Good morning.
It's Monday, November sixteenth.
Last week is finished.
Whatever it held...
it's done now.
This one hasn't been touched.
Not one email answered.
Not one plan broken.
Sit somewhere comfortable.
The edge of the bed works.
So does the couch.
Let your feet find the floor.
It's a little cold this time of year.
That's okay.
We have six minutes together.
Let's use them to start fresh.
We'll start by emptying out.
All the old air first.
Breathe out through your mouth.
Keep going.
Past where you'd usually stop.
Now let the air rush back in.
Your body knows how.
Out again...
squeeze out every last bit.
And in...
cool and new.
Once more.
Out...
all of it.
And in...
nice and full.
That's the idea for this week.
Make some room.
Then let something new come in.
Picture a small patch of garden.
Just a square of dark soil.
Someone has turned it over.
It's loose and soft.
It smells like rain.
Kneel down beside it.
Feel the damp through your knees.
In your hand is one seed.
Tiny.
Lighter than a button.
This seed is something new.
Something you'd like to grow.
Maybe it's a habit.
Walking after dinner.
Reading instead of Maybe scrolling.
it's a feeling.
A little more patience.
A little more ease with yourself.
Don't pick the perfect one.
Pick the one that shows up first.
Press a small hole in the dirt.
With one finger.
Not too deep.
Drop the seed in.
Cover it over.
Pat the soil down gently.
That's Nothing it.
to see And yet.
that's the funny thing about They beginnings.
look like nothing at first.
Under the dirt, though...
something has already started.
You to don't have watch it.
You don't have to dig it up.
Just to check on it.
It needs a little water.
And more time than you'd like.
Maybe you've planted this before.
Last January, or last spring.
And it didn't take.
Life got busy.
You forgot to water it.
That doesn't mean it can't grow.
It just means it's a new season.
Gardeners replant all the time.
Nobody calls them failures.
They just kneel down...
and try again with a new seed.
Plant these words beside it.
I can start again today.
Small beginnings are still beginnings.
Stay by the garden a while.
Sun on your back.
Birds in the fence line.
The soil still cool under your palms.
Something small is waiting to come up.
There's no rush.
Just let yourself hope a little.
Quietly.
Hope doesn't need a plan.
It can just sit here with you.
Let the garden fade now.
Brush the dirt off your hands.
Stretch your arms out wide.
Open your hands.
Give your back a good long stretch.
One more full breath in...
And out.
Now think of that seed.
Turn it into one new habit.
Something you can try this week.
Then do it once today.
Only once.
If it's reading, read five pages.
Tonight, before the TV goes on.
Keep it that small.
Small enough that you can't skip it.
That's the watering.
Tomorrow you can water it again.
Open your eyes when you're ready.
Go have a good Monday.