When the Rhythm Changes
Monday morning arrived with that familiar feeling that comes after the clocks change.
Something is slightly off.
The light is wrong.
The body is confused.
Morning feels both early and late at the same time.
Outside, the snow and ice are finally beginning to recede. Temperatures have softened just enough that the paths I walk in the early morning are opening again. Soon I’ll be back out there regularly, moving along the river as the day begins.
But this morning, with the time change, it’s still dark.
So instead of walking, I am sitting with the quiet of the house and noticing how strange this moment of transition feels.
It reminds me that courage is often required when rhythms change.
Not dramatic courage.
Not the kind we read about in history books.
Just the small courage of adjusting.
The courage of accepting that something has shifted and allowing ourselves a little time to find our footing again.
This week I’ve been thinking about two simple phrases:
Breathe in acceptance.
Breathe out surrender.
Acceptance does not mean approval.
It simply means acknowledging what is true in this moment.
The light is different.
The schedule is different.
The body is adjusting.
When we resist those realities, we create tension. When we accept them, something softens.
And surrender — real surrender — is not giving up.
It is releasing the exhausting effort to control what was never ours to manage in the first place.
There is quiet courage in that.
I saw another form of courage earlier this week when I taught a mixed media class focused on texture.
People arrived and looked at their kits with curiosity, and a little uncertainty. Mixed media can feel unpredictable — sand, limestone, spackle, acrylic paint, papers, tools.
There is no perfect formula.
Each person began cautiously, placing materials on the surface, testing ideas, slowly building layers.
What always moves me in these classes is the moment when someone realizes they are revealing something personal through their work. Even when no words are spoken, art carries pieces of us.
And yet they keep going.
That is courage too.
Not the courage of performance.
The courage of tender expression.
This week I’ve also been reading a beautiful book by my meditation teacher, Oneika Mays: Sit With Me.
Like Oneika herself, the book is wise and welcoming. It extends a hand to anyone who has ever felt left out or unsure where they belong.
She writes about talking and listening, forgiving, and nurturing our sense of self-worth. Her words feel less like instruction and more like companionship.
A reminder that courage often appears in the most ordinary places:
Choosing to listen.
Choosing to forgive.
Choosing to stay present.
As this week begins, the invitation is simple.
Allow yourself a little grace as the rhythms shift.
Notice where acceptance might soften your day.
And when something feels just slightly out of reach, try this quiet breath practice:
Breathe in acceptance.
Breathe out surrender.
Just once or twice.
Sometimes that is enough to reset the moment.
Over the next few weeks we’ll explore courage from several directions — in relationships, creativity, and the choices we make about how we move through the world.
And if you feel drawn to explore that courage more deeply in community, the Whispers of Hope retreat this spring will create space for reflection, creativity, and gentle conversation among women who are also learning to trust their own voices.
You can find details about the retreat, my programs, and ways to work with me on my Linktree.
For now, take a breath.
Let the day be what it is.
And begin the week with the quiet courage of acceptance.
Peace,
Susan