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The Art of Eating Crow

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“A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but saying, in other words, that he is wiser today than he was yesterday.”

–Alexander Pope (1688–1744; English poet and satirist, one of the most influential poets of the 18th century, whose wit and keen moral reflections in works like “The Rape of the Lock” and “An Essay on Man” secured his literary legacy.)

Eating crow is never easy. In fact, it’s downright tough, so much so that it takes a lot of willpower and gumption.

Oh, I’m not talking about eating crow as in the genus Corvus, those glossy black birds found in most parts of the world. I’ve never eaten one of them.

I’m talking about eating the kind of crow that we sometimes have to eat when we discover that we’re wrong. That’s a hard discovery to make. Let’s face it: it’s hard to fess up when we’re wrong. But let’s own up to it—sometimes the best thing to do is just eat crow and be done with it.

Take the stubborn husband who swore up and down he could fix the plumbing himself, despite his wife’s warnings. A few YouTube tutorials, a flooded bathroom, and an emergency call to the plumber later, he’s standing there, soaking wet, eating a big plate of crow.

Or the manager who brushed off an employee’s suggestion, only to watch the competition roll out the same idea—successfully. There’s no easy way to walk that one back, but let’s hope the manager at least had the sense to admit, “I should’ve listened.”

Then there’s the friend who mocked TikTok, Wordle, or Air Fryers, scoffing at the hype—until they tried it. And now? They’re sending out their Wordle scores every morning, scrolling TikTok before bed, and raving about how crispy their Brussels sprouts get. Yep. Crow. Served hot and fresh.

People have been “eating crow” since the dawn of human interaction so the list could go on and on, ranging from professional to personal and from funny to frustrating, but I don’t need to continue. Every item in the list captures the same universal realization: Oops … I was wrong. I didn’t understand.

Even though we’ve been eating crow for a long, long time, the phrase itself is surprisingly modern. It first appeared in 1885 in the Magazine of American History:

“‘To eat crow’ means to recant, or to humiliate oneself.”

By 1930, the phrase had taken on a more serious tone:

“I should merely be making an ass of myself if I accused someone and then had to eat crow” (E. Queen, French Powder Mystery).

By 1970, “eating crow” was used in a way that is close to what we all hope for when we use the phrase today:

“I was going to apologize, eat crow, offer to kiss and make up” (New Yorker)

Yep! Sometimes, eating crow comes with extra benefits.

These days, eating crow is firmly on the menu for anyone caught in the wrong. Actually, it was on my menu last week. Two servings of crow. That’s right. Two servings. Mind you, I haven’t been caught in the wrong because I haven’t done anything wrong other than having had some lingering thoughts down through the years about two Mary E. Wilkins Freeman scholars. I’ve now come to realize that I was wrong, or, more accurately, I’ve come to realize that I didn’t understand.

And since I’ve always believed that eating crow is most beneficial if done in public, let me lift the cloche and reveal my double portion.

My first portion is because of thoughts that I’ve had about Thomas Shuler Shaw, a librarian at the Library of Congress, who embarked on an ambitious project to write what would have been the first biography of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. His goal was to illuminate the life and literary contributions of this remarkable author who had died in 1930.

However, fate had other plans. Shaw’s 1931 biography, A Nineteenth Century Puritan, faced rejection from prominent publishers such as Harper & Brothers, Ladies’ Home Journal, and The Saturday Evening Post. I’ve always credited Shaw for persevering, at least enough to find a home for his meticulously curated scrapbooks and the typescript of his unpublished biography in the Rare Book & Special Collections Division at the Library of Congress. Those artifacts provide a rich tapestry of insights into Freeman’s life and work, and they certainly helped me with my edition of The Infant Sphinx: Collected Letters of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (Scarecrow, 1985).

Nonetheless, I wondered then as I do now: why didn’t Shaw continue his efforts to find a publisher? His book would have distinguished itself as the first Freeman biography. What impact might it have had on her literary reputation if the details of her life had been accessible to readers of the 1930s and 1940s?

My second portion of crow relates to another scholar working on a Freeman biography around the same time. Edward Foster wrote his Mary E. Wilkins Freeman: A Biographical and Critical Study in 1934 as his thesis when he was a candidate for the Doctor of Philosophy degree at Harvard University. The university accepted his thesis, but Foster didn’t complete his Harvard degree. He put aside his Freeman work until 1956 when he revised and published it as Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (Hendricks House).

