The Power of a Mini-Adventure

 "Things look so bad everywhere / In this whole world, what is fair?

We walk blind and we try to see / Falling behind in what could be.

Bring me a higher love / Bring me a higher love, oh - oh..."

- Lyrics from "Higher Love" by Steve Winwood

"Man, what a hell of a year it's been / Keep on bluffin' but I just can't win

Drowned my sorrows, but they learned to swim / Man, what a hell of a year it's been."

- "Lyrics from "Good News" by Shaboozey

I embarked on a mini-adventure yesterday. Defying the persistent hip and lower back discomfort that seems unavoidable in post-menopause, I ventured to Denver's upscale Cherry Creek district for a third ear piercing in each lobe. My two existing piercings were done ages ago (clumsily, by a teenager with a nail gun), while Rowan, a Cherry Creek boutique, employs nurses who pierce with needles using hypoallergenic titanium posts. Quite the upgrade from the Torrance mall!

Aden accompanied me to Rowan and offered encouragement throughout the procedure as nurse Lauren precisely positioned the third sparkling post. Once the sting subsided, we strolled the streets sipping iced lavender almond milk lattes, admiring the vibrant red and yellow tulips and flowering trees that heralded spring. At Whole Foods, we purchased gluten-free cinnamon rolls and savored them on a shaded bench while tree blossoms drifted onto our plates. The thoroughfares remained relatively quiet early Sunday morning, populated mainly by pedestrians and post-yoga diners filling outdoor seating on this balmy day.

Following our impromptu breakfast, I took the scenic route to a competition where several of my swimmers awaited coaching. I hadn't traveled those roads in over a decade; my last journey along that path involved taking the children berry-picking at a Brighton farm. My playlist delivered one perfect track after another, and I relished this departure from routine even as my thoughts drifted toward circumstances I'd been attempting to avoid. Confronting life lately has proven challenging, and the lyrics seemed to acknowledge that struggle while simultaneously offering glimmers of optimism.

Speaking of optimism, Rob and I indulged in another mini-excursion last week; we both ducked out of work early Wednesday and headed to Boulder where William's startup (Measures AI) had reached the finals of Boulder's New Venture Challenge. Their founder delivered an exceptional pitch with impressive slides. We delighted in hearing all six presentations (three per category) though naturally favored Measures, which secured runner-up status by a narrow margin and received a $10,000 award. Not shabby compensation for an undergraduate senior project launched just last summer.

Afterward, we treated William to drinks at a nearby rooftop lounge, settled by the fire with a view of the 16th Street Mall showcasing its own beds of purple and pink tulips. Capturing moments of joy with our children and each other has made 2025 tolerable thus far. Breaking routine, viewing familiar landscapes from fresh perspectives, and embracing spontaneity reminds me that I can't always predict what awaits. For the price of fuel, a few hours, and some coffee, unexpected delights and welcome news might be just around the corner.

Instructions for Living

 "Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it."

-Mary Oliver, "Instructions for Living a Life"

"Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang."

- Mary Oliver, "I Worried"

Our three adult children joined us yesterday for church on the couch, Easter edition. While the cats meandered about in quest of warm laps, we immersed ourselves in the sermon, which incorporated Mary Oliver's three-fold instructions for living fully. Rev Mark highlighted how eleven disciples couldn't fathom the resurrection, their anxiety and trepidation compelling them to sequester themselves behind locked doors, while Peter alone embraced the women's extraordinary news. In that era, women were deemed unreliable witnesses, yet our children were visibly stunned that the proclamation "Jesus lives" stirred amazement only in Peter, who hastened to investigate firsthand.

Our 21-year-old, particularly incredulous, expressed disbelief at this revelation. "How did I not know this?" he questioned, leaning forward intently. "When did they finally celebrate?" I explained the gradual nature of acceptance, noting that Thomas required tangible evidence before acknowledging the resurrection's reality. 

Throughout the day, I turned William's surprise over repeatedly in my thoughts, like one would handle a smooth worry stone nestled in a pocket. Initially, amusement washed over me—how aging often unveils less palatable truths about the mystical narratives of childhood. Then, recollecting my own recent awakening to the numerous factions actively dismantling democracy from within, my age-derived smugness evaporated instantaneously. 

