In all of this financial upheaval, it is important to keep a clear mind. That is, don’t let others’ fear and depression stories poison your thoughts. You may want to remind yourself not to pin your emotional well-being on money or material possessions.

Remember all the joys in life that cost nothing. It is not money or things that bring you true happiness, but living joyfully in the moment and being grateful for what you do have.

Could it be that simplicity is a big part of the cure for the stories of loss and depression? Once you’ve done what you can, let go of the results and remain in awareness of each sacred moment to be lived. Here. Now.

How are you dealing with the depressing stories that swirl around you? How do you tell yourself uplifting new life stories? I’d love to hear how you cope.

The new story I’m telling myself is that my most important capital is contentment no matter what, and that the best action I can take now is to simplify my life. Loss happens, but depression is not inevitable.

With the word simplicity newly posted in big letters above my desk, I fling myself into letting go of many of the unneeded possessions that clutter my life.

Creating a calming emptiness. Cultivating contentment through letting go instead of hanging on.

Other people can use these possessions, and I don’t want them now.

I’m focusing on the moment, not on fearsome future stories. I’ve scrubbed counter tops, made a pot of bean soup, and have boxes of canned food and clothing ready to be taken to The Open Door. What a relief to have more room in the closet and some empty space in the bulging pantry.

And with these simple actions, my heart is content to live in the simplicity of each sacred moment.

Is it a set of philosophical or spiritual beliefs and practices? A path you’ve carved out for yourself or one given to you by a teacher?

As the saying goes, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears,” whether that be an actual person or a series of life lessons presented to you.

According to Greek mythology, a hero follows a thread.

As told by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, the legend goes like this: King Minos of Crete had successfully waged war with the Athenians. He then demanded that, at seven-year intervals, seven Athenian boys and seven Athenian girls were to be sent to Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur, a half-man half-bull creature who lived in a labyrinth created by Daedalus, a cunning craftsman. One version has it that Daedalus had constructed the labyrinth so cunningly that he himself could barely escape it after he built it.

Theseus, a king of Athens volunteered to slay the monster. Out of love for Theseus, King Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, consulted Daedalus who told her to give Theseus a ball of string so he could find his way out once he had gone into the labyrinth. She also returned a sword to him.

As soon as Theseus entered the labyrinth, he tied one end of the ball of string to the door post and brandished the sword he had hidden inside his tunic. Theseus followed Daedalus’ instructions given to Ariadne: go forwards, always down and never left or right. Theseus came to the heart of the labyrinth and also upon the sleeping Minotaur whom he killed. He then used Ariadne’s thread to escape the labyrinth and return to safety.

Stephen Spielberg considered Joseph Campbell his teacher and mentor, and he used the hero’s journey as a model for his Star Wars series.

In one of the films, Luke Skywalker fights with Darth Vader, knocking off Vader’s helmet. What he finds is his own likeness: a suggestion that, at the heart of the matter, Luke’s true battle is with himself.

It has been said that our one and only task is to master ourselves, to make peace with that self.

In Campbell’s words: “The flax for the linen of his thread he has gathered from the fields of the human imagination. Centuries of husbandry, decades of diligent culling, the work of numerous hearts and hands, have gone into the hackling, sorting, and spinning of this tightly twisted yarn.

Furthermore, we have not even to risk the adventure alone; for the heroes of all time have gone before us; the labyrinth is thoroughly known; we have only to follow the thread of the hero-path… where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world.”

Sometimes a new life story develops gradually, growing and gaining strength beneath the surface. “Roads not taken” often do that. For one reason or another you consciously take a path and leave others untaken, then over the course of months or years, that path reappears, often in a different form giving us undreamed of possibilities.

Sometimes a new life story “happens itself upon us” in an instant. A chance meeting, a letter, a phone call, a change in a relationship, an illness, a promotion, and suddenly everything is different. Everything up for re-evaluation. New decisions to make. New paths to explore. The unknown to wrestle.

At such times, a journal can be your best friend. Write to know what you think and feel. “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” wrote E. M. Forster. Just explore your now. What is it like? What seems like a reasonable next step?

One way to use a journal for new life stories is to explore “what ifs?” in imagination. What would it be like if…” How will I cope with…? If you write several scenarios, you will have covered all the known bases. Sometimes this kind of writing is like blazing paths before us, making possible what has been improbable or impossible. Writers often do this in writing new paths. It is as if they are consciously or unconsciously laying out a new road to travel in their novels, then their personal life often follows along the trail blazed by the fiction.

How to know when a new life story is beginning? Ask your deepest and highest self by asking in your journal. Talk to friends and people you trust. Be open to the goodness the universe has to offer, no matter in what form it arrives.

As Robert Browning wrote, “Greet the unseen with a cheer.”

The wild flowers along the roadways were essentially the same as ours here in the central part of the state, with other varieties I want to look up in my guidebook (which I also left behind along with the stress).

The tall blue chicory, the taller Queen Anne’s lace, and red clover bloomed everywhere, along with the majestic mullein with the yellow blossoms and many other flowers whose names I don’t know. 

An sudden opening at work, and I quickly threw my few necessaries into a small bag. A cell phone for emergencies, but no computer, even though my laptop and I are one, or that’s how it seems. A pen and paper journal more than sufficed. Of course the beloved little Moleskine squatted by my side, ready to spring open to capture thoughts, ideas, and nature notes.

Such a relaxing time, with all work-related issues sponged from my mind. Not a care in the world, and “the golden girls,” as we now call ourselves, filled up on sushi, Baroque music and singing, naps, fast and furious chess games, the telling of old and new stories, and inside family jokes.

