Tranquil Resources

Tag: finding peace

  • Road Trip For The Aging Hippie

    Lyrics for my original song. Join our 2026 journey cross country. Today it begins.

    [Verse 1]

    Back in the day, we wanted to roam and play,

    Life felt so simple, nothing stood in our way.

    Bell-bottomed jeans, and our hair long and free,

    One small bag carried all we’d need.

    [Chorus]

    Oh, road trip for the aging hippie,

    With memories and dreams still so trippy,

    Pack it all up, hit the road once more,

    Follow the sun through that open door.

    [Verse 2]

    Music blaring, windows cranked down low,

    Not knowing exactly where we wanted to go.

    But today’s journey, it needs a plan,

    Filling the senior citizen version of a hippie van.

    [Chorus]

    Oh, road trip for the aging hippie,

    With memories and dreams still so trippy,

    Pack it all up, hit the road once more,

    Follow the sun through that open door.

    [Bridge]

    Bringing just the essentials, got bags piled

    Clothes kept simple.Need room for medical supplies

    One bag just for shoes, they’re orthopedic now,

    Barefooting’s a memory; our feet won’t allow

    [Verse 3]

    Save room for the gel, to tame this wild hair,

    That flowing, long look is now wispy and rare.

    Windows no longer crank, they slide like a dream,

    Heated seats cradling us, like warm sunshine beams.

    [Chorus]

    Oh, road trip for the aging hippie,

    With memories and dreams still so trippy,

    Pack it all up, hit the road once more,

    Follow the sun through that open door

    [Verse 4]

    In our minds, we’re youthful, with hearts full of cheer,

    Letting enthusiasm cover all that we fear.

    Taking in the landscapes, the sunsets so grand,

    With laughter and love, wobbling a bit as we stand..

    [Outro]

    So here’s to the journey. Joy filling our hearts,

    Let’s hit the road, let this adventure start.

    Life might have changed, but we’re still alive,

    On a road trip for the aging hippie, we’re ready to drive.

  • Serendipity (Press Play)

    There are moments when words aren’t meant to stand alone.
    They’re meant to sit beside sound.
    To rest inside melody.
    To breathe with music.

    This song is meant to be played slowly.

    It carries the idea of serendipity —
    the gift of finding something valuable
    that you weren’t searching for.
    The quiet wisdom of happy accidents.
    The grace that shows up
    when you stop trying to control the way forward.

    We’re about to take a journey we’re calling Road Bathing.
    Eight days to do what usually takes four.
    No tight plans.
    No checklist of must-sees.
    Just miles, pauses, and the willingness to notice what appears.

    That’s where serendipity lives.

    In the unexpected roadside pull-off.
    In the conversation that lingers longer than planned.
    In the moment you realize you don’t need to arrive quickly
    to feel like you’re already where you belong.

    This song was created for those moments —
    when you let go of urgency,
    when you leave space around you,
    when you allow the road to offer something back.

    So if you can, pause here.
    Let the music wash over you
    the way miles do under open sky.

    You don’t need to do anything.
    You don’t need to know where you’re going next.

    Just listen.
    Just notice.

    Sometimes, the most memorable parts of the journey
    are the ones we never planned.

  • The Gift of January

    January — the gift of starting over.
    Not all at once.
    Not with long lists or heady resolutions,
    but one step at a time.

    This month invites a pause.
    A moment to notice the light
    as it arrives quietly, almost unnoticed.
    To breathe slowly and steadily.
    To resist the urge to look ahead at everything waiting to be done,
    or to replay what has already passed.

    Instead, let there be gratitude.

    I am here, right now.

    In this early hour, the scene is simple.
    A single tree stands in silhouette
    against the gray winter sky.
    Strong. Patient. Unrushed.
    It does not fight the season it is in.
    It waits. It reflects. It rests.
    Gathering what it needs
    for what will come next.

    January asks the same of us.

    It is not a month for rushing forward
    or demanding clarity.
    It is a month for quiet reflection.
    For steady breathing.
    For trusting that growth can happen
    beneath the surface,
    even when nothing seems to be moving.

    Today, doesn’t need to start loud.
    It can begin gently.
    With presence.
    With patience.
    With light slowly finding its way in.

    Today, I simply say to myself:
    Allow yourself to rest.
    Practice patience.
    Be kind to yourself.

