I had an especially peaceful walk this afternoon. The right amount of silence on this Labor Day weekend in New England, the right amount of sound: a few passing cars, one plane humming overhead, a dog barking in the distance, and then all of nature. No, mowers or blowers, no enormous trucks thumping by. None. Ah, Labor Day.

     I’m especially sensitive and sympathetic to all of this as I think of the many war zones around the planet, and of the thousands of children who have fled, literally for their lives, across the borders, or who are homeless in their own countries. From where I live, from my walk around the neighborhood, it is easy to think love on this awesome end of August day That’s the least I can do; maybe it’s the most I can do. What if everyone did just that? The difference is love

For the past three days I have found myself living an at-home version of the cottage-by-the-sea. No ocean view, no walk on the beach, but a sense of silence, solitude and simplicity. There was nothing on my calendar and I didn’t go out in the car—except for a quick run to the grocery store. I walked, read, and wrote. With the entire day at my disposal, I experience a fluid rhythm that enabled me to become deeply involved in the memoir I’m writing about my mom. Although I had completed a rather final draft, I had focused on the word ‘final’, but forgotten about ‘draft’. I’d forgotten how much tightening up and detailing had to be done before sending it off to an editor. My goal is still to get it in the mail  to Carolyn by September 17th. I am very grateful for it all.

Here’s a new, simple way to getting a good night’s sleep, to sleeping through the night, to at least not waking up and staying awake. Eliminate the idea that in the middle of the night you need to know what time it is. Hide your digital clock; turn it around to face the wall; cover it with your bathrobe; get rid of it entirely if you don’t use it during the day.

      I discovered this little trick to a better night’s sleep when our clock stopped giving accurate time. It was getting ahead of itself in its clock-like way, which was most annoying since I was counting on it every minute, day and night. So I unplugged it. But then what? No instant way to know time, especially in the middle of the night. After a week of sleeping without those red numbers lighting up the room, however, I realized that I didn’t need to know that it was 3 AM. More importantly, when I did awake in the night, I noticed that I was going back to sleep more quickly. Knowing the time was no longer one of those little triggers waking up my mind.

      My phone on my bed table is now my clock. In the early morning, when I sense that it is time to get up, I take a peek, and guess what? It is always somewhere around 5:30, which is when I like to get going. Um, maybe I don’t even need my phone. My body knows.    

Olde Time Community Fair. In celebration of the 375th anniversary of the settling of Sudbury. The intention of the committee, to offer a ‘Fair of Olde,” was successfully fulfilled. Games, contests, music, displays, all free; the only charge was for food. No twenty-first century noises. A good time had by all. Makes me grateful that we brought our kids up in this town, and that Jim and I are still living here.

Where does the time go? That wonderful cliché says it all, or more to the point, says it often. I try to post every other day, but that doesn’t always happen. My last post, on August 17th , was on my brother’s 67th birthday. Where does the time go? Already he’s three days older; so am I; so are you, whoever you are out there reading this. What’s my point? Maybe I’m just observing. No, more than that, I’m thinking about how I have spent those three days, what I have done, and how I feel about it.

      I’ve done some sitting around, working on a jigsaw puzzle, happy as can be. I’ve made it through the day safely and in good health. I’ve made progress toward a personal goal, namely working on the memoir I’m writing about my mom. I’ve done something for someone else by visiting some elderly friends.  

     How has the time gone? It’s always a good day, or three, when I can get up in the morning and be grateful for all that I can do, and for the possibilities of the new day.

Self-discipline and perseverance. I’m going to wrap these up into one post. I have them both, at least for some of the things I do—the ones I care about. But isn’t that the life’s way? When I wrote Joyful Learning, I’d get up at 4:45 every morning and tap away at the computer until it was time to go to go off to teach. And now I’m feeling the same determination.

     My editor from my Heinemann days has agreed to be the developmental editor for Very Grateful. Need I tell you how very grateful I am to her?  With self-discipline and perseverance I will get  the manuscript to her by mid-September. All Dugard’s traits, curiosity, hope, passion, courage, independence, self-discipline, and perseverance, are coming together.

Independence, the fifth on Dugard’s list of traits (curiosity, hope, passion, courage, independence, self-discipline, and perseverance) necessary to meet life’s challenges, is probably my strongest, although I like to think that I can also be part of a group. But I know that my natural inclination is to do it alone. Which brings me to the cottage-by-the-sea. I’m all set for my sixth season of weekly silence, solitude and simplicity there.