A few days of laughter and a change of pace do wonders for my already sanguine outlook on life. The often sad and desperate stories I catch moved to a faraway place.

Back to work into a new ”need it yesterday” request with no sense of rush or frantic writing. I was able to move calmly through the day as I swim: slowly, relaxed, barely making a ripple to disturb the water.

The calm and serenity were a balm to the soul, and being with family always nourishes my heart. Let’s see how long I can maintain this wonderful quiet space and continue to live from the secret and peaceful gardens within.

Make a space and the peace will come.

Writing awaits, and I want to finish some work before I play. I did pick thyme, sage, and rosemary for tonight’s as yet unknown dinner. Lentil soup perhaps. I think of Virginia Woolf’s diary: “One acquires a certain power over sausages and haddock in writing their names.”

Curious relationship between writing and planning dinner (or the future). Time and thyme.

I like the rhythm of writing and cooking, writing and sorting papers, writing and soaking up the fresh breeze, writing and living. I think of my “inner critic” at work in the kitchen while I’m at the computer. After I’m finished, she can come back to edit, and I’ll go to the kitchen or the clover.

A simple kitchen timer has helped me balance my work and playing life. When I have deadlines and stacks of work to be done, I set the timer for 40 minutes (more or less). The ticking helps me focus, tells my brain it’s time to think. Recent research suggests that the brain works better with regular refreshment.

When the buzzer rings, I stop where I am and play for 20 minutes (or more). It’s like recess at elementary school. Those sacred minutes remind me of all the wonderful people, things, and animals in my life and how much I enjoy them.

Play might consist of a snack, sorting books, jotting down ideas or journaling with color, simply sitting on the deck, pulling a few weeds, or simply closing my eyes for a nap-ette.

Then back to work refreshed, and not feeling that I’m chained to the computer. I can work long hours that way, if need be. And the kitchen timer has taught me another trick:

If there’s an overwhelming task or something I’m dreading, I set the timer for five or ten minutes. Most of us can do almost anything for just a few minutes. At the sound of the buzzer, I’m liberated, but the amazing thing is that often I don’t want to stop, so I’m able to accomplish much more than I had planned.

I thought I would pass along these tips as I’m getting ready to send out a little tips newsletter called “New Life Story Seeds.” If you’ve already suscribed, you’ll be getting them soon. If you’re not, you can sign up in the upper right-hand corner on the blog.

Wishing you all the time and thyme you’d like to savor in your life.

When I got out of work a little early, stopped by a garden center to pick up bee balm, Russian sage (such a heavenly scent), rudibeckia (in memory of my friend Becky), black sweet potato vines, artemesia, diantha, blue salvia, and hen and chickens. Most of these plants were distressed and half-priced, so I brought them home to heal.

My garden assistant planted them around the little mailbox garden by the road. He also worked 40 pounds of cow manure and compost into the soil of the kitchen garden.

July already, and still no big garden. As I look out at the field of mostly white clover that is the front yard, I begin to come to terms with the thought that the garden of my dreams is not yet to be. Why disturb the feng shui for now? I don’t deal well with heat and humidity. Perhaps a fall garden, perhaps a spring garden next spring, perhaps not at all.

One thing I do know for now is that I want to “master” the art and science of gardening in the two four by eight feet raised beds: the kitchen garden and the herb garden that has become mostly a sage garden.

The sage can be transplanted and new herbs planted. I do love to pick fresh herbs for cooking.

Today I’ll order earthworms (although I’ve dug up quite a few already) and study more about high Brix gardening. Feed the soil, feed the soil.

I love gardening for the concrete feel of dirt beneath my fingernails, watching things grow and bloom. Then there’s the metaphorical aspect.

Feed the soul, give it rain, rest, and the compost of adversity.Treat it with respect and reverence. Give the same to others’ souls, and live in harmony so far as possible with all beings.

So as the rain continues its inexorable course, I feed my soul by working and playing in the new Moleskine journal and making notes about this new life story and the seeds of the next. Next steps, and only a few at a time.

To gardens, rain, and sunshine everywhere. Let us welcome what comes. As Browning wrote, “Greet the unseen with a cheer.”

Then at the journal conference, I saw and examined several of them (Thanks guys!) and felt the heft and richness. And acid free!

Although I spend much of my time now journaling in computer programs, my introduction to journals and diaries was on paper. When I’m tired, stressed, or ill, I love to speak one of my favorite phrases: “This day is over” and retire to my bed with a beautiful journal and a favorite pen.

“So how do you pronounce “Moleskine?” I asked my friends.

Four syllables? Mole-a-skeen-a?

I was instantly catapulted back to age seven, eight, ten, swinging on the garden gate as my father staked tomato plants. He was telling me about one of his favorite novels: Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, and how it changed his life at a young age.

It’s a well-known phenomenon that people who read widely but don’t hear words pronounced to them conjure up logical but incorrect pronunciations.

As he read about the character, Cosette, in Les Miserables, in his mind, he pronounced her name with two syllables. Then he encountered Hugo’s phrase, “He loved all three syllables of her name.” I remember his faraway sea-blue eyes focusing on the horizon.

Three syllables, how could that be? Then her name must be pronounced with three syllables. So what he assumed to be true all along was not true.

“And a door opened to me to a wider world,” he said. What else had he imagined or assumed to be true that was not?

So he began to think differently and study French and history and literature and philosophy and science and mathematics and everything else he could get his hands on. And he’d always wanted to visit those “faraway places with the strange-sounding names,” (and he did, eventually).

Thanks, Daddy, for reminding me of the richness of your legacy to me. I can never repay you, but I can follow in your footsteps and read and study and write and at least learn to pronounce “Moleskine” with four syllables.