Calm Is Contagious

Have you ever walked into a room and known almost immediately that
something was off?

No one had to tell you.

Maybe everyone was unusually quiet. Maybe someone was irritated. Maybe the room just felt rushed or tense.

You could feel it before anyone said a word.

And the opposite is true too.

There are people who have a way of making a room feel a little easier simply because they are in it.

They aren't necessarily saying anything profound.
They aren't trying to fix everyone.
They're just... steady.

Their presence brings a different kind of energy into the room.

I've been thinking about that lately because we've spent September talking about staying grounded.

We've talked about returning to center when life starts moving quickly.  We've talked about recognizing that everything that feels urgent isn't necessarily  important.  And last week, we talked about resisting the pressure to match the world's pace.

But maybe there's another reason learning to stay grounded matters.

We don't keep our state entirely to ourselves.

We bring it with us.

Into meetings.
Into our homes.
Into conversations.
Into the grocery store.
Into the car.
Into the way we answer the phone.
Into the first five minutes after we walk through the door at the end of a long day.

Whether we realize it or not, we affect the spaces we enter.

We Set a Tone More Often Than We Realize

Think about what happens when someone walks into a room already rushed.

Their words are faster. 
Their movements are quicker.

Maybe they're sighing, looking at the clock, checking their phone, or immediately talking about everything that needs to happen.

And without anyone consciously deciding to, everyone else can begin speeding up too.

The energy shifts.

But someone can change a room in the other direction too.

A calm hello.
A thoughtful question.
Someone who actually listens without rushing you.
Someone who doesn't immediately escalate when something goes wrong.

Someone who can simply say:

Okay. Let's figure this out.

There's something incredibly grounding about being around someone who isn't adding more urgency to an already stressful situation.

And maybe that's one of the quieter benefits of learning how to regulate ourselves.

Calm doesn't only change our experience.  It also changes the experience of the people around us.

Calm Doesn't Mean Pretending Everything Is Fine

I want to be especially clear here, because being calm doesn't mean we're supposed to become the person who never gets frustrated, angry, worried, overwhelmed, or upset.

That's not realistic.

And frankly, it doesn't sound particularly healthy either.

We're human.

Things get to us.
People irritate us.
Plans fall apart.
Some days we handle things beautifully while other days... not so much.

Staying grounded isn't about pretending we don't have a reaction.  It's about noticing what happens after the reaction arrives.

Do I automatically hand my stress to the next person?
Do I match someone else's intensity?
Do I make the room more frantic because I'm feeling frantic?

Or can I give myself just enough space to decide what I want to bring into what happens next?

That's different.  And it's a practice.

You Don't Have to Match the Energy You're Given

Maybe this is where everything we've talked about this month comes together.

You can return to center.
You can decide what actually deserves your urgency.
You can move at the pace that makes sense for you.

And you can choose not to absorb—or automatically return—every energy that comes your way.

Someone else can be rushed without you rushing.
Someone else can be irritated without you becoming irritated.
Someone else can be anxious without you taking responsibility for making their anxiety disappear.

You can remain present.
You can listen.
You can respond.

And you can stay yourself in the process.

Maybe that's what being grounded really gives us.
Not control over what happens around us.
But more choice about who we are inside of it.

And the beautiful thing is...  that steadiness can have a ripple effect.

A calmer conversation can change the next conversation.

One person slowing down can give someone else permission to slow down.
One thoughtful response can keep frustration from becoming conflict.
One grounded person can change the temperature of a room.

Not always.
Not magically.

But more often than we probably realize.

One Intentional Step

This week, before you walk into one place you regularly enter—a meeting, your home, an appointment, a gathering, even a phone conversation—pause for just a moment.

Instead of asking:

What do I need to do here?

Ask:

What do I want to bring into this space?

Maybe it's calm.
Maybe patience.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe humor.
Maybe confidence.
Maybe simply your full attention.

