I stay up far later than I ought to, knowing how early the next day starts, but as I say, it's better than nothing. If I meditate at the very-very end of the day, it knocks me out in minutes. (For better or worse; a chronic insomniac has worse problems than falling asleep at night.) But I love the creative twist that I get late at night, and 5 minutes of reflection when it's quiet and when I'm really in the mood is better than a forced half hour while the TV is blaring in another room or something. 

Plus, it's almost like a favor to my wife; the later I stay up, the longer I drag out getting up, and if it remains quiet in the morning, she gets her time to reflect, too. Win-win. Unless The Girl gets up early, too. (Or stays up way too late, I guess it works both ways.)

Words - I read constantly, and I find the sacred all around me in words. Great fiction, spiritual classic texts, blogs and comments on places like gaia.com

Nature and animals - I live in a beautiful place, so I see the sacred in the seasons, in plants and trees, in the birds and coyotes, in the mountains and rocks, in the sunsets, in the wind, in piercing blue of a sunny day and the dizzying variety in the night sky. And animals of all shapes and sizes inspire me, and whether it's watching my little goldfish dart around at feeding time or cuddling with one of my dogs, it's easy to get glimpses of the divine. 

Myself - When I take the time to do yoga or meditate, I feel or see hints of the sacred in myself. When I watch my own actions, both my foibles and my proud moments, I see a bigger shape and occasionally, looking back I can see the hand of the divine. (Sure would be handy if I could see what that hand was going to do in the future sometimes...)

Music - As a recovering musician who left music because of overall burnout, it would be tempting for me to overlook music as a source of inspiration, but some of my most "sacred" moments have come from hearing the right music at the right time

Photography - when I take the time to take a bunch of photos and work on them later, I get into a different mode of seeing. I love photography because it's an excuse to tune out the noise of everyday life and focus on the details of what's around me. When I successfully get into that mode, it feels great; rather than the static of trying process every asinine piece of information around me, I really "see" one intentionally chosen aspect of it, and I spot amazing things that were in front of me the whole time.

People - Although those close to me would probably be surprised to see this on my list because of my dire-sounding proclamations about the state of humanity, I get a huge charge from people in the forms of hope, excitement, love, inspiration. I see the divine in my beautiful young daughter as she sleeps and as she plays with the kids around her. I see it in the kindness of strangers, and I see it in the shape of big movements like environmentalism, politics, sustainability. 

When I know what I need and who can help me, I'm actually not shy about it, but there are processes in me that often block the discovery of getting that specific, so get mired in "I don't even know where to start" type problems. For example, there's a little bit of dumb pride involved - part of me wants to claim an independence in all matters that I can never really have. I get the help at some point anyway, but I feel somehow more independent if I don't have to openly ask for it, or if I hold out as long as possible asking for it. (And in the process, generate a greater need for help.)

Part of me wants help that won't help me; for example, I'd like to make my living a different way, and nobody can really tell me what that different way should be or how to get there, but I feel like I want to be rescued or helped somehow. I feel like asking for help, but I don't know who to ask or what to ask for. I know this is an issue for me because I catch myself noticing other people doing it all the time. Help-that-won't-help is usually some form of shortcut toward something I want, and at the end of the day, there aren't any shortcuts in the important things. Any form of shortcut is a form of help that won't help.

Part of me wants help that I simply can't specify. When I was involved with music as a career path, I wanted help. Not music-wise - I was perfectly willing to practice and study and learn and prepare, and I was pretty good at it and felt like I had plenty of direction. But on the business/career side, I wanted help, but if you asked me what help I wanted, I couldn't give you any more specifics than that. There were probably even people around me who could have helped if only I could have asked for something specific. But telling someone busy that you want help without having even a vague idea what kind of help you want isn't going to get you anywhere.