Foster was direct when he explained the delay:

My thesis was accepted […] also for subsidized publication by Harvard Press. Lacking funds for subsidy and failing to get trade publication, I forgot the thing for nearly twenty years. MWF is only a small part of my career. (Foster to Brent L. Kendrick, ALS, October 24, 1973)

Nonetheless, I wondered then as I do now: why didn’t Foster try to find a publisher sooner than he did? What impact might it have had on her literary reputation if Foster’s details of her life had been accessible to readers of the 1930s and 1940s.

There. I’ve done it. I’ve eaten my two portions of crow. However, I have to do one more thing to help you understand the art of eating crow. To turn eating crow into an art requires divulging what prompted, in my case, not just one portion of crow but two in a single serving. That’s the source of the catharsis. That’s the confession, without which eating crow can never be an art.

Here’s mine.

Yesterday, I uploaded the manuscript of my forthcoming book Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina. My book definitively establishes Gordon (c. 1692–1754)—antiquarian, Egyptologist, scholar, singer, and later Clerk of His Majesty’s Council of South Carolina—as the author of The Humourist essays, restoring his rightful place in literary history.

I hesitate to say this, but the book is a significant scholarly work. It’s meticulously researched, not only unearthing a forgotten literary voice but also redefining our understanding of colonial American literature. While it’s structured with rigor, it remains highly engaging, making complex historical and literary analysis accessible without oversimplification. It’s not just a literary recovery; it’s a reframing of Charleston’s intellectual life, the role of satire in the colonies, and the transatlantic literary tradition. That’s no small feat.

To say that I am ecstatic is an understatement. I am.

But get this. I’ve been working on this book since 1973, when Professor Calhoun Winton of the University of South Carolina suggested that I try to solve this literary mystery. Published in the South-Carolina Gazette, the essays had been largely forgotten, and the identity of their author remained unknown.

At the time, I recognized their brilliance and used them as the foundation for a graduate paper. Then I put the project aside where it remained in my mental storehouse of “one-day, some-day” ideas, waiting for the right time.

Decades later, the Virginia Community College System (VCCS) gave me an extraordinary opportunity to return to that project, to bring these essays into the light, and to finally answer the question that had remained unanswered for centuries: Who wrote them?

As a VCCS Chancellor’s Professor (2012-2014), I answered that question and shared the essays and my ongoing findings with my blog readers right here. Actually, that’s when TheWiredResearcher had its beginning.

Ironically, I delayed publishing my watershed Unmasking The Humourist until now.

You may be wondering about my delays, just as I wondered about Foster’s delays and Shaw’s delays.

I’ve been wondering about my delays, too, and that’s why I’m eating crow.

I could toss out many reasons:

● The Humourist essays seemed too short for a book and too long for a scholarly article.

● I wanted to make certain that my evidence for claiming Alexander Gordon as the author was as compelling as my discussion.

● I wanted to do further research so that my headnotes and endnotes for the essays were comprehensive.

All of those reasons are true.

I won’t toss into that mix other scholarly pursuits that came my way.

I won’t toss into that mix my early career advances as a federal employee or my second career advances as an educator.

I won’t toss into that mix caring for aging parents.

Actually, I won’t toss into that mix anything else because what became obvious to me when I uploaded Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina was something seriously simple. We all lead complex, complicated, and convoluted lives.

● I know that truth firsthand.

● You likely do as well.

● So, too, did Edward Foster.

● So, too, did Thomas Shuler Shaw.

Wondering about their delays caused no harm, but I now see there was no need to wonder at all. I might simply have acknowledged what I’ve come to recognize in my own self-talk about The Humourist:

Life is rich, robust, and mysterious, and it rarely marches forward on a straight path.

As I move forward on my path, I’ll keep that truth in mind as I interact with others—and with myself. And with that heightened awareness, perhaps I really will have mastered the art of eating crow.

A Forgotten Voice, A Solved Mystery—And Soon, A Book

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“What is research but a blind date with knowledge?”
— Will Harvey (b. 1963; computer scientist and entrepreneur known for his contribution to the field of interactive entertainment.)

“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.”
— Samuel Johnson (1709-1784; poet, essayist, moralist, and lexicographer, best known for compiling A Dictionary of the English Language, 1755.)