Returning to the Easter message, our pastor chose not to dwell on the disciples' skepticism or the physical confirmation later offered through Christ's presence. Instead, he illuminated Peter's profound astonishment. Fascinatingly, the Greek term describing Peter's emotional state appears just once throughout scripture—here, on this transformative third day.

After brunch Aden and William accompanied me for an early afternoon stroll. Lacking proper walking footwear, we wandered unhurriedly, absorbing the breeze and warm sunshine as they caressed the flourishing trees and emerging perennials. We paused deliberately—inhaling the lilacs' fragrance, admiring the delicate carpet of fallen petals beneath our feet, peering over the creek's edge in search of ducks. Together, we surrendered to wonder.

The day's splendor and precious family moments replenished my spirit, temporarily alleviating my persistent concerns about our nation's trajectory. Yet deep disappointment surfaced in the morning when the communal prayers in the service encompassed ourselves, our community, and our world—but conspicuously omitted our country. Even our devotions, I suspect, have become potentially divisive terrain. My family swiftly hushed my observation, protective of their Easter contemplation and I stayed quiet, vowing to preserve their amazement.

 This morning, we collectively grieve Pope Francis's passing—the departure of a virtuous man who strived to embody and transmit Christ's authentic teachings throughout our troubled world. Despite his (undoubtedly stressful) obligation to meet with American officials during his final days, I hope his Easter departure brought serenity. His absence - the absence of a life well-lived - will create a profound void as he seemed to truly understand God's instructions for living.

Pushing Back on Evil

"Evil turned out not to be a grand thing. Not sneering emperors with world-conquering designs. Not cackling demons plotting in the darkness beyond the world. It was small men with their small acts and their small reasons. It was selfishness and carelessness and waste. It was bad luck, incompetence, and stupidity. It was violence divorced from conscience or consequence. It was high ideals, even, and low methods." - Joe Abercrombie, Red Country, as quoted in "Sunbeams" in The Sun Magazine April 2025

Growing up, my father often pondered the question of evil. "How can so much evil exist in a world created by a benevolent Creator God?" he would ask. We explored this whenever his philosophical side emerged, revealing the lasting impact of his Georgetown Jesuit education after years of working life.

My parents raised us Catholic and represented the best of that tradition—socially liberal, curious, and questioning. (Mom would still attend church if her small parish had a more open-minded priest, which sadly isn't the case.) Despite all our discussions, the question of evil - of course - remains unanswered.

The latest issue (592) of The Sun Magazine tackles this difficult subject. In an interview, writer and editor Randall Sullivan suggests that God permits evil because we have free will. To eliminate evil completely would mean creating copies of God rather than independent, free-thinking people. Sullivan also believes that "people are more good than bad," a view I want to share, though current events make this hard to believe.

The reality is that evil and harmful people do exist. Our freedom lies in how we respond to evil—whether small and petty or grand and destructive. I find strength in the words of author Ursula K. Le Guin, also featured in this month's "Sunbeams" section: "It is very hard for evil to take hold of the unconsenting soul." (A Wizard of Earthsea)

Last week, about 5 million people worldwide showed their refusal to accept the wrongs happening in our country. May we continue to resist, stand firm, and recognize our duty to oppose "selfishness and carelessness and waste," to not consent.

Where the Waters Meet

There's nothing like being buffeted by relentless winds, pummeled by swells, and dragged by invisible currents to momentarily liberate you from an existential crisis. As I cleaved through the briny water last Saturday, towing my fluorescent orange safety buoy behind me and praying that my trajectory led toward the finish line rather than the vast Atlantic, my mind detached from all political anxieties and emotional burdens. While not precisely tranquil, the exhilaration and physical ordeal honed my focus to a razor's edge, cultivating profound gratitude for life, vitality, and the privilege of sharing extraordinary experiences with kindred spirits.

