No Rearview Mirror

 

 A Buddhist Way of Moving Forward

Bhante Mangala 

 

We spend so much of our lives glancing backward—replaying conversations, revisiting mistakes, wondering how things might have turned out differently. It’s like driving while staring into the rearview mirror: disorienting, exhausting, and ultimately unsafe.

 

Buddhist teachings gently remind us that suffering often lives in this attachment to the past. Not because the past doesn’t matter, but because we try to live there long after the moment has ended. We carry it, analyze it, and sometimes let it define us.

 

But what if we didn’t?

 

In mindfulness practice, we return to the present moment again and again—not as an escape, but as a homecoming. The breath becomes an anchor. The body becomes a place we can trust. Right here, right now, there is nothing to fix, nothing to rewrite. Just this moment, unfolding.

Bhante Dhammaratana

Letting go of the “rearview mirror” doesn’t mean forgetting or denying what happened. It means honoring the past without giving it control over our direction. It means allowing ourselves to move forward without dragging every old story along for the ride.

The road ahead doesn’t require perfection. It asks only for presence.

So today, take one step forward—gently, consciously. Notice your breath. Feel your feet on the ground. Trust that this moment is enough.

Walking path At Bhavana Society

And let the past rest where it belongs: behind you.

I'm A Senior Teenager

 

I'm A Senior Teenager

Living the Soft Life with Larry Miller’s mom, Cheryl Koderisch 

No one warns you that one day your child will become an adult with opinions, boundaries, and a calendar that does not automatically include you. One day you are cutting their sandwiches into triangles, and the next you are asking, “When can I talk to you or see you?” like you’re booking an appointment with a celebrity.

This is the tender, humbling, and sometimes hilarious season of parenting an adult child.

Welcome to the soft life with adult children!

Cheryl Koderish and her adult son Larry Miller

As Cheryl Koderisch explains on her many Facebook videos to her son Larry, (He is a fancy news reporter in Washington DC.) The soft life isn’t about being retired and moving to a fancy villa with linen curtains, pretty flowers, and herbal tea. We parents have experienced the rush, empty wallets and ups and downs in life! Adult soft life parenting is about "Pause" and "Choice."

Larry Miller with his parents

From the parent side, the relationship shifts quietly. We still feel responsible, but we are no longer in charge. We still worry, but now we’re supposed to pretend we’re totally fine with not knowing every detail. We still want to protect them, even though they are fully capable of ordering their own groceries—and you quietly sigh at bad photos your child takes of you.

Adult Parenting meditation

Living the soft life as a parent means learning restraint.

It means loving without hovering.
Caring without controlling.
And offering advice only when it is invited… which is far less often than we imagined.

Letting them drive you places but it is really about the conversation and time you are having.

The soft life also means accepting that our child remembers their childhood differently than we do. We remember doing our best. They remember that one time we embarrassed them in public in 2006 or won the dominoes game.  Both memories are valid.

We carry pride and guilt in the same heart. We celebrate who they’ve become, while quietly revisiting who we were when they needed us most. And sometimes we wish we could go back—not to change everything, but to be a little gentler, a little more present, a little less tired.

A soft parent life understands this truth:

Our adult children are not here to complete us. They are here to continue themselves.

Sometimes softness looks like listening instead of correcting.
Sometimes it looks like apologizing without defending.
Sometimes it looks like saying, “I didn’t realize that hurt you,” and letting the sentence end there.

And sometimes softness looks like pretending we don’t mind when they don’t text back right away. (We mind. We just live softly about it.)

I giggle every time Larry fusses about his mom texting him! Watch this!

The soft life teaches us that our role is no longer to shape the path, but to walk beside it when invited. To trust that we planted enough good seeds. To believe that love still lives there, even when it is quieter than it used to be.

We are learning that our children do not owe us closeness—but when they choose it, it is a gift.

We are learning that boundaries are not rejection.
That independence is not abandonment.
That distance is not always disconnection.

Our adult children are building lives. And we are learning how to fit into those lives with grace, humor, and humility.

We still want to help.
We still want to matter.
We still want to be chosen.

And in a soft life, we learn to let love be lighter. Not smaller—just freer.

Because loving an adult child is not about holding on tightly.

It is about opening our hands and trusting that what we gave them will always find its way back to us—sometimes as a visit, sometimes as a call, sometimes as a quiet understanding that love does not disappear when it grows up. 