Years ago, I solved one of the greatest literary mysteries in early American history. The Humourist—a sharp-witted, enigmatic essayist whose work graced the front page of The South-Carolina Gazette in 1753 and 1754—had been lost to time, his identity obscured by history.

Through meticulous research—poring over newspapers, historical records, forgotten manuscripts, and overlooked clues—I solved the mystery, uncovering the man behind the words—his identity, his world, and the forces that led to his disappearance.

I shared my discovery with the world through my copyrighted blog, laying bare the identity of The Humourist. But there was more to be done. Solving the mystery was only the beginning.

Now, after years of refining my research, the book I’ve long envisioned is finally becoming a reality. Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina, will be a available in September. It’s a definitive edition that not only reveals The Humourist’s true identity but also presents his essays in full, with critical commentary, historical context, and meticulous annotations. This is not just a rediscovery; it is a restoration of one of the most significant but overlooked literary voices of Colonial America.

Why This Book Matters

This is more than just the story of an anonymous writer. It’s about:

● Colonial America’s literary landscape and its connections to the great essay traditions of England.

● The power of satire in shaping public discourse—even in a bustling port city like Charleston.

● The intersection of literature, politics, and history, as seen through the eyes of a writer who was both an observer and an insider.

For the first time, The Humourist’s essays will step out of the yellowed pages of The South Carolina Gazette and into the full light of historical and literary analysis.

The Book Will Arrive This Fall

This carefully curated edition will include:
● All of The Humourist’s essays, fully annotated.
● A critical introduction that explores his identity, influences, and legacy.
● A deep dive into the historical and literary significance of his work.
● A call for further scholarly research into this long-forgotten but pivotal writer.

Stay Tuned!

Over the coming months, I’ll be sharing exclusive glimpses into the book’s publication journey, including its official launch. Follow my blog for exclusive updates—you won’t want to miss what’s next!

I solved the mystery years ago. Now—early this fall—the book that brings #The Humourist back to life will be available not only on Amazon but also in a bookstore near you!

Handshakes from the Universe

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“The universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you already are.”

–Rumi (1207–1273; Persian poet, scholar, and mystic whose timeless works explore themes of love, spirituality, and the interconnectedness of all things.)

I don’t have a farm, and I’ve never had one. But these days, I’m feeling like Old MacDonald himself. Patterns surround us, after all—sometimes playful and sometimes profound—and lately, the rhythm of that old nursery rhyme keeps echoing in my mind:

Old MacDonald had a farm
Ee i ee i o
And on his farm he had some cows
Ee i ee i oh
With a moo-moo here
And a moo-moo there
Here a moo, there a moo
Everywhere a moo-moo

By the time I listen to the cows, chickens, ducks, pigs, and all the other animals that have wandered into the song since it started in 1706, I’m always left wondering what animal sound I’ll hear next.

But these days, I’m feeling like Old MacDonald not because of the animals I don’t have but because of the numbers I do. They’re everywhere—so much so that my version of the rhyme might go like this:

Old Man Kendrick saw some numbers
Ee i ee i o
And in those numbers, he found great calm
Ee i ee i oh
With a one-one here
And a two-two there
Everywhere a three-three

Those numbers aren’t just any numbers. They’re palindromes–they remain the same when reversed, like 121. We all see them, and usually, it’s not anything to write home about. However, I wrote about them once in “Take Three | Living With a Writer: Owning Up to My Own Eccentricities.” In that post, I mentioned my fascination with palindromes.

Some of you might be saying:

“They’re just numbers. After all, the brain is wired to notice patterns.”

Some days I’m saying the same thing.

Or some of you might be thinking:

“What you’re experiencing with those numbers is synchronicity–the universe lining things up in a way that you can’t ignore. So, sit up and take notice.”

Some days, I’m thinking the same thing because I’m a big believer in synchronicity. I could point to endless examples in literature. Surely, you’ll remember that moment in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” when the narrator perceives an external presence—seraphim swinging a censer—as he grieves and longs for his deceased Lenore:

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.   

The seraphim seem to offer grace and comfort—a chance to shift perspective. Yet instead of accepting it, the narrator clings to despair, choosing to fixate on the raven’s ominous “Nevermore.”

