This week I sat in my studio and watched the garden out the sliding doors. Birds flew from the cedar bushes behind the fence to the birdbath to the feeder to the peach tree. They landed on the patio and in the dahlias. They hopped across the mulch paths.

Chickadees. Sparrows. Juncos. Nuthatches. Cardinals. Finches.

Constant movement. Back and forth. Here to there and back again.

I watched as birds pecked the seedheads of my flowers and scratched in the mulch — for seeds? for bugs?

The squirrels were busy, too. Running across the top of the fence. Scurrying down the birch. Leaping into the birdbath. Rummaging among the herbs, walnut clutched between teeth.

I had a different post planned for today, but it didn’t feel right.

I’ve been spilling words in my journal, page after page of them. I’ve cried. I’ve sat in silence with a mug of tea cradled in my hands. I filled a page in my 11” x 14” sketchbook with a giant heart of gratitude.

There is so much in life that is out of my hands. Out of your hands. Out of OUR hands. What isn’t out of our hands is how we show up in the world.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the past year. Journaling about it. Filling my studio door with words of intention and encouragement.

And here I am, recommitting to my intentions during a week that feels bleak.

The world is always full of both beauty and ugliness. Joy and despair. The ugliness doesn’t negate the beauty — unless we let it.

I don’t want someone else’s ugly actions to keep me from creating beauty or sharing encouragement. Sometimes I stumble. Sometimes I fail. Sometimes I feel lost. But I can get back up. I can start again. I can find my way.

Early in my blogging journey, I began writing Joy Lists and encouraging you to write them, too. It was during a very dark point in my life and I wrote them to remind myself of beauty, to claim hope.

Writing Joy Lists is a practice of gratitude.

Over the years, this practice has been there for me whenever life gets hard. It’s been transformative and I feel so strongly about the practice that I’ve shared free, printable Joy Lists with you and even designed an illustrated seasonal Joy Journal, too.

For me, the most important thing about a Joy List isn’t the list itself, but the shift in perspective. It’s about focusing on beauty instead of ugliness.

Sometimes I can’t bring myself to write a Joy List. And that’s ok. Simply sitting and watching the birds in my garden is enough.

Other things I’ve been doing this week to feel better:

• Making a huge pot of soup

• Cutting flowers (all the flowers in these photos were cut this week)

• Bingeing The Marlow Murder Club instead of watching the election results roll in

• Lying in the sun on a blanket on the deck with my dogs

• Emailing and texting friends

• Doing yoga (gratitude to Adriene for putting together the perfect plan for this month)

• Finding comfort in the words of others (Katherine May, Satya Robyn, Liz Lamoreux*, Laly Mille, Erin Boyle, Anna Brones)

• Laughing (and dancing) through The Blues Brothers

• Putting on my coziest overalls

• Going out to dinner with my parents and my aunt

• Tending my houseplants and bringing the first amaryllis bulb up from the basement

• Drinking pot after pot of tea

• Taking a hot bath with Epsom salts and essential oils

• Burning candles

• Wrapping customer orders and walking packages to the post office

• Eating too many snacks

• Picking up a stack of books from the library (including the new Louise Penny!)

• Wearing pretty socks

• Snuggling with my dogs under blankets on the sofa

• Picking up colorful leaves

• Fixing a printer problem (without having to ask Matthias for help!)

• Cutting more flowers

I’ve been reminding myself that it’s ok not to feel ok. It’s ok to rest. It’s ok, and sometimes even necessary, to take a time out. I know it’s important to show up in the world and share beauty and encouragement. But I also know that I can’t fully show up when I’m feeling depleted.

And so, I’m back looking out the doors to my studio. Mug of oolong at my elbow. Watching the birds in the garden. Catching sight of one of the last birch leaves as it lets go and floats to the ground. Noticing the flash of white feathers as juncos swoop into the cedars.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, however you’re feeling, I hope you’re taking good care of yourself.

*I can’t link to Liz’s note, but if you’d like me to forward it to you, send me an email.