Situational awareness.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

I was robbed recently. I was enjoying lunch with a treasured friend, undoubtedly lost in the delightful way she tells stories and looks at life, when my purse was taken right off my chair as I sat there unaware. The restaurant’s security cameras showed two women, the perps, dressed in hot pink and bright orange, casually taking my purse and then driving off in their Mercedes (!) to Target where they started to put my credit card to work. The nerve.

I realized this incident had affected me more than I realized when the dreams came. Home invasion dreams where I was in my childhood home trying desperately to figure out how to protect my mother. I grabbed her and ran to the bedroom door, but men were trying to get in there, too, in tactical gear and heavily armed. I was running through all the escape possibilities in my head, realizing we might be trapped and I wouldn’t be able to save her, when I woke up, heart pounding.

So how do I quell these troubled waters. First, of course, was to cancel the cards and block my phone. But the next step is maybe the best for easing the troubled mind. Mr. Rogers reminded children to look for the helpers in any crisis. For me, helpers would include that friend, a retired nurse, cool under pressure, who dashed to my car to prevent the thieves, who now had my keys, from stealing it. I had visions of her clinging to the hood while they used the windshield wipers to dislodge her, but that’s my brain in overdrive not the reality. Instead, there was another helper who found my purse, sans phone and credit cards, abandoned in the bushes. Due to the kindness of the people eating around us who had responded to my yelps of distress and pointed me out to her, I got my purse, and key, back. And then there was the restaurant manager who calmly rebuffed my repeated and emphatic suggestions to plaster warnings about thieves everywhere, but instead saved all the identifying information on video for the police to follow up. He mentioned we all need to cultivate situational awareness.

Situational awareness. And therein lies the rub. I want to live in a world where I can have a leisurely lunch with my friend and no one is casing the joint, looking for some unsuspecting mark to rob. That would be a better world! But it’s not this world. So if one of us needs to change, the world or me, it will need to be me.

And as I stewed on these words—situational awareness—it occurred to me that they apply to pretty much everything. We have to stay focused on the world we have, the reality, and bring our attention to that place and circumstance and base our decisions and actions on that. Not on the world we wish we had, but the one we do have. The place we are. The reality we must confront. That’s where the real work gets done and progress gets made.

In his book, The Road Less Traveled, M. Scott Peck starts with the given, Life is difficult:

He goes on to say some equally profound things about how if the world isn’t aligning with our understanding of it, it is our understanding that must change, not that we should lie to ourselves to pretend the world supports our image. He likens it to maps. If the map you’re using isn’t getting you to where you want to go, it is the map that’s wrong, not the reality. The map must change.

As we look around, where are the places that things don’t make sense? The places our maps aren’t getting us where we want to be? Maybe things that are different now than they once were? Where do we need new maps?

We need to stay dedicated to reality, as much as it might trouble us, and adjust our maps so we can get back on track. Peck concludes :

The more effort we make to appreciate and perceive reality, the larger and more accurate our maps will be. But many do not want to make this effort. Some stop making it by the end of adolescence. Their maps are small and sketchy, their views of the world narrow and misleading. By the end of middle age most people have given up up the effort. …Only a relative and fortunate few continue until the moment of death exploring the mystery of reality, ever enlarging and refining their understanding of the world and what is true.

Part of the jewel.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Mr. Rogers inspired generations to recognize the beauty of their neighborhoods, to search for the helpers for inspiration in any crisis, and to recognize that each individual has value and inherent worth. His words continue to echo through both good and bad times. He reminded us that it wasn’t our exteriors he liked or admired, but our interior selves, our character and trustworthiness.

Today consider his reminder to remember all those people who believed in you and made you who you are– someone capable of making the good choices to make this world a better place.

I’d like to give you all an invisible gift. A gift of a silent minute to think about those who have helped you become who you are today. Some of them may be here right now. Some may be far away. Some, like my astronomy professor, may even be in Heaven. But wherever they are, if they’ve loved you, and encouraged you, and wanted what was best in life for you, they’re right inside your self. And I feel that you deserve quiet time, on this special occasion, to devote some thought to them. So, let’s just take a minute, in honor of those that have cared about us all along the way. One silent minute.

I carry your heart with me.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

I recently bought a snow globe of a Labrador and a cardinal in the woods.

These two remind me of the unconditional love I was lucky enough to receive from my late dog, Honey

And my late, and very much beloved grandmother.

Honey was my soul animal, always with me, zooming with me into school visits during the pandemic, meeting and loving every neighbor we encountered on our long walks, my constant companion.

