp edges, etc. When it rains or snows, someone was always bound to fall—meaning a visit to employee health, days off, workers’ comp… all kinds of stuff no employer really wants.
Employees are happier when they aren’t rushed, eating well, sleeping more, saving money, moving around, and feeling like their employer is doing something mutually beneficial for both of them. How can you go wrong?
Well… many things can go wrong. That could be a whole other blog. It may be comforting, however, to know there is some strong, sound advice, policies, and guidelines out there. My organization, for example, has trainings required by both the employee and supervisor before beginning. Additionally, clear expectations are required to be written up, and it comes with the caveat that either party can terminate it at any time. Why not swipe some of these best practices from a person or whole organization that does it well? There are hundreds of articles on the web and in HR journals around the world about why it’s a win-win for all to adopt it, and nearly none on how terrible it has gone.
For now, if you are thinking about using an existing policy or implementing one in the workplace, these are some of the reasons I would humbly advocate for it on both ends. I am sure I’m missing many more benefits! Please don’t hesitate to pipe in or comment if you know of any. Horror stories are welcome too!
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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Today I woke up anxious. Physically, I had a slight tightness in my chest. My heart felt a little heavy, but the worst was my breath. I couldn’t help but sigh every few moments—obviously releasing some kind of tension. I felt slightly lost, not sure where my life is going. Not even an hour later, I was laughing and feeling like wherever my life is going, it doesn’t matter—I’ll get there as I need to.
These are the “Gunas”—fluctuations that are normal in the universe. They are everywhere: in the weather, in our moods. It’s a universal law. What goes up must come down. What swings one way will swing the other.
The Gunas are a term I learned in yoga teacher training and were often discussed. They’re now part of my regular vocabulary and thought process. We don’t stay in one mood forever. Nothing stays in its state forever. We are supposed to feel good and bad. It should be expected that both good and bad things will happen. Fighting it is what leads to suffering. In Buddhism, a key tenet is that attachment causes suffering—even attachment to feeling a certain way (like happy), being attached to an outcome you want, or to objects, feelings, desires, etc. The Hindu tradition (yoga’s roots) describes the same concept, just in a different way.
A guna is an attribute of nature, according to Hindu philosophy. In Hinduism, there are three gunas that have always existed in the world, in both living and non-living things:
Here in our Western world, we are not taught to think this way. We tend to feel that if something goes wrong or we don’t feel well (mentally, physically, or spiritually), then something is wrong with us. Imagine if we were taught that both elation and depression are normal and to be expected? Neither will stay. Both are part of the experience of being alive. The more we attach to any experience (good or bad), the more we will “suffer”—suffering meaning anything from disappointment to despair.
I’m signed up for daily emails from Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest who has written many books on spirituality. I recently finished Falling Upward, which was amazing. Much of it was about how we need to fall in order to learn and grow—how opposite things are complementary and part of life. I’ll share a quote from a recent meditation:
“If we are going to talk about light, then we must also talk about darkness, because they only have meaning in relation to one another. All things on earth are a mixture of darkness and light, and it is not good to pretend that they are totally separate!”
Understanding the Gunas is one of the many ways I am learning to accept life as it is. When I remember them during low moments, I can almost embrace them as part of the full experience of life. Not always—but more and more often.
They have helped me—and if you’ve read this and are willing to try, perhaps they can help you or someone you love too.
Peace & Namaste
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We have a fairly large personal garden at our home. There are flowers, shrubs, vegetables, trees, bushes, and fruit. I spend a lot of time in our garden during the warmer months, and for a while now I’ve been wanting to write about the thoughts that come to me when I’m out there.
The first time I spent a considerable amount of time weeding as an adult was at the condo I lived in in Naugatuck. It was a really small patch of dirt in front of the house, but I spent hours picking weeds and rocks from that little space that I “owned.” It was early spring, and I wasn’t sure what was going to come up out of the ground and what might be a weed.
