As I wandered around the Saturday morning farmer’s market in front of my hotel in Santa Barbara, these are some of the things I noticed:
A 10 foot long table piled high with avocados the size of a giants fist.
A bucket of pink and white gladiola stems, my mother’s favorite flower.
A display of mushrooms that looked like pieces of art.
A bee hovering near the center of a white and yellow poppy (I thought poppies were only red - who knew?).
A bounty of carrots, radishes, artichokes, berries and peaches the likes of which I have never seen assembled in one place.
People shouting “Happy Solstice!” to each other - a sure indicator that I was no longer in New York City, or even Long Island, but solidly in Southern California.
I was in awe, filled with wonder. And as my friend Claire, another participant in the writer’s retreat which brought me to Santa Barbara, so aptly said - wonder is the cousin of gratitude.
Just a week prior, I had watched my only son, our second oldest child, graduate from college. I noticed so many things that weekend. The way he was embraced by his wide circle of friends. His gentle, easy-going relationship with his girlfriend. His thousand-watt smile as he accepted his diploma. After the usual emotional and social roller coaster of high school and freshmen year (not to mention a global pandemic which impacted every aspect of those years) he had hit his stride, found his people, excelled in his coursework and started a popular campus club. He finished college on such a high note that my husband and I could only feel tremendous pride and relief. None of this was certain when he started college. It isn’t certain for anyone navigating the rocky waters of raising a child to adulthood these days. We had all - collectively - made it. And I was feeling a great deal of wonder and, yes, gratitude.
Less than a week later, I was on a flight to Los Angeles to participate in a writer’s retreat with my friends from The Writing Connection, a virtual writing class I joined during the early days of the pandemic. The same group of extraordinary women has met nearly every Wednesday night for five years. Our leader, Carol Adler of
is a thoughtful, skilled writing coach who encourages us to listen deeply, to let our feelings out onto the page, and to show up (for ourselves and each other) no matter how we are feeling in the moment. We have shared so much of life with each other over these years - grief, loss, existential fears and ordinary struggles. I feel incredibly close to this group of women despite the fact that I’ve only met Carol in person a few times. Prior to my trip to Santa Barbara, all of the other women were floating “Zoom heads” and kind voices on my computer screen. My kids call this “para-social” friendship. I call it an incredibly lucky blessing at this late stage of my life.I don’t think I can fully summarize how soul nourishing and cup-filling the weekend was for me. Seeing and hugging those women for the first time was like greeting long lost friends. Carol encouraged us to let go of anything burdensome that we were carrying and to lean into the good things we hoped to cultivate and share. She especially wanted us to keep our eyes, ears, hearts and minds open, to be present and to really notice the beauty of the people and world around us.
Hence, my mindful walk through the farmer’s market, my awe-filled tour of Carol’s beautifully landscaped backyard, our breathtaking walk along the cliff on the Douglas Family preserve (pictured above), and our joyful attempts at water coloring, expertly taught by another classmate, Francie. I also noticed the honesty and vulnerability of the writing that my classmates created that weekend. We all engaged in a level of truth-telling above and beyond what we typically share during a Zoom class. Being away together in that special place allowed everyone to feel safe and supported. We laughed, we cried, and then we laughed some more. What a gift.
I hope I can continue to notice the little things, all summer long. The practice of mindful observation is better than my typical doom scrolling and navel gazing, and it will certainly increase my gratitude and joy. I highly recommend it.
I’m reminded of one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems which I quoted in my essay about poetry in April. After my experiences of the last few weeks, it resonates even more deeply.
Instructions for living a life
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
It sounds absolutly magical and nourishing. Next year I'll be able to attend!!
Another lovely piece, Natalie. So happy you're having such a wonderful start to the summer. xo