    Last week I paid a summer visit to the place. The view, the ocean itself and the gardens around the cottage were both spectacular and time cozy. And then there were the people! Walking on the road, driving in cars, lounging on the beach. A challenge to independence.

On this rainy day, I’m trying to face courage, the fourth on  Dugard’s list of traits necessary to meet life’s challenges. Typical me, I don’t want to continue blogging about the list; I want to move on, as is my usual way. I experience this same pattern with the books I read; I often don’t finish them, and when I do, I speed read the last quarter.

     Here’s another disclaimer. The Explorers; A Story of Fearless Outcasts, Blundering Geniuses, and Impossible Success, is back at the library so I can’t refer to it. And, besides, this blog isn’t about researching a topic. It’s about my random thoughts and how I related them to silence, solitude and simplicity.

     This resistance is write is more about self-discipline and perseverance, than courage, but, as promised, here are a few thought about courage. Keeping true to the cliché that blogs are ‘all about me,’ let me begin by saying that I am not a courageous person. Of course, that refutes what others say of me, which is my very point about courage: Courage is attributed to one person by another person, not by the person herself.

    Although I’ve been told countless of times that I’m very courageous to travel by myself, and even to go to the cottage, I don’t consider either of these courageous acts. No way; it’s just what I do. Those who couldn’t possibly travel alone or leave family to live a hermit’s life on the sea coast in the winter, perceive what I do as incredibly courageous. The truth is that it appears courageous to them, because it’s the kind of thing that can’t imagine doing. It’s a Catch 22. When we are in awe of what someone else can do because we don’t have the courage to do it ourselves, we bestow upon them the trait of courage. Isn’t projection handy?

      However, sometimes, in retrospect, we can acknowledge that we acted courageously. I haven’t been tested, but let’s say I saw someone flailing among an undertow at the beach and went in to rescue them. After it was all over, I might say that I had been courageous, but it wasn’t courage that sent me into the water. Courage in never a mental decision.

Passion *, of course passion. Passion about passion. Without it we don’t follow our bliss, we don’t meet that unique life challenge that mysteriously appears before us. Larry Bird shooting basketballs, Vincent Van Gogh painting, my friend Marianne quilting, Thomas Merton as hermit and writer.  

      With passion, we keep going. When passion leaves, the goal drifts away. There’s nothing wrong that. We don’t expect to have passion for all our challenges, but it’s essential for the important ones—for our passions, that is. It seems indispensable to our well-being to have one or two passionate challenges in life that give meaning on which we can hang our lesser talents and desires. “A job well done,” we want to be able to tell ourselves. We want to know that our passion has given us tenure at the university of life.

       My passion as a teacher was to create an environment in which young children learned to love learning as they learned to read. I was passionate for them to learn their own passion. For twenty-five years I worked from morning ‘til night and on the weekend, too. I shared my passion with teachers, both in person and in the books I wrote for them. Then my passion to teach lost it’s fire and became, and has remained, a memorable glow. I retired. I had shared all I had to offer. I had done my best and I was satisfied. I had obtained my tenure.

    Now my passion has a quiet, spiritual glow, but it is the same passion, nonetheless. I am passionate for people to learn their own passion. My classroom is the internet and one-on-one encounters; my students are adults.

    * Martin Dugard’s list of traits (curiosity, hope, passion, courage, independence, self-discipline, and perseverance) necessary to meet the challenges of life (see previous posts)

Hope, the second on Martin Dugard’s list of traits (curiosity, hope, passion, courage, independence, self-discipline, and perseverance) necessary to meet the challenges of life (see previous posts), may well be my strongest. Things will work out, that is what I hope for, and they do. My hopes aren’t specific. As Paul suggests in his letter to the Romans, “Hope that is seen is not hope.”  Those specific ‘hopes’ so easily visualized, I consider wishes… I wish the weather would improve… I wish I could find dishes to match those blue napkins… I wish my car would pass inspection for another year. Really, wishes, not hope? Hope is singular.

      Hope, which has to do with the big picture that I long for, always includes mystery. Hope is believing in the good. Hope is already present, its form yet to be revealed. It has to do with optimism and faith, not in figuring out a good plan. Things will work out for the best, we optimistic people say, and with that, we move forward. Things are working out for the best, we hopeful people say, and with that live in the present. Hope is timeless.