It was incredibly therapeutic, and what I loved most was how easily my mind wandered while I worked. I remember thinking about how hard it can be to tell the difference between what belongs and what doesn’t—both in the garden and in life. I went out there many times over a few weeks, removing rocks, turning over the soil, planting seeds and flowers. That small garden took off, and from that point on, I only needed to go out occasionally to tend to it.
In my next house, we had much more land—and much more yard work. It became a weekly chore through the spring and summer. At first, it felt time-consuming and a bit overwhelming. I would go out, pull weeds, toss them aside, even out the mulch, then move on to trimming and mowing. But something would always happen once I got started.
As much as I dreaded it beforehand, once I was out there with my hands in the dirt, I could lose myself for hours. I would notice small changes from week to week, watch the worms, pull tiny weeds, dig up deep roots and old rocks. When I was finished, I loved sitting down with a book or a glass of wine and looking at everything from afar. The difference was always noticeable—not just in how it looked, but in how it felt.
Fast forward to my current home. When we moved here in 2012, Daren created a beautiful garden with multiple flower beds and a large vegetable area. I loved the idea of it, but it felt like too much. For the first few years, we barely kept up. We would go out once a month and tackle huge, overgrown weeds. The vegetable garden—the one we actually depended on—was full of them. No matter what we tried, they were always there.
When we finished, it looked better, but it didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel connected to it or proud of it. All I could see were the smaller weeds we hadn’t gotten to yet, and it felt like a constant reminder of something unfinished. It started to feel like a burden rather than something we had created.
Last summer, when I started working part-time, something shifted. I began going out into the garden once a week. At first, it was still a lot of work, but slowly, as I stayed consistent, things started to change. The big weeds became manageable, and the smaller ones were easier to stay ahead of. Eventually, I found a rhythm.
I began doing more than just weeding—smoothing out the mulch, trimming, rearranging rocks, cleaning the outdoor spaces. I started to care about the details again, and just like before, I found myself looking forward to it. When I stepped back and looked at the garden, it finally felt alive, like it was cared for and reflecting something back to me instead of weighing on me.
This year, I’ve been able to get out there even earlier. I know the space more intimately now. I know where the soil is thick, where the water collects, where the weeds tend to grow, and how to tell the difference between something I planted and something that doesn’t belong. To someone not paying attention, it all looks the same, but when you’re close to it regularly, the differences become obvious.
There are patterns in the garden that feel a lot like patterns in life. Everything starts from the same place—dirt. Something that seems so simple, but holds the potential for everything. If you plant something there, it will try to grow it. It doesn’t judge what you put into it; it just responds. What grows depends on what’s planted and how it’s tended.
If you don’t pay attention, you’ll get a mix of whatever shows up. Some of it might be beautiful, and some of it might take over everything else. Thoughts feel similar. What we focus on and give attention to are the things that grow. If we don’t notice what we’re planting or what’s taking root, it can become difficult to tell what belongs and what doesn’t.
Weeds can look a lot like the things we meant to grow, especially in the beginning, and if they’re not dealt with early, they spread. They compete for space, for energy, and for light, much like unresolved issues or habits that quietly take over when left unattended. But just like in the garden, none of this is personal. It’s not a failure; it’s simply how things work.
Weeds are inevitable, and the same is true for challenges in life. Growth requires both what we consider good and bad—sun, rain, wind—and those elements help everything become stronger over time. Tending to anything—really tending to it—takes time, attention, and a willingness to notice the details while also stepping back to see the bigger picture.
That might be the hardest part. We want a lot of things in life, but we can’t tend to everything. There’s only so much time, energy, and attention to go around. When we try to take on too much, the quality of all of it suffers.
I’ve seen that in my own life. Stepping back from full-time work and focusing on fewer things has allowed me to care for them more deeply. I see the details, feel more connected, and take more pride in what I’m doing. The garden reflects that.
The more time I spend in nature, the more connected I feel to it and to something quieter underneath everything else. There’s a kind of clarity that comes when you step away from noise and simply pay attention. The more I listen, the more it feels like the answers I’m looking for aren’t far away—they’re already here, if I slow down enough to notice them.
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