Life Beneath the Schedule
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
I recently found myself thinking about activism. About the many ways we show up for what matters to us.
As I considered this, three memories arrived. Rapidly, as if they were part of my contemplation.
The first was a conversation I had with a woman in my town. She was giving me an update on her recent gathering with other mothers protesting against gun violence. I was interested as we had explored what mattered to her as she approached retirement. Protecting children in schools and on street corners mattered, so she joined with other moms who cared about the same.
She described the experience standing at a busy street corner in a local town.
I could see it. Lots of mamas showing up with hand made signs, chanting together, and hoping to make a difference. Some passing drivers honked in support. Others rolled down their windows, shouted insults, or flashed rude gestures. She couldn’t believe the hostility. Neither could the other mothers.
So the women shouted back. Righteous in their indignation.
“So you’re an angry activist?” I asked.
She stopped speaking. There was a long pause. Then she laughed. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “I am an angry activist!”
It wasn’t a criticism. It was just something to notice. How easy it is for our nervous system to become shaped by the very energy we’re trying to change. This led to a rich discussion of how to stand for what truly mattered without giving way to dysregulation and anger, regardless of how others in her group or those passing by reacted.
The second scene also took place on a busy street.
I recalled walking past a Tesla showroom in Washington, D.C. last fall. The sidewalk outside the storefront was filled with dancing people. At first, I thought there was a grand opening or something to be celebrated. As we joined the other pedestrians in single file to walk slowly past the dancers, I took in the scene.
Music filled the street. The DJ broadcasted uplifting music as the happy protesters danced with signs.
Some just busted a move and exuded a joyful countenance. After reading the signs, I looked around me. Some people smiled. Others scowled. A few applauded or shimmied a bit, while some muttered their disagreement as they walked by.
No one seemed dysregulated except for the dude who was clearly dancing to his own rhythm.
These activists expressed what they believed without becoming entangled in every passing reaction. That was interesting.
The third memory was of a recent visit I had with a family friend.
This beautiful soul is in her late eighties and has spent much of her life standing up for what she believed was just. I grew up on stories of her protests, occasional arrests, and dogged determination.
When I visited her assisted living community, I noticed a small sign attached to her walker. Every Vote Matters.
“Still at it,” I observed and we shared a smile.
I noted that it was a quiet statement. Later she showed me the larger sign that now hung in her room. It had once been displayed on her walker, but the community had asked residents not to display overt political messages in shared spaces. Let’s just say that wasn’t so quiet as her message was clear, in all caps, and brightly decorated.
But she adapted. Not because her convictions had changed, but because her wisdom had.
I later saw a photo of her at a family party. There she was, rolling around with that bright sign visible for all to read. It struck me that she understood that there is a difference between abandoning your values and expressing them skillfully within the environment you inhabit.
As I thought about these three scenes, I realized they weren’t simply different activists.
They represented three different ways of inhabiting what they cared about.
One became caught in the reactivity around her. And was open to shifting her approach.
The dancers expressed their convictions without becoming pulled into every response.
And one displayed that wisdom sometimes means changing the form without changing the heart.
Whether the moment calls you into protest, parenting, teaching, voting, caring for a friend, or simply having a difficult conversation, how you live your convictions matters.
As I drove home, I found myself less interested in activism than in how I live my convictions.
Not what I stood against. But how I stand.
Not whether I cared. But how I carry what I care about.
And how I meet those who see the world differently than I do.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
Over the past several months, I have been immersed in conversation with women. In therapy sessions, Via Sophia circles, and at dinner tables. During walks, ceremonies, and quiet moments after gatherings have ended. I’ve been listening as stories unfold. Different women. Different lives, histories, and circumstances. Yet beneath the details, I keep hearing a remarkably similar story. Many women are tired.
Last week, I left the house a little earlier than usual.
Not because the day ahead was spacious. Quite the opposite. It was full. Appointments, responsibilities, errands to run, bags still to pack for my upcoming conference. One of those days where the hours already seem spoken for before they even begin.
And yet, before leaving, I found myself lingering in the garden.
The overgrown bushes had finally been removed, opening up an entire section of the bed I hadn’t really seen clearly in years. New flowers and shrubs had recently been planted, and I stood there for a few moments appreciating the fresh openness of it all. The morning light and the possibility of adding a few colorful blossoms. The beauty of something being tended and made new.
There comes a moment when something within you begins to shift.
Not because life is failing. Not because you have done something wrong. But because what once felt meaningful no longer feels like enough.
Many women arrive at this threshold quietly. Others experience it more viscerally, through exhaustion, change, loss, longing, or the growing realization that the life they have carefully built no longer fully reflects who they are becoming.
You may already feel this happening within you now.
A few months ago, when the world was cold and the snow came often, I left for work a little earlier than usual.
The roads had already been plowed, but I knew better than to assume they were clear. That kind of winter morning holds a particular deception. The pavement looks clean, almost dry, while a thin layer of ice waits invisibly beneath.
I was mostly alone on the road.