I'm lying in my hammock.
Doing nothing.
Not practising anything.
Just listening to bees buzz.
Watching frangipani blossoms fall.
Clouds taking shape then melt away.
It's been fifteen sweet minutes.
The best of my week.
December is loud.
Work rushing to close. Social obligations stacking. The mental mathematics of gifts and gatherings and getting it all right before the year ends.
We agree that December should be magical.
Somewhere between planning and doing and performing, we lost the feeling we were chasing.
Joy. Ease. That warm sense of contentment that doesn't need a perfect moment to exist.
The Japanese have a word: ma.
The silence between notes. The pause that gives meaning to sound.
December is so loud now. No silence.
All doing. No being.
What if the magic we're seeking lives in the space we're not creating?
Your body knows something your mind has forgotten.
It knows how to rest. How to restore. How to return to itself.
The ancient minds knew this.
Modern neuroscience confirms it.
Bliss doesn't require achievement.
It requires surrender.
A GIFT - Three Simple Practices
1. The Sensory Return
Set a timer. Five minutes.
Notice three things you can see.
Two things you can hear.
One thing you can physically feel.
This isn't a technique to master.
It's a doorway back to presence.
Your breath doesn't need improvement. Your heartbeat doesn't need coaching. Your body is already doing what it knows to do.
You're simply remembering to notice.
Pause here. Try it now.
The world will wait.
2. The Permission
Write two sentences:
"Today I choose to..."
"Today I choose not to..."
Let yourself name what you're saying yes to. And what you're releasing.
Mine lately:
Today I choose to buy pre-made platters.
Today I choose not to feel guilty about it.
Today I choose to go to bed when I'm tired.
Today I choose not to apologise for resting.
Today I choose simple gatherings with people I love.
Today I choose not to attend every event I'm invited to.
Today I choose presence over perfection.
Today I choose not to overdo it.
This isn't indulgence.
It's discernment.
You cannot pour from depletion.
You cannot give what you haven't received.
You cannot love others well while abandoning yourself.
Every "yes" requires a "no" somewhere else.
Every choice to do contains a choice not to do.
Most of us only name the doing.
We forget we also get to choose the not-doing.
3. The Noticing
Right now, find one small thing that feels good.
Not impressive. Not shareable. Just true.
The warmth of your cup.
Softness of your jumper.
Light falling across the floor.
The fact you're breathing.
The breeze blowing.
One thing. Ten seconds. Let yourself receive the small goodness of it.
Do this three times today.
The Buddhists call this "wise attention."
Choosing what you water in the garden of your mind.
Not through force.
Through gentle, repeated return.
The Gift Beneath the Gifts
None of this requires more time, money, or energy.
You don't need to add anything.
You need to remember what's already here.
The peace you're seeking isn't on the other side of a completed list.
It's not a gift for Christmas morning.
It's in the gap between this breath and the next.
In five minutes of stillness.
In permission to release what's not yours to carry.
In the small warmth that exists even in chaos.
The ancients understood something we've forgotten:
Rest is not the absence of work.
It's the presence of trust.
Trust that the world will turn without your constant effort.
Trust that you are enough, exactly as you are, right now.
Trust that the magic lives in the being, not just the doing.
The bees are still buzzing.
Frangipani blossoms still falling.
Clouds still forming
… and dissolving.
Effortless. Beautiful. Complete.
They don't try to be perfect.
They just are.
This season will rush on whether you're peaceful or frantic.
Only one of those states lets you actually experience it.
What will you choose?