Or consider Sarty in William Faulkner’s “Barn Burning.” His inner conflict aligns with external signs and moments. The flickering fires, the repeated moral choices, and the final break from his father feel like synchronistic echoes guiding him toward a moral path, despite his family’s destructive tendencies.

And in Raymond Carver’s “Cathedral,” the narrator’s transformation during the drawing of the cathedral feels like a moment of deep synchronicity. His inability to “see” spiritually aligns with the blindness of the visitor. As they draw the cathedral together, there is a sense that the universe orchestrates this connection to lead the narrator toward personal growth.

These moments in literature remind me that synchronicity often acts as a mirror, reflecting back a truth we’re ready to see. They resonate because, like the seraphim in “The Raven” or the blind visitor in “Cathedral,” I’ve experienced moments where something beyond myself seemed to nudge me toward clarity.

But what’s happening with the palindromic numbers that have taken up residence with me is different. This feels deeper and more personal. This feels gentle, steady, like footsteps in alignment with my own, affirming my path.

It all started back in November when I reached my palindromic birthday of 77. I chuckled when I saw it coming—it wasn’t my first palindromic birthday, of course, but something about 77 felt especially auspicious. Since then, palindromic patterns haven’t just appeared occasionally; they’ve settled in, becoming a quiet rhythm in my days.

It’s not just the random glance at the clock showing 3:33 or the odd receipt totaling $22.22. These numbers have become more consistent, almost as if they’ve found a permanent rhythm in my life. The day after I made a tough decision, the clock read 12:21—a subtle nudge from something beyond myself. Later, after a longer-than-usual bike ride, I checked the dash: 22.2 miles. By then, I was already tuned in.

They’re not asking me to figure something out, nor are they pointing to some hidden treasure or cosmic secret. Instead, they light up the small corners of my day, asking only to be noticed and appreciated. License plates, receipts, random book pages—they all flicker with symmetry, mirroring something steady and affirming.

Last week, the numbers seemed to crescendo, appearing almost everywhere in one single, solitary day: 444, 717, 505, 808, 919, 404, 414, 555, 88 1111, 404, 111, 212, 414, 444, 555, 77, 44, 212, 515. It felt like a boisterous celebration, arranged by the universe—not for my analysis, but simply for my acknowledgment.

These patterns aren’t luring me toward some great revelation. Instead, the numbers feel still—like standing in the center of a room, with mirrors reflecting me from every angle, reflecting where I stand.

And in that reflection, I feel something that I wasn’t seeking and hadn’t expected—affirmation.

I’ve spent a lot of my life chasing after answers, but this feels like the opposite. The palindromes don’t feel like questions at all. They feel like handshakes from the universe, soft and steady, offering no demands—just quiet reassurance. They’re not saying, “Keep going,” or “Turn around.” They’re saying quite simply, “You’re already here. And it’s enough. All is well.”

I might not have cows or chickens, but I have these numbers. They’re mine, and they’re here, there, and everywhere—soft reminders that I’m two-stepping with the universe. Frankly, I wouldn’t trade my handshakes from the universe for all the moo-moos in the world. These quiet handshakes remind me that I’m exactly where I need to be. And isn’t that enough?

What Makes a Nation Strong?

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In the wake of an election that has stirred both hope and disillusionment across the country, it’s worth remembering the enduring values that truly strengthen a nation. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words remind us that the resilience of a country lies not in transient victories, but in the steadfast commitment to truth, honor, and unity. As we reflect on the November 5 election outcomes, may this poem inspire us all to uphold what makes a nation truly great.

“A Nation’s Strength”

–Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882; a central figure in American transcendentalism, a movement emphasizing individualism, nature, and the spiritual connection between humanity and the universe. His essays, speeches, and poems, including Self-Reliance and A Nation’s Strength, have inspired generations to seek truth, embrace resilience, and find purpose beyond material success. Emerson’s ideas continue to influence American thought on personal growth, social responsibility, and unity.)

What makes a nation’s pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that round it throng?

It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
Not on abiding rock.

Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
Of empires passed away;
The blood has turned their stones to rust,
Their glory to decay.

And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
Has seemed to nations sweet;
But God has struck its luster down
In ashes at his feet.

Not gold but only men can make
A people great and strong;
Men who for truth and honor’s sake
Stand fast and suffer long.

Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly…
They build a nation’s pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.