If I say "I want help" to someone without providing some real specifics, I place all the burdon on them, and when I catch myself doing it, it doesn't seem fair. It's not just the act of helping that I've asked for, but I've also passed on the burden of figuring out what help is needed. So, not only do I want more of someone's energy, I'm also less likely to get help of any real value because nobody can describe what I need better than you can, and I've tried to avoid locking in any specifics. For me, that's partly because I play games with myself to avoid pinning down the specifics so I'm absolved of needing to act on them - if I know what I want, I should take steps to move in that direction, and it's easier to no need to take steps, so I find myself seeking out not-knowing-what-I-want as a defense mechanism, and partly because there's a vague, secret feeling that if I leave my request open-ended, then the universe may provide a better answer than I could come up with myself. It's the "help lottery." 

When I see my kid doing the same thing, it seems pretty ineffective. 

"What do you want to eat?" 

"I don't know. Something yummy." 

"OK. Eggs?" 

"No. I don't like eggs." 

"OK. Bread." 

"Nah. Maybe later."

"OK. An orange?"

"Nah. Maybe later."

Eventually, she'll ask for what she originally wanted all along; she was just feeling me out to see if I'd fill in her request better than she could herself, and I never do. 

I have to remember that a reasonable request for help should include the kind of help I actually want. Not only is that more respectful of others (and life and everything), it may actually get me the specific assistance I need for a specific problem. 

I have the greatest difficulty giving time. When I'm working, I feel like I can't give 100% of myself to the work because it takes time from other things that I actually enjoy, so I hoard my time a little. (Which means work takes longer, and I have less time for the other things.) 

When I'm in my non-work time, I have a hard time completely focusing on my daughter or wife because, as much as I love them and enjoy their company, my work has "robbed" me of my me-time, so I feel like I'm shorting myself of private time and feel distracted. (Which means that the time I give to others isn't always the highest quality.) 

When I actually get private time, I feel guilty about using it and feel like I should be either working or spending the time with my family, so i don't get much out of the me-time I carve out, and that leaves me wanting more of it until I start working again at the same time that it takes me away from my family time. The circle is complete.

It's something I'm paying attention to and trying to work on; I've spread my perception of scarcity throughout my different blocks of time, and I find that rather than trying to rid myself of that perception of scarcity, I try to reallocate it, so maybe I only feel scarcity while I'm working so I can feel less scarcity when I'm with my daughter. I know - academically - that it's not exactly true that time is scarce, but it's very easy to feel differently "in the moment." 

Part of me knows that it's all perceptual games, otherwise there couldn't be different flavors of busy, like good-busy, where time just falls away , and bad-busy, where time just crawls. Or maybe those qualities of business verify that time really is scarce - if I weren't always busy, why would I need to qualitatively judge the different types of busy-ness I'm immersed in. 

Don't know yet, but I'm keeping my eyes on it. When I can be mindful and bypass some of the games and just be in the moment rather than focusing on where or when I'd rather be living, it all works out just fine. So while I'm looking for other answers, part of my work is to just get out of my thoughts and into my life whenever I can remember to; maybe that's the whole point, anyway.

I was a music major in college; I started out college as an English major but I didn't like the people it put me around, and I tested the water with business stuff and didn't have much better luck; I like the people OK, actually - lots of unfocused souls like myself  - but really couldn't get into the classes. (All of which probably said more about me than about the other people or the classes.) The music classes I took put me around people I did like to be around, there was no master plan or anything. My wife, Anette, was doing something similar, she'd planned on going into the travel industry and figured she'd take a year in the U.S. and study music with a teacher she'd met who had been very encouraging. Her year turned into a whole college career, and later, a marriage and family. (With me.)

We'd definitely been in the same room at the same time more than once, but we'd never really talked, maybe something in passing, but nothing that either of us remember. One class we shared was the Jazz Ensemble that met in the afternoon 3 days a week. Basically a big band. I played piano on one side of the room and she sat in the trumpet section almost as far away as could be. 