Take one full breath before you enter.
Then bring that with you.
You don't have to control the room.

Just notice what happens when you become intentional about what you're contributing to it.

Community Reflection

Who is someone in your life whose presence seems to settle a room?
What is it about them?

And perhaps the more interesting question:

How do you want people to feel when they've spent time with you?

I've been thinking about that one.

Because maybe staying grounded was never only about helping ourselves feel calmer.

Maybe it's also about becoming more intentional about what we carry with us into the lives of other people.

Calm has a way of traveling.

So does kindness.
So does patience.
So does joy.

And next month, we're going to take that idea one step further.

We've spent September talking about how to stay grounded in the middle of a life that keeps moving.

In October, our conversation shifts to living intentionally.

Because once we stop letting everything around us determine our pace, our priorities, and our state...  we have a little more room to decide what we actually want to do with this life of ours.

Until next time...

Grant yourself a little grace.
Trust yourself a little more.
And take one intentional step.

Be well,
Mary-Anne

The Rhythm You Can Return To

I think sometimes we imagine that when we finally find a rhythm that works,

we're supposed to stay there.

As if once we've figured out what helps us feel grounded, calm, and a little more like ourselves, we shouldn't lose our footing again.

But of course we do.

I do.

We all do.

Life changes. Schedules change. People need things from us. Something unexpected happens. We get tired. We overcommit. We fall back into an old habit. We react instead of respond.

And suddenly, the rhythm we thought we had figured out feels like it's gone.

Earlier this month, I wrote about the difference between a routine and a rhythm.

A routine often depends on things going according to plan.

A rhythm has a little more room in it.

And after spending this month thinking about rhythms — and, quite honestly, having some of my own disrupted — I think there may be another piece to this.

Maybe the goal isn't to stay perfectly in rhythm.

Maybe the goal is to know how to return to ourselves when we lose it.

That's a very different expectation.

Because if staying calm, grounded, and intentional requires us to get everything right, we're going to fail at it constantly.

But if the practice is simply noticing...

I'm a little off.
I'm reacting more than I'd like.
I'm filling every available space again.
I'm saying yes too quickly.
I'm moving faster than I need to.

...then we have somewhere to begin.

We don't need to fix everything.
We don't need to start over Monday morning.
We don't need a new planner, a new routine, or a promise that this time we're really going to get it together.

We just need a way back.

For me, that often starts with the simplest part of the Intentional Calm Method™:

Calm first. Then move forward.

Not because calm makes everything disappear.

But because it's much easier to hear ourselves when we're not trying to make our next decision from the middle of the noise.

And maybe that's what a sustainable rhythm really is.

Not something we maintain perfectly.
Something we learn how to return to.

Again and again.

One Intentional Step

This week, ask yourself:

What brings me back?

Not what your ideal morning routine looks like.
Not what you should be doing.

What actually helps you return to yourself when you notice you're a little off course?

For me, one of those places has always been the beach.

There's something about walking barefoot along the water — the sound of the waves, the feel of the sand, the horizon stretching out in front of me — that helps quiet the noise and brings me back to myself.

It doesn't solve anything.

It just helps me hear myself again.

Maybe it's three slow breaths before you answer.
Maybe it's stepping outside.
Maybe it's writing for five minutes.
Maybe it's turning off the noise.
Maybe it's calling someone who grounds you.
Maybe it's simply putting your hand on your heart and asking:

What do I need right now?

Choose one.

Let that be your return point.

And don't wait until everything feels completely out of control to use it.

Practice returning when you're only a little off course.

Community Reflection

I'd love to hear yours:

What's one thing that helps you come back to yourself?

You never know — what works for you might be exactly what someone else in this community needs to hear.

Until next time...

Grant yourself a little grace.
Trust yourself a little more.
And take one intentional step.

Be well,
Mary-Anne

When Did We Start Filling Every Empty Space?