Rob and I embarked for St. Kitts last Wednesday, with an interim stop in Miami. I was astonished to discover the island lay a further three hours' flight from Florida—I did not conduct thorough research after finalizing arrangements with SwimTrek to attempt the Nevis to St. Kitts ocean crossing and race. We descended onto the West Indies on an aircraft brimming with aspiring swimmers, mingling and conversing as we located the shuttle destined for our respective hotels. The atmosphere enveloped us in warmth, with tropical clouds suspended like cotton sculptures against bright blue skies, and palm fronds rustling rhythmically in the breeze (which would soon emerge as our formidable adversary).

That evening, we crossed the street to meet up with Colorado friends at the Marriott, where I unexpectedly collided with my closest friend from youth swimming (with two teammates we held the 200-yard free relay record for 13-14 year-olds in New England for nearly two decades). Shocked greetings, warm hugs and hurried introductions ensued—we hadn't encountered one another in over four years and had never been introduced to each other's husbands. What an amazing coincidence—gratitude to the universe!—she wasn't even aware of the swimming event but merely vacationing.

Our practice session the subsequent day proved illuminating, as SwimTrek guided us into the ocean where the Atlantic converges with the Caribbean Sea, acquainting us with the tumultuous waves and treacherous currents awaiting us during the 2.65-mile competition. The practice only offered 1.5 kilometers, yet as we navigated back into the placid waters of the bay, several participants decided to opt out of the next day's race. Apprehension intensified when event coordinators announced escalating winds forecast for race day and a potential alteration of the course toward a safer, coastline trajectory.

I silently prayed that we could complete the crossing—it was on my bucket list for nearly a decade to accomplish a channel crossing. The English Channel waters are too frigid, the Maui Roughwater swim appeared too remote and unforgivingly turbulent, so I settled on this challenge. Ha! The fates cackled in response.

The water radiated warmth and the sky was unblemished on race day. We rose at 5 a.m. to board transportation to the shoreline at St. Kitts, then ferry across to Nevis, the race's origin point. The bumpiness of our ferry ride amplified swimmer concerns about the swells, and our briefing regarding wind and current diverted my attention from seeking sea turtles to contemplating survival. I started the race alongside friends from Colorado but promptly lost visual contact as my safety buoy entangled in a rope in the bay, requiring de-tangling before I could proceed.

The water's salinity was so sharp I had to block the rear of my throat with my tongue to prevent inadvertent swallowing. As we emerged into the unprotected ocean, waves of two to three feet rocked us laterally, compelling me to breathe predominantly to my left to avoid waves in my face. Throughout the journey, I periodically switched to breaststroke to locate the prominent hill serving as my visual reference. I inadvertently collided with several clusters of swimmers, including one containing my friend Sue, but inevitably drifted away from them. The waves impeded our visibility of one another and obscured the finish line. A short rain storm pelted us with cool freshwater, but blew over in a hurry.

Four hundred and eighty-nine individuals registered, yet only 379 completed the course. Many withdrew prior to the start, given the intimidating conditions, and approximately 50 participants were extracted by support personnel, either at the swimmer's request or because they had swum so off-course that completion within the three-hour maximum became impossible.

Sue and I finished virtually simultaneously—she maintained a slight lead and paused for me, extending her hand to assist me as I staggered onto the beach so we could cross the finish line together. Unaccustomed to competitors waiting for me, I was overwhelmed with emotion (and exhaustion). We had both navigated remarkably efficient routes, covering 4.19 kilometers versus the absolute distance of 4.1 kilometers, which conserved our energy and minimized our distress. Some swimmers were displaced by the current and endured an additional kilometer or two (rendering their subsequent struggle against the current to finish truly heroic).

Rob supplied us with endless water as we rested, attempting to regain our mental faculties and hydration. Two of my companions placed in their age category (first and second in the 60-69 classification), an impressive achievement, while I secured fifth position in mine (50-59). This exceeded my expectations; I had intended to proceed at a more leisurely pace and appreciate the surroundings, but conditions rendered pausing impossible!

In summation—nothing quite compares to an adventure punctuated by acute moments of perceived mortality to reinvigorate one's zest for existence and temporarily banish life's mundane concerns.