RE: https://selfhosted.cafe/@novabrooks/116802880188227717

Matching effort is where it's at, be it platonic friendships or otherwise. Love those people who bring the same energy to things as you do!

#friendship #connection #community #MakingFriendsasAdults #makingfriends #connecting #effort

Greetings from Gaza to the whole world. 🇵🇸
I'm here to build bridges of dialogue and connection with real people who genuinely care about our cause and are ready to exchange ideas beyond superficiality. Who wants to join me in this conversation? I'm waiting for you. 🖊️✨

#Palestine #Dialogue #Connecting

How We Begin: A Reflection on Reading, Writing, and the Shape of a Day

“Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.”
Meister Eckhart

I begin my day quietly. There is no rush to it, no immediate reaching for the world beyond the window. The first thing I do is make a cup of coffee. It is a small ritual, but it matters. The warmth, the familiar movement, the pause signals that the day has begun.

I sit with that cup for a few moments before anything else. No screens. No noise. Just the simple act of being present. After that, I take a few minutes for stillness. Not a formal meditation, just a moment to settle into the day. Some mornings are calm, others less so, but the practice itself remains.

Then I turn to the day ahead. I create a schedule. Not rigid, but intentional. I make sure there is space for a few things that matter to me. Reading, connection, writing. These are not tasks to complete, but parts of the day I want to live inside.

There was a time when my days were arranged before I even stepped into them. Meetings, responsibilities, expectations, all set in place. There was very little room to decide how the day would unfold. Now, that has changed. Now, I am the director of my days.

This morning, I began with a poem. It was from a small book titled A Girl in the City by Helen Hoyt, sent to me by her granddaughter. The book carries a sense of care, of something preserved and passed forward. When I open it, I am aware that I am not just reading words. I am stepping into a voice that has travelled through time to meet this morning.

The poem is called Triumph:

Triumph, dear triumph,
Splendor of certainty and exaltation—
I have felt you in little moments,
Moments of nothingness, alone,
More than in great times of applause.
Walking or dancing,
Suddenly you come
And lift up my hands as if they would reach the stars;
I could shake the stars and the world for sheer merriment of power—
I will run laughing and shouting with you
Through all the streets of the world, triumph.

It was a good way to begin.

Even on busy days, I make time for reading. A few lines are enough. They have a way of settling into the day, returning when needed, shaping how I move through what follows.

Connection comes next. A message, a conversation, a shared moment. These are not interruptions. They are part of the day’s fabric.

And writing, when it comes, grows out of all of this. No two mornings are exactly the same. But the rituals remain. Coffee. A moment of stillness. A plan for the day. A page to read. These are small things, easily overlooked. Yet they shape the way the day unfolds. I have come to see that how we begin matters.

Not in a grand way, but in the quiet accumulation of small, intentional acts. A day does not need to be controlled to be meaningful. It only needs to be entered with care.

Rebecca