sensing savoring

Another yoga training weekend in the books. Honestly, this program’s focus on mindful self-compassion has been a wild ride for me. Turns out, sitting with kindness toward myself doesn’t come naturally. Who knew? Today’s practice was a body scan—basically, telling every part of yourself “Hey, you’re okay”—followed by a walking meditation where we were supposed to pause and notice something beautiful.

Naturally, when it came time for my 30 minutes of mindful noticing, I did what any expert avoider of stillness would do: I started chores.

Watering the tomatoes, I caught a rainbow in the spray, refracted through the sun. My heart did a little softening pirouette. I actually let my gaze linger. The birds, of course, needed fresh water in their bath—brutal heat today, no excuses. So I shifted my spray outward. More rainbows. More light. Tiny miracles that somehow made the chores feel like practice.

Then came the moment that really got me. Turning off the hose, I let my hand rest under the spigot, catching the last few trickling drops. And I stayed there. No rushing. No next. Just water, just me, just this moment.

Eventually, the hammock called. A place I love but haven’t given myself time for in way too long. So I laid there, swinging slightly in the breeze, the fabric holding me in a kind of lazy trust. No agenda. No to-do list. Just letting gravity do its thing and noticing how it feels to be alive and, occasionally, maybe even a little worthy of kindness.

Self-compassion is a difficult practice. And sometimes, it comes disguised as a rainbow in your tomato water.

More rainbows. More light. More noticing