The Jazz Ensemble accepted an invitation to play at the state prison. Everyone carpooled down there and met outside, and when we went in together. At the security screening, they took everything from us that wasn't directly related to the gig, it was for our own safety and while it kept things simple, we weren't ecstatic about it. They checked shoes, inspected cases, everything, and they insisted on holding onto our coats if they were leather or long. Anette and I both had long, leather coats, and we ended up having our first conversation as a bitch-fest about having to leave our coats behind. It was probably not a terrible idea to leave them, though, and where would they be safer than behind the security desk at a state prison? The prison itself was horrible and oppressive, and from the time we all set foot in there, we counted the seconds until we could be out, but the inmates themselves were gracious and appreciative, so the precautions were thankfully theoretical. Probably better safe than sorry.

It was not the first "real" conversation we had, that came later, but the brief conversation under odd circumstances set the groundwork for future conversations when we happened to run into each other, which we did. "Hey, it's that foreign chick that I complained to at the State Pen. I guess since we've already spoken, it will be OK to speak again." It's fun to tell people we met in prison, even if it's an oversimplification.

That's what the winter is to me. I don't love the cold, but life doesn't stop, and I adapt to it. It's a time to spend time with family, cook food, read. Springtime is something to look forward to, but winter is hardly something that's just to be endured. It's a special time for me in the same way a rainy day is a special time. When it's sunny or warm out, there's quiet social pressure to enjoy it because IT'S JUST SO BEAUTIFUL, and sometimes it feels a little forced because for me, sunny weather does not instantly and automatically trigger unassailable bliss, I have the same good or bad days that I always do, and I secretly dread the pressure to be happy no matter what. (The funny thing is that when I don't experience that quiet pressure, I'm probably happy anyway. It's only when someone tells me that I NEED TO BE happy that something in me resists it. Funny to watch how your mind works...) 

In the winter, there's not the same pressure to enjoy the biting cold or slippery streets; I know people who do love the cold and thrive on winter sports, or they love the holidays and the traditions and goodwill that surround them. I'm talking about the special opportunity that a gloomy, cold day provides to be who you are and what you are in a whole different way than a mild fall afternoon provides. There's no pressure to be happy, so for a weirdo like me, I'm free to be happy. Or not. 

Santa Fe, New Mexico is a beautiful place year around for me, and while I've lost some of my childlike love for snow and chilly outdoor play as adult life has steered me toward seeing it all as an inconvenience, I've started to enjoy it again. The singular calm and quiet that comes with the first snow is a lot easier to notice and enjoy when you're not in the middle of the inner city. (And I'm talking about my own life - I lived in and around New York City for years; I don't deny that snow in the city's a special time, too, I'm referring to my own relationship to winter and my own life experience.) The sunsets are different, the distant Jemez Mountains are a stilling sight when they're dusted with snow, and the sight of low snow clouds over the Pecos Mountains outside my kitchen calms and nourishes me. 

The high desert isn't dead, ever, the way people who haven't experienced it might  imagine from the connotations that the word "desert" conjure. In the winter, we still have birds and coyotes and even rabbits and mice. (The prairie dogs are sleeping, though.) The cacti are dormant, but so many of the trees around here are low, scrubby pinon and juniper trees that there's still green, almost as much as there is any time of year save the brief rainy season. But the little bugs and hummingbirds are gone, and it's quiet at night. There are times when even the wind is still (try that in the spring here!), and a full moon over a fresh dusting of snow provides enough light to read by if you're willing to brave the 12 degree weather. I love it, and I'm actually learning to enjoy the winter again. We heat our home with a woodstove and with wood pellets, so I get to feel like a real provider - I cook food, I carry wood, I start fires. It's probably dumb, but I actually feel like I'm doing something for my family when I feed them or keep them warm. My wife is at least as capable as I am in all these matters, so it's not that they need me, but it makes me feel good to shovel snow or carry bags of pellets. 

Heck, I've actually even forgotten to dread the holidays this year. Could be my meditation practice is having some slow effects, maybe I'm just calmer because work's almost under control, could be that this healing place I live in has started to work on me, or maybe it's just that it's an election year and change is in the air. But I'm not trying very hard to bring the dread back...