I caught myself doing this the other day.

I had a few minutes. Nothing urgent needed my attention. I wasn't late. I wasn't waiting for anyone to call me back. There was simply a small opening in the day.

And almost immediately, I reached for my phone.

Not because there was something I needed to see. It was more automatic than that. A few empty minutes appeared, and apparently my first instinct was to make sure they didn't stay empty for long.

I started thinking about how often we do this.

We sit in a waiting room and scroll. We stand in line and check email. We have ten minutes before we need to leave, and suddenly ten minutes feels like enough time to answer something, straighten something, look something up, or cross one more thing off the list.

Even an open Saturday can begin to feel suspiciously unfinished.

What are we going to do with it?

Should we make plans? Run errands? Get ahead on something? Clean out that closet? Catch up on the things we didn't get to during the week?

Somewhere along the way, empty space began to look a little too much like wasted space.

And I wonder when that happened.

There was a time when waiting was just...waiting. You could sit somewhere and watch people come and go. You could stand outside for a few minutes and notice the weather. You could drive somewhere without filling every mile with a podcast, a phone call, or something you were trying to learn.

I'm not suggesting those things are bad. I enjoy many of them. Sometimes that ten-minute window really is the perfect time to return an email.

But I have been wondering about the reflex behind it all.

That almost immediate feeling that an opening should be used.

Maybe it is because we have become so accustomed to having something available to us at every moment. Something to read. Something to watch. Something to answer. Something to organize. Something productive we could be doing.

There is always another thing waiting.

And when there is always another thing waiting, an unclaimed moment can begin to feel strangely uncomfortable.

I think that's the part that interests me most.

Not whether we should spend less time on our phones or schedule fewer things. Those are different conversations.

This one is about what happens inside us when nothing is asking for our attention.

Do we even know what to do with that anymore?

This weekend reminded me what that can feel like.

Every year, our family gathers at my sister’s house in Vermont for what we call our “Annual Country Croquet Tournament”. There isn’t much of an agenda beyond visiting, catching up, laughing, eating, drinking, and seeing who can make it through the course with some dignity intact.  Truthfully, none of us.  ;)

We stayed a little longer this year so we could wander through a local farmers market with my sister, where my nephew happened to be performing. He is a wonderfully talented singer-songwriter, and there was something about being there listening to him that felt especially sweet.

We parked the van along the back of the gazebo, rolled out the awning, grabbed our chairs, and settled in. Coffee and chai tea lattes from their local cafe in hand, we sat and listened.

No rushing. No wondering what was next.

Even Riley seemed to understand the assignment, settling into the easy Sunday rhythm right along with us.

It was simple. And maybe that was the point.

None of it had been packed tightly into the weekend. We weren’t rushing from one thing to the next or trying to make every hour count.

There was room for it.

Room to sit a little longer. Room to talk about nothing important and somehow leave feeling more connected. Room to decide what came next without having already decided it the night before.

And maybe that is part of what we lose when every opening is already spoken for.

Sometimes the best moments aren’t the ones we planned. They are the ones there was enough space to notice.

Maybe some spaces are not gaps waiting to be filled. Maybe they are simply part of the natural rhythm of a life—small pauses between one thing and the next.

A few minutes in the car before walking inside.

The quiet after dinner.

An hour that unexpectedly opens up.

A Saturday afternoon with nowhere we have to be.

What if we didn't immediately assign those moments a job?

I'm beginning to think there is something important about having parts of our lives that haven't already been spoken for.

Not because we need to use that space to meditate, reflect, plan, recharge, or become better versions of ourselves.

Even that would be filling it.

Perhaps the invitation is much simpler.

Leave a little room.

Room for your mind to wander somewhere unexpected. Room to notice what you didn't realize you were thinking about. Room to decide at 2:00 what you feel like doing at 2:05.

Or room for absolutely nothing to happen at all.

There is something almost luxurious about that now, isn't there?

