In a Log Cabin, Looking Back

The room has a double-height bay window of old glass, a skinny modern dining table that seats ten, and walls made of logs wider than my thighs.

Inside an old log cabin with hand-hewn logs and a floor-to-ceiling stack of windows

Seeing this room on Airbnb is what made me want to come here, and this is where I sit now, in the high-backed striped velour chair, with the sun on my left shoulder.

I came here with the YearCompass to reflect on 2023 and plan 2024, free from distractions. Roxie is in boarding and I miss her, but I’m grateful.

The boarding facility has in-room video cameras. She’s been there three times before, the first time for one night only, just to get acclimated.

When I downloaded and opened the app, she was up on her hind legs, scratching at the vertical strip of glass next to the door. I checked on her every few hours until I couldn’t stand to watch anymore.

When I picked her up early the next morning, her report card said, “I had lots of energy and wanted to play all day!”

The next two visits were more of the same. So, sitting in that velour chair, I opened the app and held my breath.

I didn’t see her at first. She wasn’t at the door, she was down in the corner, on the bed. Sleeping.

She was sleeping every time I looked in on her.

The YearCompass was a good exercise. Reflecting on 2023, I was shocked at how much I accomplished, things I had forgotten about in the hurry to move on to the next thing.

Sweet Baby Lover was refreshed, with new audio and large print editions. Prince Tarkten was published. It was the year I stopped revising The StoryWheel and started talking about it.

The wisest decisions I made were the things I stopped doing—my podcast, teaching at UC, a relationship that seemed to have run its course.

Stopping these freed me up for other things, like launching the Memoir Mastery coaching program, which was the answer to the YearCompass question, “What was the biggest risk you took last year?”

My biggest surprise? Two. How much I love Roxie and how much I enjoy Memoir Mastery.

The most important thing I did for others?

This. Right here. These Sunday notes.

In 2023, I did enough. And even if I did nothing, I would still be worthy.

Stick drawing of Jule sitting cross-legged with a small smile

Chewing the Cud of Good

Close up of wide hand-hewn log wall with white filler

Thankful for homemade sauerkraut and the connection it gives me to people who are no longer on the planet.



Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Scroll to Top