My grandmother loved me unconditionally, always eager to hear my stories, encouraging me in my writing, sharing life as two brunette mothers of redheads, growing together in our faith journeys.

I love having them there with me symbolically on my desk in this little snow globe because, frankly, grief is hard. Losing those precious to us leaves a gaping wound. But when we remember them, we remember the love they gave us, too, and that part feels good. When we carry them with us like that, they are still here.

I think of e.e. cummings‘ poem:

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

And as we go on, past the loss, we carry those who have loved us with us in our hearts, giving us comfort and strength. We carry them with us, and, with that, we carry the unconditional love they gave that still sustains us, even now.

Loving what’s mortal.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

As we age, there is loss. That loss is like a presence that follows us relentlessly like a shadow. No avoiding it. No pretending. We are mortal. The people we love are mortal, perhaps imminently so. This is part of the rules of engagement. And while most of us avoid thinking too much about it, poets like Mary Oliver offer life instructions:

To live in this world, you must be able to do three things:

To love what is mortal

To hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;

And, when the time comes, to let it go, to let it go.

I honestly don’t know which of these three rules is the hardest. Right now, they each seem nearly impossible. But having the courage to follow these instructions feels like the answer. 

Her full poem is below. 

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.“In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver, from American Primitive. © Back Bay Books, 1983.

Everyday heroes choosing to do the right thing.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Whom we claim as our heroes is telling. Today, in these troubled, divided times, who is acting heroically? We don’t know how our or this story will end, but we do know the values we hold to be worth fighting for: honesty, self-sacrifice, honor, integrity, the common good. As we enter the day, let us hold true to our values to meet life’s challenges in hope that those everyday interactions spread ripples of good.

Enjoy these words from Heather Cox Richardson in honor of MLK, Jr. Day:

You hear sometimes, now that we know the sordid details of the lives of some of our leading figures, that America has no heroes left.

When I was writing a book about the Wounded Knee Massacre, where heroism was pretty thin on the ground, I gave that a lot of thought. And I came to believe that heroism is neither being perfect, nor doing something spectacular. In fact, it’s just the opposite: it’s regular, flawed human beings choosing to put others before themselves, even at great cost, even if no one will ever know, even as they realize the walls might be closing in around them.

It means sitting down the night before D-Day and writing a letter praising the troops and taking all the blame for the next day’s failure upon yourself in case things went wrong, as General Dwight D. Eisenhower did.

It means writing in your diary that you “still believe that people are really good at heart,” even while you are hiding in an attic from the men who are soon going to kill you, as Anne Frank did.

It means signing your name to the bottom of the Declaration of Independence in bold script, even though you know you are signing your own death warrant should the British capture you, as John Hancock did.

It means defending your people’s right to practice a religion you don’t share, even though you know you are becoming a dangerously visible target, as Sitting Bull did.

Sometimes it just means sitting down, even when you are told to stand up, as Rosa Parks did.

None of those people woke up one morning and said to themselves that they were about to do something heroic. It’s just that when they had to, they did what was right.

On April 3, 1968, the night before the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated by a white supremacist, he gave a speech in support of sanitation workers in Memphis, Tennessee. Since 1966, King had tried to broaden the civil rights movement for racial equality into a larger movement for economic justice. He joined the sanitation workers in Memphis, who were on strike after years of bad pay and such dangerous conditions that two men had been crushed to death in garbage compactors.

After his friend Ralph Abernathy introduced him to the crowd, King had something to say about heroes: “As I listened to Ralph Abernathy and his eloquent and generous introduction and then thought about myself, I wondered who he was talking about.”

Dr. King told the audience that if God had let him choose any era in which to live, he would have chosen the one in which he had landed. “Now, that’s a strange statement to make,” King went on, “because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around…. But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars.” Dr. King said that he felt blessed to live in an era when people had finally woken up and were working together for freedom and economic justice.

He knew he was in danger as he worked for a racially and economically just America. “I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter…because I’ve been to the mountaintop…. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life…. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

People are wrong to say that we have no heroes left.

Just as they have always been, they are all around us, choosing to do the right thing, no matter what.

Wishing us all a day of peace for Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2026.

Take your time.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Have you ever been at your wits’ end, and then someone’s kind words literally change your whole day and outlook? We can forget how simple words can make profound differences.

Consider this story from NPR:

STEPHANIE COLE: There I was in my black skirt and my white blouse and ready to go the first day. And I had been trained but very, very quickly. And as is true in a department store during Christmas, it was just bustling. You know how it is at Christmas, when everybody’s out shopping and everybody’s in a hurry and all these people around. This woman comes up to me with, I think, a Christmas tree ornament she wanted to buy, and I freeze. I just freeze. All of a sudden, I can’t remember anything. I can’t remember how to run the cash register. I can’t remember anything about the transactions. I am just absolutely frozen – and probably very close to tears. Just – I so wanted this to go right, and it was going so wrong.