A little corner of the day that doesn't need to produce anything.

And perhaps that is why this conversation feels worth having.

We spend so much of our lives creating schedules, routines, plans, and systems that help everything work. They matter. They hold a life together.

But maybe a good rhythm isn't made only from the things we put into it.

Maybe it also needs a few spaces where nothing has been placed yet.

---

One Intentional Step

Sometime this week, when a small pocket of time opens up, see if you can resist filling it immediately.

Not for an hour. Maybe just five or ten minutes.

Leave it unclaimed and notice what happens.

No agenda. No expectation.

Just a little space that gets to remain...  well... space.

---

Continue the Conversation

I'm curious about this one.

When you suddenly have a few unplanned minutes, what do you usually do with them?

And how does it feel to imagine leaving some of them completely unfilled?

---

Until next time…

Grant yourself a little grace.
Trust yourself a little more.
And take one intentional step.

Be well,
Mary-Anne

When Life Has Other Plans

Interruptions Reveal Our Rhythm

Have you ever noticed how quickly we write the story of our day?

We know where we're going.
We know what's supposed to happen.  
We have a picture in our minds of how the day—or the evening—is going to unfold.

And then...

Life has other plans.  I think we've all been there.

A meeting runs late.
A flight gets delayed.
The phone rings with unexpected news.
The plans we've been looking forward to suddenly change.

It's a reminder that while we can make plans, we can't always control what happens next.

That happened to us this weekend.

We had spent the evening prior seeing our Aussie friends, the Hindley Street Country Club, in Beverly, followed by a wonderful day exploring Rockport with friends.  As we were driving home, tired in the best possible way, replaying their music, laughing about our adventure, looking forward to sleeping in our own bed...

...our van decided it wasn't quite ready to head home.

Instead of pulling into our driveway, we found ourselves on the side of the MA Pike waiting for a tow truck. When it finally arrived, we learned it wasn't equipped to tow our van. We'd have to wait all over again for a larger tow truck.

Definitely not the ending we had planned.

After a few post updates, and an image of us sitting inside the coach watching television while we waited for the second tow truck, a friend wrote,

"That's true calmness right there."

That comment made me pause.

Not because I thought I had handled everything perfectly.  Believe me, I would have much preferred to be home.  But she made me realize something I hadn't thought about until that moment.  Years ago, I'm not sure that's what people would have seen.

Not because I was a different person.  But because I had practiced a different rhythm.  That realization followed me home.  Maybe interruptions don't create our rhythm.

Maybe they reveal it.

When life catches us off guard, we rarely become someone new in that moment.  We simply return to what we've been practicing.

If we've practiced rushing, we rush.
If we've practiced worrying, we worry.
If we've practiced assuming the worst, that's often where our minds go first.

But if we've practiced pausing... 
Breathing... 
Accepting what we cannot change before deciding what to do next...

That rhythm has a way of showing up, too.

As we begin a new month, I've been thinking about the word rhythm.

Not routines.  Rhythms.  Because I think there's a difference.

A routine depends on everything happening according to plan.  A rhythm is something you can return to, even when the plan falls apart.  The goal has never been to create a life without interruptions.

That's impossible.

Plans change.
Vehicles break down.
People disappoint us.
Unexpected phone calls come.
Life will always have other plans.

The question isn't whether interruptions will happen.

The question is: What rhythm will they reveal?

There's one moment from that evening I keep coming back to.  We couldn't change the situation.  The van wasn't suddenly going to fix itself because we were frustrated.  The tow truck wasn't going to arrive any faster because we were impatient.

But we could choose the atmosphere inside the coach.

We could choose whether those hours were filled with frustration or conversation.  Whether we focused on what had gone wrong... or simply accepted what was true and made the best of it.  That didn't mean pretending everything was wonderful.  It didn't mean we weren't disappointed.  It simply meant we weren't going to let the interruption decide the atmosphere inside the coach while we waited.