  • Carrying The Light

    Today, I choose to share my podcast.
    This one is offered to close out a year
    filled with so much noise and uncertainty.
    Through it all,
    I decided to stay focused on light,
    searching for beauty.

    I turned off the news
    and found my truth by walking the woods.

    I embraced creative potential,
    forcing myself to keep learning,
    keep trying new things.

    Creating is my way
    of breathing healthy air.
    This year, that meant
    self-publishing a book,
    writing songs,
    and producing a podcast.

    What will the new year bring?
    Who knows.

    https://open.spotify.com/episode/2lUgiUWQDzRdENfrYnE2gQ?si=Hxb3NxwNQsitqaZ00eZ0gg

  • A Quiet Crossing

    This year does not end with a celebration.
    It ends with an exhale.

    It has been a tumultuous year — politically loud, emotionally charged, and unexpectedly heavy. A year that brought loss we didn’t see coming. A year that tested patience, resilience, and the ability to stay soft when everything felt hard.

    There are still many moments when our country feels fractured, when anger seems easier than hope. When the noise makes it hard to hear our own thoughts, let alone each other.

    And yet.

    In the midst of all this disruption, something else happened quietly.

    We created a book that promised light at the end of the tunnel. It was not just a slogan. It was a belief we needed to hold onto ourselves. We wrote words meant to steady us. We shaped something gentle in a time that was anything but.

    We created music in the darkest corners of the year. Songs born not from ease, but from necessity. We found a way to share that music with others. It could travel beyond us. It could remind someone else that they weren’t alone.

    That is what makes this a quiet crossing.

    Not because the year was calm — it wasn’t.
    But because we are leaving it with intention.

    We are not carrying everything forward. We are setting some things down. The outrage. The exhaustion. The constant vigilance. We honor what this year asked of us, without letting it define what comes next.

    This crossing isn’t about forgetting.
    It’s about choosing what deserves space in the days ahead.

    So as the calendar turns, we step forward gently. A little wiser. A little more worn. Still hopeful. Still creating. Still believing that light matters — especially when it has to be made by hand.

    This is how we cross: quietly, honestly, carrying forward our own flicker of light.

    https://a.co/d/drrG5MJ

  • When the World Pauses Without Asking

    Firefighter speaking to me over my Ring Doorbell

    Holidays are supposed to arrive gently.
    Marked by familiar rituals.
    By comfort.
    By things we expect.

    But sometimes the season is interrupted.

    A sound you didn’t anticipate.
    An impact you didn’t see coming.
    A moment where everything shifts, and suddenly the world you knew five minutes ago no longer exists in the same way.

    When a car crashed into my house, it wasn’t just damage to walls and windows. It was the feeling that routine had been broken. That life, once again, had reminded me how quickly everything can change. It was Thanksgiving. We were together, as a family. Then, just like that, everything changed.

    It felt strangely familiar.

    Like the moment when someone you love is gone,
    grief enters—the light in the room changes.

    There is a pause that follows moments like these —
    not one we choose, but one we are given.
    A forced stillness.
    A slowing we didn’t plan for. 

    The world keeps moving,
    but we are held in place,
    trying to understand how we got here.

    And the holidays don’t stop.
    Lights still glow.
    People still rush.
    Music still plays.

    But inside, we begin to move differently.
    More carefully.
    More slowly.
    We notice what matters
    because we have no energy left for what doesn’t.

    This kind of pause is not peaceful —
    at least not at first.
    It carries fear, frustration, and unanswered questions.
    It asks us to breathe when breathing feels hard.

    So now it’s Christmas, and so much is still unresolved with my house.
    With every breath, I need to swallow frustration.
    Allow space for unanswered questions.
    Let the uncomfortable pause not paralyze me with fear,
    but teach me.

    Life is fragile.
    Control is an illusion.
    Presence — real, honest presence —
    is sometimes all we have to offer.


    So this holiday season, I’m allowing interruption.
    I’m letting disruption invite stillness.
    I’m honoring the pause —
     even when it arrives through shock or loss.

    Because sometimes,
    when the world changes in an instant,
    the most human thing we can do is
    stop and remember:
    I am here.
    I am breathing.
    I need to let that be enough.

  • Trying to Breathe

    Cleaning crew removed everything from storage

    I’ve been trying to stay centered on peace and joy.
    It’s that time of year, after all — the season of light, of calm, of remembering what matters

    But the truth is, I’m still standing in the middle of a mess.