She looked at me and paused and, with such a kind expression on her face, said, it’s all right. Take your time. I’m not in a hurry. And that was the release. All of a sudden, I could breathe, I could wait till somebody else could help me. It was going to be OK. It made such an impression that all these years later, not only do I still remember it, but I find myself – those words coming out of my mouth on numerous, many, many occasions over the years. You know, you encounter somebody whose first day on the job or they’re just having a bad day and things are really – you can tell they’re in a bad place. And you can say, it’s OK. I’m not in a hurry. Take your time. And it always makes the situation better. Always, always.

And so this woman, I can’t really remember her face – and certainly, she’s probably dead by now, given how old I was and how old she was – but she gave me that gift without knowing she gave me that gift, and it’s lasted all these years.

https://www.npr.org/2025/12/15/nx-s1-5640144/a-customers-patience-60-years-ago-was-a-gift-that-changed-a-womans-life

Maybe today you’ll have the chance to be the person remembered 60 years from now for the kind words you say and patience you show to a stranger today!

Dancing dust.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Hello Mortal,

I regret to inform you that your time here in this place and time is limited.

So, now is your time, however much you might prefer a different one. You matter. The gifts you bring matter. The relationships you tend need you.

This is it.

Consider young Calvin:

Or, better yet, consider this poem:

We are in a joint and fragile keeping, ephemeral, and impermanent. But, now, now, it is ours for the tending, the keeping, the loving. Grasp it.

Mind the gap.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

How lovely things would be if the way we picture ourselves doing something in our heads is the way it plays out in real life. The beautiful prose, perfect plotting, and subtle characterization all laying themselves down on the page when pen is lifted rather than being cruelly translated into the awkward phrasing, cliched plots, and stilted characters plaguing a first draft. If perfect leaps, spins, and arabesques just happen rather than the more likely falls on the bum. If we were already perfect rather than striving. If there were no gap between where we are and where we would like to be.

With all the armchair quarterbacks and critics out there on virtually every issue, you’d almost think effort and expertise don’t count for anything. And yet, mastery is always the result of effort. Full stop. Every master painter, skater, dancer, author, was once a novice. In fact, that journey from novice to master is the important thing, and those hacks on the sidelines are missing the point. As Theodore Roosevelt said:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

So this gap, between where we want to be and where we are, is where we focus our efforts and attention. Not on the critic, because everyone stumbles. But we press on. For to be great at anything takes practice and effort, and our attempt is awkward and halting, ungainly and bumbling at first. But it gets better. And those sitting on the sidelines, afraid or busy criticizing others, aren’t moving forward unless they, too, mind the gap and try.

So many things.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

There are so many ways to find solace in troubling times. Lately, I’ve been paying attention to delight. What a lovely emotion is delight, and instances can be found everywhere.

For me, just this past few days, I’ve found delight in a friend’s video of their new grandson laughing, the unabashed belly laugh of the new to this world that can’t help but make me smile. In a friend’s periwinkle sweater, my favorite color, a favorite shared with my late grandmother who I adored and the color of jacaranda blossoms that takes me back to days sitting on the lawn of my children’s elementary school under the falling blooms as a best friend and I waited, chatting, for our kids to come running out at the end of their school day. In the fragrance of a new foaming bath soap, this one Winter Citrus Wreath, selected by my husband, who picks a half dozen or so out to surprise me, knowing how much I love scents. And so on.

Delight is everywhere when we look for it, and lingering for a moment in that feeling lifts us up and gives us hope.

Consider Mary Shelley’s complete list of the simple things she found to love:

Love! What had I to love? Oh many things: there was the moonshine, and the bright stars; the breezes and the refreshing rains; there was the whole earth and the sky that covers it: all lovely forms that visited my imagination, all memories of heroism and virtue. Yet this was very unlike my early life although as then I was confined to Nature and books. Then I bounded across the fields; my spirit often seemed to ride upon the winds, and to mingle in joyful sympathy with the ambient air. Then if I wandered slowly I cheered myself with a sweet song or sweeter day dreams. I felt a holy rapture spring from all I saw. I drank in joy with life; my steps were light; my eyes clear from the love that animated them, sought the heavens, and with my long hair loosened to the winds I gave my body and my mind to sympathy and delight.”

Oh, to give our body and mind to sympathy and delight. Definitely good for whatever might ail you.