Last week, we suddenly and tragically lost a member of our gym. And in the midst of the tragedy I went home and put on an Englebert Humperdinck song that I remember my mom listening to when I was a kid. 

Yes, I like Englebert Humperdinck. I said it out loud. 

I grabbed my partner and we danced in the kitchen and as the dog tried to make his way between us, I stepped back and looked in her eyes and realized that I’d forgotten.  

She has flecks of brown that sparkle in the light of her green eyes.

I don’t know when I last looked in her eyes and registered what I was really, truly seeing - but it felt like I hadn't seen her eyes in years.

I spend most of my days looking but not seeing, listening but not hearing, touching but not feeling. As we turned slowly in one another’s arms in the kitchen I was plagued with the thought. 

What else have I forgotten? What else do I not see? Who else is talking to me that I am not really hearing?  

There is a Buddhist book called “Wake up to Your Life,” and though I’ve read the book the entire way through, I’m often still asleep. As is many times the case, it’s tragedy the slaps you, shakes you awake and leaves you disconcerted, groundless and confused.

But it’s also tragedy that makes you sit in front of your picture window in the mountains and look at clouds in ways you haven’t since you were a kid. That makes you eat a fresh strawberry in three bites - savoring the taste. It is stark sadness sometimes that frightens us into locking fingers with our loved ones to pull them close and say I love you with our hearts and our arms and our entire being.

From sadness and tragedy sometimes comes clarity. And pause. One Buddhist teacher refers to the sacred pause - teaching yourself to pause several times throughout your day - to check in with yourself and to be present to the moment, and the next and the next. Tragedy forces this pause - forces us to take inventory of what and who is important to our energy and time. Tragedy slows us down, which can sometimes feel terrifying. If we slow down, if we pause completely, we may be left with feelings and emotions that can seem like too much. 

But sometimes when we pause, we can look in our partners’ eyes, and see those flecks of brown, and dance to bad music from the 70’s and for a few moments feel awake and grateful for our lives.  

I don't know if I'm 1% better today. I know that I'm 100% sadder. But I also know that I am more awake today than I've been in a long time. And for that I am grateful.

Last weekend I made the trip to Charlottesville, Virginia for a short reunion with my college roommates. In honor of turning 40 (some of us sooner than others), we rented a house next to Monticello, drank wine, sat in the sun (they have that in Virginia) and shared in each others' lives. 

The advent of social media makes keeping up with people easier than it once was. I've seen pictures of their families, they've seen me dressed as Dolly Parton, and we all have a general idea of what is going on with one another.

This is from a film camera. Google it. Also there are things in my hair...like curls and stuff. 

But actually spending time with them was almost like going back in time. 

I guess it's the magic of friends who have known you for a lifetime that you can sit down at a kitchen table in Virginia and feel so easily transported to the conversations from our time at Gannon University, where we all met. 

Sure the selections on the table are different. We've graduated from box wine and five dollar vodka to a finer vintage - wine that requires a cork screw to open. Conversations shift from struggles with professors to struggles with life - but the ease with which we spoke to one another remained the same. 

And I was more present in the 48 hours we spent together than I've been to any one moment in months. 

I spend almost every waking moment doing what author Daniel Goleman calls “nexting.” I might take a few minutes to enjoy a Friday night, but by Saturday morning I am planning a blog, worrying about how much I haven’t written, and plagued by a constant, vague notion that I need to be doing more.

More. 

Make more money, write more blogs, take on more clients, run more, workout more. 

Always so much guilt that I need to do more. 

Last weekend, for 48 hours, I gave up more. I didn’t ask myself to write or study on the plane. I looked out the window and watched the sunrise, I talked with a grandmother traveling to Iowa, and opened my laptop only twice - once to order a pizza.

We look pretty good if I do say so myself. 

I listened to music, I hugged my friends tightly and felt the bonds of our friendship. Sunday night we watched "The Birdcage," and I hung on every word as though I hadn't watched the movie 100 times in college.

I turned my phone off.

Like, off. 

Not on silent, not on Do Not Disturb. 

Off.  

The quote on the board in our gym last week came from a client: “There is not Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, there is only now.”

The greatest gift from my friends last week was enjoying the now. We mindfully spent time with one another because it had been 14 years since we were all in the same room together. The sacredness of being in one another's presence allowed me to lean into the moment in a way I rarely experience these days.

My goal, more so today than ever, is to remain mindful. And that is my wish for you. To not be dulled by the daily routine, but comforted by it. To find a way to enjoy and embrace the now and lean in to the sacredness of the moment. 

Our only guarantee is now. 

Reach for it. Touch it. 

It’s ok.

That’s your permission slip for the day. That’s your golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Your tiny piece of paper that says you have permission to do what you need to do to take care of yourself today.

Sometimes it’s ok to take a break. 

It’s ok to break down.

It’s ok.

I can’t think of anything more powerful in terms of permission than those two words. So I’m using them carefully and thoughtfully and with as much meaning as I can pour into them this morning.  

It's ok.

You spend so much of your time taking care of everyone else. People at work, spouses and children and parents at home. Friends and family and people in your church. 

Today I’m giving you the permission slip that says it’s ok to take care of you. 

I see so many fitness posts about rising and grinding, and that’s ok if that’s what works for you. 

But I don’t really want my days to be filled with long arduous tasks that I endure. My dad lost his job in the steel mills when I was a kid and spent the rest of his working days as a corrections officer in a maximum security prison. He did enough enduring of his days for the both of us. 

Life is too short to constantly rise and grind. 

Yes sometimes you have to push yourself through a workout, but the only thing I want to grind in the morning is my coffee beans. 

I would argue that when workouts and life and long runs begin to feel like they are a grind - when work and relationships and life begins to feel that hard, day in and day out, then it might be time to take a break.

Take inventory today, right now. What do you need right now? What do you need today? How will you take care of yourself today? Sure we all probably need more sleep and a vacation and more sunny days like yesterday. We have some degree of control over the sleep, but often very little over vacations and the weather.

What do you have control over?

Maybe you need to take a day off from the gym and walk outside. Maybe you need to get back in to the gym because you know you feel better when you show up. Maybe you need to eat lunch away from your desk. Make yourself a priority.

I don’t know what you need today. But whatever that need might be, here’s your permission slip.

It’s ok. 

Ok?

Good talk. :)