    A driver ran into my house.
    The damage is real. The disruption lingers.
    And the insurance process — slow, unclear, incomplete — has added another layer of strain. There are unanswered questions. Partial approvals. An estimate that far exceeds what’s been offered. Unnerving silence where communication should be.

    And here I am, trying to figure out what comes next.

    I’m sharing this not because my story is unique — it isn’t. This is how life works. This is how unexpected things arrive. This is how we end up in hard places, still trying to function, still trying to breathe.

    Some days feel especially dark.

    I notice the anger. The tightness in my chest. The urge to replay conversations, searching for something I might have said or misunderstood, to solve everything all at once. I know anger doesn’t repair walls. It doesn’t move claims forward. It doesn’t bring clarity.

    So I come back to the smallest things I can control.

    One breath.
    One step.
    One moment of noticing something beautiful — even though that feels out of place right now.

    I remind myself that peace is something I have to work on every day.  I need to return to it again and again while things are still unresolved.

    This is me working through a dark time.
    This is me trying to stay soft without being naive.
    This is me choosing not to carry anger, even when I have every reason to feel it.

    And if you’re walking through something hard too, know that I get it. This is hard work.

    Be courageous with me —breathe — and keep breathing — until the next step becomes clear.

    Here’s What I Am Going Do Right Now

    Breathe in slowly, reminding myself that everything is safe in this moment.
    Breathe out gently, releasing what I cannot solve today.
    Feel my heart and rest, just here, just now.

    This is my one step
    And this is enough.

  • A Candle In The Dark

    During the holidays,
    light is everywhere—
    twinkling on trees,
    glowing in windows,
    flickering in quiet corners of our homes. 

    And yet,
    for many,
    this season can still feel heavy.
    The nights are long.
    The days are full.
    The heart carries more than it shows.

    In moments like these,
    we often look for something
    bright enough
    to fix everything at once.
    But hope doesn’t arrive that way.
    It comes softly.
    It comes steadily.
    It comes in small,
    faithful ways.

    In my song, Light A Candle, I wrote:

    “Find a quiet moment.
    Light a candle.
    Watch it dance.
    Invite the stillness.
    Give your heart a chance.”

    A candle does not banish the dark.
    Its quiet glow steadies the room.
    It reminds us that presence
    matters more than perfection.

    So this season,
    if the holidays feel overwhelming,
    don’t search for a brighter light.
    Light the candle you already have.
    Sit with it.
    Let it be enough.

    Even in the darkest nights of winter,
    a gentle flame can guide us—
    one breath, one moment at a time.

  • Release the Rush

    There are days
    when the world
    seems to move
    faster than I can follow.

    .
    Lists multiply,
    expectations
    stack themselves
    heavily on my shoulders, 

    and suddenly—
    even without meaning to—
    I find myself rushing
    from one moment to the next.

    But rushing
    rarely
    brings me
    closer to peace.


    If anything,
    it pulls me
    farther from the heart
    of what matters.

    So today,
    I give myself permission
     to pause.
    Just for a minute.

    Just long enough
    to feel the ground beneath
    my feet again.
    I will close my eyes.
    Take a slow breath in.

    Imagine
    gathering all the scattered pieces
    of my attention
    and bringing them home.

    Then, on the exhale,
    I’ll let the rush go—
    like snow slipping softly from a branch.
    Let it fall away.

    The world will keep spinning.
    My tasks will still be there.
    But I will be different—
    steadier, calmer,
    anchored
    in the quiet strength
    that comes from choosing presence over pace.

    Release the rush.
    Return to yourself.

  • Winter’s Silent Beauty

    Winter teaches us the quiet art of simplicity.
    When the world slows,
    and the landscape softens
    beneath a blanket of snow,

    Distractions fade.
    The branches, once full, now stand bare—
    nothing extra, nothing hidden,
    only what truly belongs.

    In that stillness,
    we see what remains
    when all is stripped away:
    shape, essence, truth. 

    It reminds us
    that life
    doesn’t need to be full
    to be beautiful. 

    Sometimes,
    the truest beauty
    is found in the pause,
    in the hush between moments.

    Simplicity
    doesn’t mean emptiness—
    It means space.
    Space for light to enter. 

    Space to rest.
    Space to notice
    what we might have missed
    in the rush of other seasons.

    So, when the world
    feels quiet and still,
    don’t rush to fill it.
    Let winter’s silent beauty
    speak softly to your soul.


    There is peace in simplicity, and grace in the quiet things that remain.