I recently attended a virtual crafting event together.

The facilitator told a story about her mother sketching a window box one day in her childhood and how that transformed her perspective of her mother.

Moved by her telling and the notion that our perceptions can change in these magical moments, it got me thinking about how we think about ourselves.

You've heard me say, "you are not your diagnosis." And still, these illnesses define so much of our lives and time.

What does it take to have a window box moment and reconceive ourselves?

What title would you like to live your way into or claim for yourself?

What ways can you work to redefine or see yourself in a new light?

337.m4a by Annette Leonard

We had a spider plant that lived in the kitchen.

Because I have daily migraines, the house is usually dark and I I sometimes forget to water the houseplants on a regular schedule.

This poor spider plant was completely dead except for one little green bit growing toward the crack of light let in through the shade -- so too with us.

When chronic illness and pain shut out the light of what's familiar, our habits, the things that we used to do, the things that bring us joy, it's hard to know how to keep our spirits afloat.

We must also grow towards the light.

Loss of future is one of these casualties - the future I had and also I stopped planning a future.

How do we start writing ourselves back into a new future? That's the light! We need to make plans, and generate things to look forward to. Perhaps a weekly podcast or an author's upcoming publication, a friend's phone call.

It's worth figuring out what brings you joy and meaning and grow toward the light.

336.m4a by Annette Leonard

This is a follow up to the video "Standing in Outrage" about the fact that my infusion clinic had unvaccinated nurses.

The governor of the state of Oregon mandated that all heath care workers be vaccinated.

I postponed my infusion until that mandate went into effect. I suffered the consequences physically for this decision. Then the clinic called and postponed my appointment by another week.

I later learned that this was due to the fact that one of my nurses had COVID.

What I felt upon hearing this was so layered and complex.

How do we navigate these difficult positions?

Previously I would have tried to ignore or deny my difficult or negative emotions.

I'm working to feel my way into these frustrations so I can get to the other side.

Feeling some amount of self-righteousness, but that doesn't feel good either

How are you navigating these situations?

I've mentioned before that I used to be a singer.

Lung disease has kept me from singing.

I'm singing a little here and there to work on increasing my lung capacity.

My voice is so much different than it used to be, and yet, these are the words I long to hear.

I want you to hear them, let them wrap around you like someone holding you close.

Libby Roderick wrote this song and I wrote a second verse to go with it.

Let the words sink in, take them with you this week. Know that you are loved and are connected to me and others.

Why do I do what I do?

With a backdrop of chronic pain and illness, life is often hard.

How do we cultivate joy, playfulness, delight, wonder, and vitality?

Finding the answer to that -- again, and again, is my mission.

How do we do we find these moments and then expand them?

Glimpses of beauty are everywhere -- here's where one came for me last week.

Where is the crack that's letting the light in for you?

After being sick for several days a friend asked if I had COVID.

With lung disease, COVID has seemed like a death sentence.

Getting tested on the weekend was no small trick.

I work hard hard to not "borrow trouble."

Sick and tired of wearing a mask.

I got the results that it is not COVID.

While it isn't COVID, I don't have more clarity about what it IS.

It's not easy to keep our mind when fear is knocking at the door.

Asking for support, minding our inputs, having a contemplative practice.

"My cup runneth over"

While this phrase is usually used to mean abundance, it feels like it applies to me right now in terms of new horizons of hardship and overwhelm.

My wife got a concussion a bit more than a week ago. This is a concussion of a different order.

Trying to manage the dogs, the household, her care, and myself, is too much.

The Budda says, "before enlightenment: carry water, chop wood. After enlightenment: carry water, chop wood."

While I am not an enlightened being -- the fact remains, there is some amount of ordinary, daily stuff that must be taken care of, regardless.

I recognize that I need help, but I'm having a hard time figuring out what that help is...

A few deep breaths and think about the next step in order to avoid overwhelm.

What for you are the "carry water, chop wood" kind of routines?

While Victor Frankl was enduring the nightmare of living in a concentration camp, he created a sanctuary for himself in his mind. Brick by brick.

Chronic pain and chronic illness bring some similar kinds of suffering.

Frankl wrote, "when we are no longer able to change our situation, we are challenged to change ourselves."

We are creative and imaginative animals. From our earliest days we are creating worlds of make believe.

How can we harness the power of our imagination to improve our quality of life?

What kind of creative mental play could enhance my life?

Here's just one idea about travel. There are so many others.

Do you do this to make your life more bearable?