210615 What I learned in my studies this morning

Sunlight on a walk

The air moving around me.

Bright face of the day.

Bonus Haiku:

 

Take note: a lesson
In seven syllables is

Handed to you. Smile.

Daily Stoic: 

Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up. (Kinda reminds me of that preacher....) 

I am famous for using few words when they'll do. People know that, when writing professionally, I communicate as directly as I can to make sure my message is understood. 

(I try to do it with style, but making sure my audience has their best chance of "getting it" is my top goal, taking priority over everything else.) 

Why does this well-known parsimony flee when I speak with others?  Usually, it's because I'm not paying attention closely enough to what they are saying, planning, instead, what I will say when next it is my turn to speak. That, or I'm in the wrong mode; they're in "I just want someone to hear me!" vent mode and I'm in "Here's how you fix it" problem-solving mode. 

Time to take a lesson from myself and find that precision focus on the other person when I speak to them in person as well as when I write for them as a client. 

Today's Meditation:

From The Daily Dad for June 15, 2021: 

 

<<As if there is somewhere we actually have to be, something better we have to do. As if there is some deadline, as if any of this really matters.>>

This really hit home for me.

I know about garbage time moments. 

I know that listening to my kid's 204th Minecraft story of the day actually is important to them. 

I know that always being eager to read that bedtime story, or an extra, or another, is going to somehow, eventually, form a core memory for them and I absolutely, positively have to make sure the special moment a core memory would be formed takes place. If I'm not there for it to happen, if I skip that night, that magical instant will forever evaporate when it would have taken place save for my weakness.

They deserve better. I can be better. I will be there for that transcendent moment to happen.