Thank you Cheryl Koderisch from one senior teenager to another.

A Very Merry Door

 

A Very Merry Door:

The Nutcracker Cats &

 The Sugar Plum Queen

This year, Christmas cheer has officially reached The Village at Orchard Ridge in Winchester, Virginia. My friend Mary is a resident here. I recently shared with her that I have been under a huge amount of personal stress and needed to connect with my quilting friends for the day. Mary said we could decorate her door any way we liked with “The Nutcracker” as the theme! I knew in my heart this was the perfect opportunity for me to raise my spirit. Therefore, I dragged Susan into the role of conspiratory elf! We had no idea we were about to create a holiday experience and perhaps a masterpiece?

First, I knew we had to feature the true rulers of the home—Rusty and Gracie—transformed into the most adorably stoic Nutcrackers you’ve ever seen. I absolutely love these cats. They are often on guard in Mary's sewing room or offering creative inspiration! 

Frankly, nothing says “classical Christmas elegance” quite like two furry tyrants who already act like they guard the kingdom. We tried our best to capture their regal essence, though both of them probably would rather play with ribbon or attack tape like undercover saboteurs. Truly, they took to their Nutcracker roles with great enthusiasm by calling us out on the other side of the door, alerting Mary that something was going on.

At the center of it all, we placed Mary—shimmering, smiling, and crowned as none other than the Sugar Plum Queen. Because let’s be honest, Mary is the magic behind the whole holiday vibe. If anyone can reign over a kingdom of glitter, ribbons, and slightly unimpressed cats, it’s her.

After zero resistance, I remind you—she slipped into the role with suspicious ease. We told her she could not come out until we were finished.  The other residents were a cloud of sparkle, giggling as they passed the door. I tried to get the name of one of the ladies to take the blame for the “bows”, but she ran off toward the elevator. Afterwards, I thought the door needed “more whimsy.” (Reader, it did not. But we added more anyway.)

The final result? A door so festive that several more residents paused to admire it. A scene so whimsical that I imagine the cats gave us a slow blink of approval. And a Christmas display so sweet and sparkly, it could make the actual Sugar Plum Fairy do a double take.

In the end, it wasn’t just a festive doorway we created. It was a reminder that the season’s magic often comes in fun moments shared with friends (furry and otherwise), where laughter is gentle, creativity is easy, and the spirit of 

Christmas shows up in the simplest, sweetest ways.

Here’s to Mary, her Nutcracker kitties, and a door that twirls with pure Christmas joy!

Stitching Stillness

 

Stitching Stillness: Creating Two Disappearing Nine-Patch Quilts

There’s something grounding about cutting fabric into perfect squares and stitching them back together in unexpected ways. The disappearing nine-patch quilt block reminds us that beauty often comes from transformation—the breaking apart and reimagining of what once seemed complete.  

This past week, I finished two versions of the same quilt: each top made with nine fat quarters of sunny yellow and darker shades of blue fabric. My friend Kathrine showed me this quick method for a quilt top that takes less than an hour to make. Yet, as I pieced each section, pressed the seams, and then sliced the block into quarters, I found myself reflecting on change. Nothing truly disappears in quilting or life; it simply shifts position, finding new balance in color and form.

Then I was rather surprised that I arranged the two tops differently. What? I thought! Oh Goodness I better get the seam ripper but then I paused.  Why do I have to continue with the same pattern in quilting or life?

Following a pattern exactly can feel safe. But changing it means stepping into uncertainty—you don’t know exactly how it will turn out. Mindfulness teaches us to be okay with not knowing, to appreciate the process rather than the outcome. Each adjustment becomes a small act of trust.

As I worked on my two quilts—I realized they reflected two parts of myself. Some days I need the calm of the quiet blues; other days, I reach for the shimmer of gold. Each stitch, each rearranged block, reminds me that life, like quilting, is a series of gentle transformations.

Patterns change all the time—in fabric, in seasons, in us. Quilting teaches that when something is rearranged, it doesn’t lose its beauty; it simply becomes something new. Recognizing that truth in your creative process helps you carry it into daily life. Ah Awareness! 

Two quilts, stitched in stillness.
Two reminders that transformation can be beautiful—especially when we stay present for it.

Wordless Wednesday

  Wordless Wednesday: Shakespeare in the Garden