Tranquil Resources

Tag: slow down

  • Taking The Long Way

    We’re taking the slow route to California from Wisconsin this year. We are joking a little about our former youth. Things are maybe a bit more challenging now (ahem).

    Although we had tickets to fly, we just couldn’t do it. In the end, we canceled that plan and loaded up our senior-citizen version of a hippie van. Trust me, we brought everything.

    Why didn’t we just fly? We could have crossed those miles in hours instead of days. But here’s the thing—before the drive begins, the journey already starts in our minds. Which route should we take? How far each day? And then the memories come rushing in.

    “Remember the singing cowboy in Amarillo? Maybe we could stop there again. Do you think he’d sing The Yellow Rose of Texas?”

    Remember the people at a hotel stop in Kansas who laughed at our mountain of luggage?
    “Where’s the kitchen sink?” they chortled. Then we shared snowbird destinations. They were headed to Texas.

    Remember the year we had to backtrack because of road conditions. We ended up in a cheap motel. It had a school-cafeteria-style restaurant serving home-cooked food on red Melmac plates. It was those plates that got us—and the first place Mark was ever called “Honey.” We’d made it to the South.

    These are the stories we cherish. And there are so many more.

    Serendipity. That’s what we’re calling this journey now—letting the road tell the story.

    Every day, I write. Every day, I’ll share.

    This country is filled with beauty you can’t see from the air. You have to drive through the farmland. There are places where cattle roam free. In others, they’re packed into spaces so small there’s barely room to breathe. You have to see the fields now. They carry solar panels and wind turbines. These are our human attempts to harness nature. They aim to feed an ever-growing appetite for electricity. And we’ll pass the stark contrasts — oil rigs and old farmyard windmills.

    We’ll pass through bustling towns and others so small and worn you’re left wondering who lives here—and why. And then we make up stories. We fill that why space with moments we imagine they cherish: family traditions, legacies passed down.

    And we keep driving. I create charcuterie boards on my lap while he drives. We watch the sun rise and set over changing landscapes and unfamiliar places. Always keeping our eyes peeled for that thing—the unexpected piece of art meant just for our imaginations.

    Wait.
    Stop.
    Let’s take a picture of that.

    What was it?

    You’ll have to wait and see.

    Oh, okay. I’ll show you one. We did find our singing cowboy.

    The Singing Cowboy sang The Yellow Rose of Texas again for us.

  • Road Trip For The Aging Hippie


    Exact replica of his hippy van

    Lyrics for my original song. Listen and follow along.
    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.

  • Listening To The Morning

    https://spotifycreators-web.app.link/e/cWXvlJhg6Yb

    Do you have 10 minutes to pause?
    So don’t if it’s too much.
    But, if there are minutes to spare,
    listen to this episode from my attempt at a podcast.


    Put in your earbuds.
    Close your eyes.
    Make it a meditation.

    Find Our Book

    My friend and I created a book filled with photography, poetry, and original songs linked with QR codes. This is a book sharing a meditative way to move from darkness to light after loss. Check it out.

    https://a.co/d/i7cIJcB

  • 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.

  • November’s Whisper

    The rustle through golden leaves
    cools the air,
    tilts the sun toward
    early rest.

    The month of transition
    a gentle reminder
    that change can be
    beautiful,

    That letting go
    can be graceful,
    that stillness
    has it’s own quiet song.

    Remember now,
    to pause
    long enough to hear
    November’s whisper.

  • River’s Quiet Strength

    A river does not rush to prove itself.
    It simply flows — steady, patient, unwavering.
    When rocks block its way, it doesn’t stop.
    It finds a route around.

    When the path dips low,
    It now moves a bit slow
    But then gathers strength
    From solid ground.

    And
    it keeps moving ahead.

    We can carry on, too.
    Without force or hurry
    Trusting the path,
    Winding as it may be.

    Like the river,
    We are stronger than we think.
    Keep moving.
    Believe.

    Trust in the Universe
    There’s nothing to dread.

  • The Trees Teach Us

    The trees never cling to their leaves.
    When the season shifts,
    They let go.
    Gracefully, without fear or regret.

    Each falling leaf is a quiet lesson:
    There is beauty in release.
    What we shed creates space
    For things we haven’t experienced yet.

    Today, we can learn from the trees.
    Let go of one small thing —
    A worry, an expectation, a burden.
    Be the leaf. Don’t be upset.

    Letting go is not loss.
    It’s trusting in the reset.

    Created by Jane Peschel