Thanksgiving day this year had me in the first days of my sinus infection ~ still feeling fairly crappy but on the mend enough that I was able to join my family for afternoon preparations and our evening dinner. A dear family friend was with us for the celebration ~ a friend of my husband’s since he was a teenager ~ someone with whom we had recently experienced one of those unexplainable disconnects that sometimes occurs between friends. We started to find our way back into each other’s lives ~ he and my husband especially ~ this summer, and we considered one of our greatest blessings of Thanksgiving to have him at our table.

I first met this man in 2001, before my husband and I were even dating, when I was on the verge of a hefty helping of pain, drama, transition, and ultimately positive transformation. During this entire time, whenever I’ve needed a role model for someone deeply committed to his spiritual practice, I’ve thought of him. There is a thoughtful, quiet calm to this man that exists alongside a passion for unbridled exploration, both inward and outward. He probably doesn’t know how much of an influence he has had on me ~ perhaps I need to tell him more often.

On Thanksgiving day ~ as the turkey was cooking, the potatoes were mashed, and I sat on a barstool trying to stay engaged and somewhat coherent, I overhead a discussion he was having about his day-to-day schedule. Although I was spaced out and not even part of that conversation, it was one tiny excerpt of it that made the deepest impression on me that day ~ the moment he explained that the first two hours of his day were spent studying.

Studying.

It is that word, and that conversation, that has stayed with me since ~ a word that used to conjure up images of five pound biology books, all-night cram sessions, and microwave popcorn. As an adult who is now free to engage in any study-related activities or not, those images have now transformed into a scenario of quiet, focused time spent learning about and contemplating this magnificent mystery called life. It is so perfect and simple:  Studying.

It could easily be argued that I am already this kind of student, most especially since my divorce and the ensuing publication of Ordinary Sparkling Moments. It could be said that this very blog has been a space where I share what I have learned (or am trying to figure out) about this world and my place in it. But in that word, and in our friend’s daily, self-directed devotion to the study of philosophy, spirituality, and his craft (he is an architect), I found the space I had been seeking to go even deeper into my own explorations of what it means to be human, and how to continue to nurture my relationship with the world, the universe, God, and even my own family.

I had a blissfully wide open afternoon yesterday, and I spent it this way:  I studied. I read, I wrote, and I thought. I listened to the rain, and I sat still with a problem that has been with me for years, sinking even more deeply into all the ways its solution is still so much of a mystery to me ~ accepting that even though I have tried to approach it, look at it, and manage it from countless different angles, I am nowhere closer to its resolution. I just sat with it, and with the help of words written by Brene Brown, John O’Donohue, and Pema Chodron, I found a tiny window. Not a solution necessarily, but perhaps ~ at the very least ~ a way to move the process forward.

I am not going to make any kind of new year’s resolution that has me committed to two hours of study every morning, but I have made a commitment to myself to begin integrating focused study into my life. It might only happen on Sunday afternoons, it could become a twenty-minutes a day ritual. At this point I don’t need it to look like anything in particular in terms of scheduling; all I need is to be mindful of my intention, and pluck those open pockets of time ~ no matter how small ~ out of my days in order to deepen my spiritual and philosophical practice. Life is difficult, and full of uncertainty, and this study is so that I might build stronger guideposts and construct a more accurate compass for how to make my way through all of it with grace, integrity, and calm.

To my friend, and his endless inspiration:  Thank you for being my teacher.