Isn't that true in so many areas of life? 

We may not be able to choose every circumstance we face.  But we can often choose the atmosphere we create within it.

Sometimes, that changes everything.  So this week, if life has other plans...

If your carefully organized schedule suddenly changes...  If an unexpected interruption catches you by surprise...

Before asking,

"How do I get everything back on track?"

Pause long enough to ask a different question.

"What rhythm am I practicing right now?"

Because interruptions don't create our rhythm.  They reveal the rhythm we've been practicing all along.  And every ordinary day gives us another opportunity to practice the kind of rhythm we hope will show up when life has other plans.

Until next time...

Grant yourself a little grace.
Trust yourself a little more.
And take one intentional step.

Be well,
Mary-Anne

What Are You Saving for Someday?

There was something I noticed this week that made me stop and smile. I have a collection of beautiful, brand-new notebooks sitting on a bookshelf. Some were gifts. A few I found while wandering through little bookstores or gift shops. Others were simply too pretty to leave behind. Every one of them felt like it was waiting for something important.

The funny thing is...many of them are still empty.

Apparently, I've been waiting for the "right" thoughts, the "right" project, the "right" season of life.

As I laughed at myself, I realized I'm not really saving the notebook.

I'm saving permission to use it.

That little realization reminded me of something I've seen more than once during my years working in eldercare.

Families eventually find themselves sorting through the belongings of someone they loved. They open closets, drawers, and boxes filled with a lifetime of memories. Sometimes they discover things that tell beautiful stories. Other times, they discover things that tell heartbreaking ones.

A friend once shared that while cleaning out her mother's closet, she found a beautiful dress with the tags still attached. Her mother had been saving it for a special occasion.

As she stood there holding the dress, she quietly realized...  The special occasion never arrived.  That story has stayed with me ever since.  Not because of the dress.  Because I wonder how often we quietly do the same thing with our own lives.

Maybe we aren't saving a dress.

Maybe we're saving permission.

Permission to slow down.

Permission to celebrate.

Permission to use the beautiful notebook.

Permission to enjoy an ordinary Tuesday simply because we're alive to experience it.

But somewhere along the way, I wonder if we've unintentionally started believing that ordinary days aren't worthy of beautiful things.

Maybe that's why so many of us keep waiting. Not because we're afraid. Not because we don't appreciate what we have. But because we've quietly convinced ourselves that life will announce when the "right" moment has arrived.

The truth is, it rarely does.

Life isn't made up only of milestones and celebrations. It's mostly made up of Tuesday afternoons, morning coffee, conversations around the kitchen table, a walk after dinner, and a quiet hour with a journal.

Those little moments often become the ones we remember most.

When we keep saving the good things for later, we sometimes miss the beauty that's already sitting in front of us today. Not because we're careless, but because we're looking past today toward a future that somehow feels more deserving.

I've started wondering if permission isn't something we receive.

Maybe it's something we gently give ourselves. Permission to enjoy. Permission to celebrate. Permission to make an ordinary day feel just a little more special.

Not because we've earned it.

Simply because we're here.

Because this day, like every other, is part of our life.

I recently came across an RV travel channel called Today Is Someday, and I found myself smiling before I even watched the video. Their name alone felt like a gentle reminder. We spend so much of life saying, Someday I'll... But what if someday isn't waiting somewhere out on the horizon?

Maybe someday has quietly become today.

Maybe this ordinary morning is the one you've been waiting for all along.

None of us knows how many "special occasions" we'll actually be given.

Maybe today is someday.

---

One Intentional Step

Choose one thing you've been saving for "the right time."

Light the candle.

Use the notebook.

Wear the favorite outfit.

Open the good bottle.

Whatever it is, let today be special simply because you're living it.

---

Continue the Conversation

I'd love to hear from you.

What have you been saving for someday?

