In Praise of Soulful Practices

Hello, Nathaniel Hawthorne. (Take note of the lone black headstone in the background. It will be the subject of a future letter.)

Good morning.

It’s another beautiful morning here in Northern New England. Since I stayed up late writing, we slept in and are taking the early hours slowly.

Emily is still in the bedroom—in my spot, as she is wont to do whenever I get up—while Samwise is in one of the dog beds next to me in the writing room. Every autumn, when the mornings are chilly, I luxuriate with mugs of hot apple and cinnamon tea. I’m on my second as I type to you.

I spent the first hour writing letters and cards to friends. The act of scratching my pen and thoughts across fine paper or cardstock is a soothing meditation. If it is a card, I take joy and pride in selecting just the right fit for the person I’m writing to.

When chatting with a friend last week, I let her know that I’m willing to get rid of nearly every item I own in order to move into the next act and scene of our lives wit…