Mindful Mondays


As I enter into my 41st year, I felt a sudden desire to return here to my blog and write.  It has been awhile.  I have shared poems and other words on social media, and a few here as well.  But, it has been some time since I have sat down to reflect, write out

Back To School

As I write this, I am sitting on my bed, around 9:30 pm on Monday night, Labor Day.  The house is restless with all sorts of end-of-summer feelings.  Tomorrow is the start of fifth and fourth grade, as well as my daughter’s eleventh birthday. We are woefully unprepared for school.  The backpacks lay in the


Dear friends, I wanted to share a few words that I had scribbled down in my journal last week.  I was traveling to San Francisco, and I found myself in my head, ruminating about various events from the past and future.  I am sure you have found yourself there too, at one time or another.

Fooling Around

When I first started my blog a couple of years ago, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.  My initial vision was to share a few brief thoughts that might help my readers bring a bit more mindfulness into their lives.  What actually evolved as I started writing was something I never could have

Where I Don’t Belong

In today’s installment of what’s beautiful, I only first found what was broken, until I caught a fleeting glimpse of what laid beneath. My son’s hair a rat’s nest, but shining through were those mischievous chocolate eyes. My daughter sitting on the car seat, a tired and irritable mess of not wanting to go to camp,

Red Lipstick and the Quest For Perfection

“You awake? :)))” “Yes!” “Do you have the energy for me to unload some of my crazy on you? :)))” “Yes!” And so our text exchange began, the type of long drawn out texting that unfolds late at night, when there is so much to release, and kids’ perky ears still awake and within earshot.


In a different life, I took scalpel to skin, cut through fibrous layers of muscle and fascia to the very deepest core of our biology, in bodies dead and alive. I have held a heart in my own hand, felt its indescribable pulsating power. I have witnessed the first cries of a baby being born,

The Hustle

For the most part, I have always considered it a good thing to “hustle.”  The very word conjures up images of burning the midnight lamp, working through and around obstacles, and rising to the top one hard earned step at a time.  I think of my parents, physician immigrants from India, who had to re-do


We could wait for a thousand days and nights, a lifetime really, to be given the green light. The sign that we are good enough to try, to shine, to be out there in the world. Showing up exactly as we are without lowering our voices or keeping ourselves small. We could wait for eternities

The Love Of A Child

Last week, I returned home from work to find my kids excitedly scurrying around the kitchen.  On the counter lay cupcakes in a flower pattern, with four candles lit in celebration of my birthday.  They had created an array of colorful handmade cards and paintings.  My daughter had used her hard earned money to buy

The Big 4-0: Twelve Things I (sort of) Know For Sure

With my birthday rapidly approaching, I set out to write a post about “What I Know For Sure” after forty revolutions around the sun.  And as I scribbled some notes in my journal, what I know for sure is that I don’t know much for sure at all.  In fact, as I get older, and

Living Slow, Thinking Fast

Today was a day of living slow yet thinking fast, all of which is to say that life unfolded only in my head with little to no direct contact, noticing, or taking it in. I didn’t see the pink bougainvilleas with their glorious and bright petals, singing as they drifted to the ground, pulling me

All The Questions

Sometimes when the loudness around us has settled into a quiet lull, let’s ask each other all the questions that pulse deep within. Like what stories visit you in your dreams, and what do you fear in the 4 am hour, when you are alone and still and the light of the moon falls across


Somewhere between dreaming big and living in small, ordinary moments, I am lost without a compass. There are fleeting thoughts of huts suspended over water in Bora Bora and jeweled palaces in Jaipur and a horizon of tulips in Amsterdam. There are visions of grand stages and published poems and changing lives in profound and


The landscape of my body holds stories that will never be told, perhaps even words that I have never known– ancient dictionaries hidden in the stars of my genes, shaping, deleting, evolving as I move through this life. My heart hold the raucous crashes of Indian rickshaws, and the first caw caw caw of birds

There Is Time

Within us echoes the quiet wail, “There is no time, There is no time.” Time is lost in the striving to fill empty spaces that can never be whole, while clocks spin on and on. If we were to discover time again, perhaps it would be found in melting drops of sun into crimson and

A True Story

There once was a true story of a middle aged woman (when did that happen?) who often didn’t know who she was.  She wanted to be able to give herself a title, a one or two word answer that she could put on a business card, to sum herself up to the world.  More than


A life lived in poetry is 10:08 pm on Monday night with my journal and pen and a restless, racing mind over tired shoulders that carry the weight of baggage I can’t seem to release. A life lived in poetry is the alchemy of this, the transformation of dying into living, of rumination into red