Gently Beginning Again
A New Year reflection from the snowy Methow Valley
I’m writing this from the snowy Methow Valley, where my family is gathered — a rare and precious moment — skiing, sharing meals, taking walks, reading, napping, and watching our littlest one learn to walk. There is laughter in the house, boots by the door, and that particular kind of tired that comes from full days outdoors. Being here together feels deeply good.
As I reflect on this past year — the travels, the celebrations, time with loved ones and in nature, the teaching and the learning, the highs and the lows — I find myself returning again and again to the felt experience of connection. Connection to one another, to what steadies us, and also to myself. To the places and people that ground me, and to that quiet sense of belonging that can hold us even when things feel uncertain.
And if I’m honest, the weeks leading up to this moment weren’t always as loving or open-hearted as I might have hoped. Life felt full — often beautifully so — and there were also moments of overwhelm, irritation, and a familiar tightening in me. Times when my energy waned, my patience shortened, and my thoughts became more judgmental than I’d like to admit.
Presence softens the grip of what feels like “too much.”
This is where my practice quietly met me. Not by fixing anything, and certainly not by asking me to be different — but by inviting me to notice and feel what was actually happening. To pause. To acknowledge what was real for me, even when it wasn’t how I wanted to feel or who I expected myself to be. And then, gently, to touch back into my own heart — with a bit of kindness, and even forgiveness.
Now, in this quieter rhythm, I can feel how presence softens the grip of what once felt like “too much.” The challenges don’t disappear; they simply expand, creating more space for understanding. In that space, I can notice — and sometimes recall — the goodness: shared laughter, small comforts, the ease of being together, and the deep love that grows when I am present for it all.
This is something I return to again and again in my practice: seeing the goodness. Not by ignoring what’s hard, but by remembering to include what’s nourishing — the people who steady us, the places that hold us, and the practices that help us come back to ourselves.
As we begin this new year, I feel less pulled toward fixing or improving, and more drawn toward accepting and remembering. Remembering the goodness around me. Remembering the goodness within me. And trusting that this way of paying attention — again and again — is what carries us forward.
With blessings and wishes for peace,
Maria