Can you see it?

Haiku and sunrise conversation with self: allowing space for sadness, returning to gratitude

Hi readers, the following is the product of my daily writing practice, 12/3/25. Tagged as memoir, it’s a conversation with myself, abour returning to gratitude in those moments when sadness, doubt, lack, or whatever you want to call it, sneak in. It’s been up for a few days, but I’ve been slow to send so as not to overwhelm your inbox. Thanks, always, for reading!

Today what popped out of my practice was a 5-7-5, followed by a conversation with self.

Haiku: Earth’s belt

Sunrise is a belt

Cinching the earth’s circumference

This barn its buckle

Gorgeous sunrise this morning, cinching the earth’s circumference. My old barn adorns its belt, like a faded trophy buckle.

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Sunrise Sadness to Gratitude

Orange-red light peeking through the curtains, I happily pop out of bed and peel them apart. I inhale sharply.

Breathtaking, eh?

Yes, truly gorgeous. And in my own backyard! How lucky am I!

Then, what was that? I felt it. When you looked from the sky to the barn and your mood dropped—what happened?

It reminded me of my uncle, then my dad, then my career, all at once.

Never expected to move to rural life in the middle of my academic career. It’s December again…almost 4 years now.

Ah. Yes, and lots has happened in four years…

Remember when we’d wake up and go to yoga, or get off work and go to happy hour with friends? Go see shows or the theater? Walk around downtowns and —

Yes, that was all lovely! Good times.

But… I gave all that up! Gave up a job I’d been working towards for over 10 years, job security, PSLF (iykyk), all the ‘prestige’ and identity attached to job title of “Professor Haddock,” friends nearby, colleagues who Get It, job tasks that intellectually stimulate, places to walk and things to do…

Well, the promise of those things, yes, but—

Never intended to stay so long. My dad was on hospice. A semester? Two? Didn’t have a plan beyond being here, helping him through. Miraculously, he recovered and…well, lots of things kept me here.

Love kept you here, love…

Sure. Love. Guilt. Finances and decisions past…

It’s been hard at times, wonderful at others. But stimuli that remind me of what could’ve been are nearly everywhere and have evocative effects on my being. I get trapped in whirlpools of “I didn’t want this.”

I know. Despite all the trying and friends, it’s easy to do. But didn’t you recently have some revelations about regret?

Oh, yes. You mean, regret is inspection of decisions, how we wish we’d chosen differently, assume we had agency, how we’re ultimately grieving its absence?

Self nods.

The thing is, I don’t wish I’d chosen differently. That is, I don’t regret the first choice, coming here. After that, some choices I do. But I can’t live in regret-town or visit too often. Take my own advice, right?

Right. Because listen: You write lots, and it generates good will, if not livable income. And you’ve made some invaluable virtual connections—new friends and acquaintances that have taught and helped you, people who truly believe in and want what’s best for you. (Sit with that feeling!)

And you help others: strangers, clients, family, animals. Family is nearby and well as they can be. You have a dog that you adore, chickens, space for gardening… warmth, shelter, food, connection. (Sit with that, too!)

And you still have downtowns to walk and shows and festivals — and even yoga, if you sacrifice some time somewhere else.

Yes. There’s all that. I’m grateful but—

No “but”... Grateful! Stay there longer, love. Practice staying there longer so it happens more often. Repeat what I just said, with “I” statements.

Okay, you’re right.

I write lots, and it generates good will, if not livable income. And I’ve made some invaluable virtual connections—new friends and acquaintances that have taught and helped me, people who truly believe in and want what’s best for me.

And I help others: strangers, clients, family, animals. Family is nearby and well as they can be. I have a dog that I adore, chickens, space for gardening… warmth, shelter, food, connection.

And I still have downtowns to walk and shows and festivals — and even yoga, if I sacrifice some time somewhere else.

See? Can’t be grateful and sulk, simultaneously. Gratitude occupies the time and space that longing and regret occupy. Choose gratitude, right? It’s not a one-time choice.

It’s not always that easy. This mood…

Mood schmood. Isn’t mood an internal state altered by the external? There’s lots you can do, externally, to evoke and maintain this state of gratitude over regret, longing, lack and all that. It’s all just behavior that occupies time, and feelings that ride in on it.

Maybe, in this moment that you’re feeling down, one way to get back up might be to ask, “What am I lacking, besides attachments of identity (career, motherhood, etc.)? Do these things truly give your life more meaning, or do others just say they do? That is, social reinforcement is not as dense as it might otherwise be, but what is truly missing?”

Well, self, I haven’t given it much thought. But I guess, being knocked around so much, I want ease. I want to not struggle, not fight, not have to try so hard for… for… steady, calm, ease.

And, when I look hard enough and stop resisting, I see that I have ease, more now than then. That life former me wanted—the one I sometimes feel I’m missing? It wouldn’t have been full of ease, not one bit. I was in pain. Literal pain, in my hip and leg — for years. Years! Now, not so much. My environment changed dramatically; pain left, ease came.

What am I truly really missing, besides those identity attachments, you ask?

Love? No, have that, if not the forms glorified on TV.

Job? Health? Safety?

No, no, no—all here. So, what? What’s missing? Why so naked and alone? Is this my own choosing?

I guess it is. It doesn’t feel like a choice.

Listen, it’s not. You have to breathe. You have to look. Can you see it?

The sunrise cinches its pants with a colorful waistband, adorned by a big silver barn buckle, and I exhale.

Yes, I see it. Nothing to do but belt my pants, too, and live in the light of what I’ve chosen — and keep living in it, moment after moment. Right, self?

Right.

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Writing practice 12/3/25. I am allowing myself space for sadness these days, and modeling a return to gratitude here. It’s hard for me to stay in the light all day, every day, given all the dark — literal loss of daylight, but also loss of loved ones, career trajectory that I worked decades for, changes in body/ looks, ideas about love, having children, waning hope for the future, ongoing stressors, biology, etc.

It’s hard on my close friends and loved ones, too. I can sometimes be selfish in my sadness and stuck in my patterns — but generous in my love, and with so much else, too. And I try to lean into gratitude, but sometimes it gets exhausting, you know?

No matter how much we love our lives, stimuli that remind us of what we do not have (or the directions we did not go) abound. If we catch ourselves in the “what isn’t”, we can redirect to the “what is.” One thing for which I’m very grateful is that I have met so many people who are beyond-words supportive of my writing dreams. Despite not having a book to sell them (yet), they believe in me! That is truly something special.

Was going to post this impromptu conversation with myself as a note instead of a post, as it doesn’t have my usual references or overt behavioral themes, but it was long. Perhaps it’s another intro to an upcoming piece on gratitude.

Thanks for reading, as always. Grateful to have you here. Tiny sunrises, right?

Peace, love, and stimulus control,

Jennifer