And what is one small thing you'll choose to enjoy this week instead of waiting for the perfect moment?

Share your thoughts in the comments. You may inspire someone else to stop waiting, too.

---

Until next time...

Grant yourself a little grace.
Trust yourself a little more.
And take one intentional step.

Be well,
Mary-Anne

Choose What Feels True Now

Some Sundays arrive with a sense of clarity.

Others arrive with a dozen thoughts already competing for our attention before we've even finished our first cup of coffee.

Maybe you've felt that this week.

There's so much advice available today. Everywhere we look, someone is telling us the "right" way to eat, work, exercise, parent, meditate, grow, or live. Even when every suggestion is well intentioned, it can become exhausting trying to keep up.

After a while, it's easy to lose sight of a simple question.

What actually feels true for me?

Not what worked for someone else.

Not what everyone seems to be doing.

Not what you think you should choose.

Just...what feels honest in this season of your life?

I've been thinking about that a lot lately.

As many of you know, I've spent the last several months immersed in finalizing Calming the Chaos. Somewhere along the way, I realized something surprising.

The book wasn't just teaching me how to write.

It was inviting me to listen more closely.

There were moments when I caught myself trying to make everything perfect. Trying to sound more polished. More educational. More like what I thought people expected.

But every time I wandered too far from my own voice, something felt off.

The words were technically fine. They simply weren't true.

So I stopped. I closed the laptop for a while, went for a walk, and listened.

Every time I came back, the answer was the same.

Just be yourself.

It's funny how often the calmest path isn't about adding more.

Sometimes it's about removing the layers that were never ours to carry in the first place.

I wonder how often we do that in everyday life.

Maybe you've stayed committed to a routine that no longer serves you because changing it felt like giving up.

Maybe you've continued saying yes when your body has been quietly whispering no.

Maybe you've been holding yourself to expectations that belonged to a different season of your life.

There's no judgment in any of that.

We've all done it.

Sometimes we become so focused on becoming a "better version" of ourselves that we forget there was never anything wrong with who we already are.

Intentional Calm has never been about becoming someone different.

It's about reconnecting with the calm, authentic version of yourself that's been there all along.

That version of you doesn't need fixing.

She may simply need a little more room to breathe.

Maybe that's what this season is inviting us to do.

Not to reinvent ourselves.

Not to chase another version of success.

Just to become a little more honest.

A little more aligned.

A little more willing to trust what feels true, even if it looks different than someone else's path.

Because here's something I've learned over the years...

Peace rarely arrives because life suddenly becomes less complicated.

More often, it arrives because we stop arguing with ourselves.

We stop forcing what no longer fits.

We stop measuring our journey against everyone else's.

And little by little, we begin living in a way that feels more like home.

---

Pause & Reflect

As you move through today, ask yourself:

Where in my life am I following someone else's expectations instead of my own inner knowing?

Don't rush to answer.

Just notice what comes up.

Sometimes awareness is the beginning of change.

---

This Week's Intention

This week, I will choose what feels true instead of what feels expected.

---

One Intentional Step

Choose one small decision you've been overthinking.

Before asking anyone else's opinion, spend five quiet minutes with yourself.

Take a slow breath.

Notice what your body is telling you.

Ask yourself:

"If no one else were watching...what would feel most true for me?"

Trust the first gentle answer that rises.

It doesn't have to be perfect.

It only has to be honest.

---

Continue the Conversation

I'd love to hear from you.

Has there been a moment recently when you chose what felt true instead of what felt expected?

Or maybe you're still trying to figure that out.

Both are welcome here.

Leave a comment below, send me a message, or simply spend a few quiet moments reflecting on the question today.

However you choose to engage, I'm grateful you're here.

Thank you for spending part of your Sunday with me.

It truly means more than you know.

I'll meet you back here next Sunday.

Until then...

Take good care of yourself.

You're worth it.

Be You!
Mary-Anne