A few of my favorite things

(Part 1 of who knows how many)

Apr 15, 2025

Often, the perfectionist voice in my head sabotages my plans to get from “idea for a post” to publishing a post.

What trips me up is usually the feeling that I can’t find the right words to capture why I loved something. Given how often that has kept me from following through, I’m going to try to let my favorite things lists fly without any perfect descriptions. If one of these intrigues you and I didn’t give you quite enough to go on, I hope you’ll do a little exploring on your own and find out more.

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As 2024 came to a close, I kept thinking of things that had crossed my path and made life better (or, in the spirit of this Substack, brighter). As 2025 has careened forward, I’ve found myself in need of even more bright spots and I’ve added a few to the list. I hope something below resonates with you.

Meditations for Mortals, a follow-up to Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, the book I recommended here last year.
In Four Thousand Weeks, writer Oliver Burkeman reminded us that our time on the planet is finite, and we should not spend so much of it obsessed with being productive.

Truly productivity-obsessed readers may have come away from Four Thousand Weeks with an uneasy feeling – unable to wrap their heads around how they can get anything done if they became lackadaisical about their to-do lists, even though the book does include specific advice.

I think Meditations for Mortals is Burkeman’s answer to those who need more detail on how to get the important things done vs. getting more stuff done – or put another way, how to put your most valuable brain space toward enjoying your life. I love Burkeman’s vibe and wisdom and humor, and I keep both of these books close by; they’re both heavily flagged with passages I want to return to when I need a reminder about finding that balance.
Historian Heather Cox Richardson’s “Letters from an American” –reflections on political events and how they connect to history.
Her weekly politics chats via Facebook Live sessions (usually at 4 pm Eastern on Tuesdays) are also a great source of perspective and information. She is wise and real and delightful, and it’s kind of a joy in and of itself to witness her love of history – and history rabbit holes.

She also offers an audio version, reading her letters and posting them to the usual podcast apps. Here’s the Apple Podcast link.
Tara Brach’s podcast episodes/meditations/talks.

Brach is a writer and meditation teacher I discovered when I found one of her books among my sister’s things. In addition to being well-known in the meditation field, she has an interesting academic background – a Ph.D. in clinical psychology, with her dissertation looking at meditation as a therapeutic modality in treating addiction.

I am not a meditator, and I’m not all that well-versed in anything in that realm (though I would like to get into even a basic meditation habit because I think it’s healthy to sit still and rest your brain).
Despite my lack of knowledge, I love Brach’s podcast and feel confident recommending it to other non-meditators in need of a few minutes of thoughtful, reflection.

Brach’s is not a podcast in the usual sense; each one is a recording of a talk or guided meditation she has done in person at some point. She tells jokes here and there and doesn’t take herself too seriously; some of the talks touch on how to deal with hard things, including hard things going on in the world, but never in a preachy way. For me, Brach is a tonic for the soul (that sounds sort of precious but isn’t meant to be). Scroll through the descriptions and find one that resonates – even if it still might seem too “Zen” for you — and give it a try. She is lovely, so take a leap.

Her website is here, and the podcast is here.
I have one last recommendation that’s easy - just go outside.

But there’s a second part of this that makes it more powerful: Once you get outside, pay close attention to things you might usually walk by and not notice.

Blooms (up-close) and cool architectural details and people and animals and things you may spot on the sidewalk – long-ago kid handprints, painted names (during COVID, I found that the name of my best friend who died in 2008 is paint-scrawled on a sidewalk a few blocks from my house), and lost stuffed animals.

In a post last July about the importance of small joys in stressful times, I mentioned how much happiness I get from walking in my neighborhood (and beyond when I have time). At the beginning of this year, I decided I’d commit to walking at least a mile a day outside. I have a treadmill, but it felt important to specify the outside part since I work from home and am inside at a computer all day; the treadmill could be back-up only.

I’m terrible about keeping New Year’s-ish resolutions, but this one has taken hold. Trying to keep my streak going has propelled me out of the house on many days when I was feeling lazy or sluggish. I’ve allowed myself some leeway on the handful of days when I couldn’t make it work (one evening, it poured buckets for hours) or when I was outside doing other kinds of exercise with friends.

But on about 101 days of 2025, I’ve been outside for those one-plus-mile walks, taking in the changing seasons (we finally got snow this year) and blooms and favorite houses (and favorite stone walls).

These walks can cure whatever might be ailing me and often conjure up good memories of something I mentioned in that post last July – the “cabin fever” walks I took daily with my daughter during that weird, but somehow sense-heightened COVID time when we were hunkering down together after her university sent everyone home. That time with her walking the neighborhood was a big silver lining of a life-changing, loss-filled part of history.