Reflections on Growth, Stress, and Mindfulness

It’s the first Monday of the month.
Amazing.
First Monday newsletters tend to be a bit more chatty, a bit more rambling.
This one is a string of thoughts on growth, stress, and mindfulness

 

 

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it—I joined a gym.
I’ve been going for about three weeks now.
It’s humbling to be in the position of a learner—constantly needing a coach’s corrections while everyone else seems to know what they’re doing.
Growth requires vulnerability.
(And it’s wonderful, too.)

 

 

Depending on my mood, I feel either sad or glad that 12-15% of the readers of this newsletter help fund it and the good it does in the world.
I’m sure there are things in your life that, depending on your mood, either annoy or gladden you.
I used to think I could hack the system and avoid being annoyed altogether.
Now, I just acknowledge my mood without (as best I can) trying to change it.

 

 

We say we want stress-free lives, yet we don’t create (enough) space in our lives.
Do you actively do things to reduce the stress in your life?
I hope you do.

 

 

I enjoy chatting with wedding couples—they are always so delightfully filled with hope.
I tell them, “Budget three hours to figure out who is sitting at which table.”They look at me quizzically, “What? Why?”I explain, “If you think it’s going to take thirty minutes and it ends up taking an hour—because we can’t seat Aunt Midge near Tony due to their vendetta, etc.—you’ll be frustrated with the ‘extra’ thirty minutes it took. On the other hand, if you plan for three hours and it takes an hour, you’ll be delighted with the two hours you saved.”

 

Poet Andrea Gibson advises,
We try hard to do good.
But we should try softer.

 

Flash Bang

✧✧✧ My buddy Marc meets me near my house at 3:30 on Saturday afternoon so we can bike to the small park named for Elizabeth Caruthers. I looked her up as I started to write this article. Elizabeth Caruthers was an early pioneer woman whose Supreme Court case led to the 1850 Donation Act—ruling that a woman, married or not,

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Hiawatha Johnson, JR.

January 2026 — Portland, ORE Hiawatha Johnson, Jr., a mentor and friend died. Summer 1985 — Magic Camp Oakdale, Long Island I’m 15. He’s 30. He wears a dashiki. He uses a walking stick. I’m prepubescent. I listen to comedy cassettes on a Walkman. I’m in awe. ✧✧✧ I perform a rather banal magic act that year — me narrating

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The Delay

2026 issue #03 — The Delay I’m in my buddy David’s car. He’s driving me from my mom’s apartment in NYC to Newark, NJ, where I’m going to catch a plane back home to Portland. David and I have been friends for fifty years. Amazing. My phone dings. I look at it. Nothing important. Just an alert from United. *

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