
Man’s heart away from nature becomes hard
Monks and holy guides of many different faiths agree that each person has their own “grace.” As Thomas Merton writes, “And each way is a grace, a special way is a special grace.”
“Good, better, best. Never let it rest. Until your good is better and your better best.”
“Good, better, best. Never let it rest. Until your good is better and your better best.” As a first grader in catholic school, this is what the nuns said, nay sang to us. Imagine hearing this message over and over as a small child. Would you raise your hand if you weren’t sure you had the answer? Would you volunteer to do the math problem on the chalk board if you knew how to begin but couldn’t see how the equation would unfold? I didn’t. Instead, I learned then that I had to be perfect. It has taken a lifetime to learn otherwise.
When I was trying to be perfect, I couldn’t take risks. I wouldn’t try a new skill lest I perform poorly (as is inevitable). Trying to be perfect kept me afraid. Most recently, I have been afraid of imperfectly supporting a friend who is dying. But I am showing up to spend time with her, I am bringing food (mostly beer and chocolate, her favorites), I am listening. And somehow it seems to hearten her.
Needless to say, I have never been perfect. I have been and am an imperfect mother, friend, sister, colleague, daughter. Yet, I am enough. And I am happier having let go of all the endless striving. This summer, I gave paddleboarding a try. I fell in the bay quite a few times. It was a beautiful day, the water was lovely, and I had a fabulous time.
Eileen Quinn
I live a life rich with a big and warm family, especially my kind and funny sons; dear friends; and purposeful work with people I admire. What a bounty.
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Monks and holy guides of many different faiths agree that each person has their own “grace.” As Thomas Merton writes, “And each way is a grace, a special way is a special grace.”
On the mantel above my fireplace sits a representation of Quan Yin. I keep her there where I can always see her, because she embodies my intention and my spiritual practice as a human being and as a writer.
I lived in my suburban townhouse for nine years before I set foot inside a neighbor’s house. I knew their names and enough for a few minutes of small talk, but after that it felt safer to hurry back inside…
My husband and I moved to Vermont, in part, because of our love for the land and farming. We filled our new homestead with native plants to support pollinators. This year, our farmer neighbor decided to plant corn on our border – corn laced with pesticides…