Wendy Keller

I've spent upwards of 120 hours in the last few weeks working on a project I love with all my heart and soul. When I can, 15+ hour days pass like minutes.

Makes me think about Dr. Csikszentmihalyi's amazing book, "Flow", which I read the week it was published.

In my own honor, I just went to my bookshelf and threw away the four unread books I've lugged around from office to office, some for a decade...on "Focus". I have deeply realized, at a cellular level, that when you love something, the focus comes of its own accord.

"Do what you love and the money will follow" may or may not be true, but I have been doing what I love and I don't care about the outcome anymore. There are no "sure things", even sure things.

Last week, I visited my parents in their care home. My mom has dementia and is in Memory Care. She recognizes me most of the time, and is sort of aware of what's going on around her. My stepdad, who could live on his own (with some help cooking and cleaning) lives on the same campus in Assisted Living. He goes over to her at least once a day to check on her, make sure she's eaten breakfast, bring her a treat, cuddle with her, tell her he loves her. She's often aware of who he is. It is very hard for him emotionally to lose his partner while her body is still there in front of him.

Flying home (no trouble at airports!), I reflected on this truth: It was just a "few minutes" ago when she was raising three kids; a "few minutes" ago when I left for college; a "few minutes" ago when she and my dad had their 50th wedding anniversary; a "few minutes" ago when my own child was born, now grown and married and living far apart from me.

I remember old folks telling me, "Life is short!" and "Enjoy the journey" and now, I finally see the sense of it. All the sleepless nights with three newborns; my daughter's frustrations with junior high math; the times we went on trips together; the times we argued; the times we cried together.

It brings me to this conclusion, this decision: today, I will savor the minutes I'm given. I will pause and reflect on how special each one really is. Although most of us get a whole life full of minutes, it is only when we take a deep breath and fully inhabit the current one can we say we are truly living life.

Peace to you all.

Spoke to a man today who wants to teach other men to access their emotions. He said men aren't allowed to have emotions, and that's wrong.

It seems to me that perhaps SOME men in previous generations were taught that, but most men I know seem like the stigma is gone. What do you think?

Are you a male person? Do you know any men? Do you think the culture still encourages them not to express emotions?

I've been immersed in writing my next book - my first novel - for the past few weeks. One of the characters is a monk confronting a crisis of faith after a devastating loss. For him, faith isn’t just belief; it’s the air he breathes, the structure of his entire existence.

As I explore his doubts, I find myself reflecting on something universal: every person I’ve ever known—regardless of whether they call themselves Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, or something else entirely—faces moments when life itself demands a reckoning. A pause. A step back from what they’ve always accepted as absolute truth.

I’ve come to suspect that only by daring to question what we were taught to believe - those inherited certainties handed down by parents, teachers, friends, or culture - do we begin to truly understand our own spiritual path.

It’s in the freefall of that questioning that real faith is often born.