10,000 Views and Counting: A Heartfelt Thank You!

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“Gratitude turns what we have into enough.”

–Aesop

Gobsmacked! That’s what I am! Here’s why. With nearly four months still left in the year, my blog just reached 10,000 views. I know exactly when it hit five digits because I was waiting and watching. I had my Smartphone in hand when the magical moment occurred at 7:45 this morning!

I wish I knew who the 10,000th viewer was—I’d reach out with a warm embrace. But since I don’t, I’m reaching out to all 10,000 of you instead—let’s embrace one another! In the spirit of Bob Marley’s words: “One love, one heart. Let’s join together and feel all right!”

Your engagement, curiosity, and support have blown me away. Whether you’re a longtime reader or just joined the journey, you’ve all played a role in this milestone. Together, we’ll keep pushing boundaries, asking big questions, and exploring new ideas!

Before I go, I’d like to share this year’s five most-viewed posts that have helped soar us to 10,000 views. If you haven’t read these yet, check them out!

Glimpses of my Mother’s Hands
● Through vivid memories of her tender, industrious, and spiritual hands, I explore the profound impact my mother’s hands had on shaping my life—from creating magic in everyday moments to offering strength, care, and faith until her final farewell.

Vermont’s Literary Daughter: Brent L. Kendrick on Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
● In my interview on the Vermont Artists and Authors podcast, I discuss the legacy of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman and my collection Green Mountain Stories, emphasizing Freeman’s significance as a Vermont writer and my hopes for her stories to inspire readers, libraries, and schools across the state.

Confessions of an Editor: THE INFANT SPHINX Reviewed
● I delve into the serendipitous journey of editing and publishing The Infant Sphinx: Collected Letters of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, while sharing for the first time ever the full text of a forgotten self-review I wrote nearly 40 years ago, offering insights into Freeman’s life, my editorial process, and the lasting impact of her letters.

When Lilacs Meet Algorithms: The Unlikely Union of Walt Whitman and Artificial Intelligence (AI)
● I explore the unexpected intersection of Walt Whitman’s elegy “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” with artificial intelligence, as I challenge AI tools to distill the essence of the poem into sonnets, revealing the potential for AI to complement human creativity while reflecting on the power of poetry.

From Dusty Folder to Digital Ink. Part I: The Untold Story of THE INFANT SPHINX
● I recount the serendipitous journey behind the publication of The Infant Sphinx, from a bold encounter with the president of Scarecrow Press to the Herculean task of preparing camera-ready copy, offering readers a glimpse into the untold backstory of my scholarly work.

Thank you, Dear Readers, from the bottom of my heart!

The Strength of Deprivation

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“The more we are deprived of something, the more we realize its value.”

–Plato (c. 427–347 BCE; Greek philosopher and a student of Socrates. He founded the Academy in Athens and profoundly influenced Western philosophy, especially through his works like The Republic, which explore justice, reality, and knowledge.)

Smackdab in the middle of my deck is a wrought-iron rectangular table, topped with a slab of rough-hewn sandstone. Its focal point is a larger-than-I-can-lift Celadon flowerpot, home to a treasured Bougainvillea, a tropical plant that enjoys deck side only in summer and early fall. Its magenta petals are like delicate crepe paper, bursting forth against the sunlit sky. Their blossoms cascade like a vibrant waterfall, painting my mountain world with exuberant hues. They dance in the wind, whispering secrets of their distant homelands, their beauty both fierce and fragile, a testament to the resilience of life.

But such splendor does not come easily. To bloom so magnificently, bougainvillea must endure deprivation, a withholding of water that seems almost cruel. In their struggle, they learn to thrive in harshness, sending their roots deeper, seeking sustenance in the barren soil. It is in this crucible of thirst that their true beauty is forged, their blossoms erupting as if in defiance of hardship.

I have other plants that flourish under similar deprivation. My lavender and rosemary, with their fragrant blooms, thrive in dry, sandy soils, where a lack of water encourages them to produce more potent aromas. My cacti and succulents, accustomed to arid environments, often bloom when faced with the drought of my neglect, their flowers a testament to survival in the harshest conditions. One of my favorites, Russian sage, is most vivid when experiencing the challenge of dry soil, while my sedum and portulaca, known for their drought tolerance, turn stress into a profusion of flowers. Even my prized jade plant, a hardy succulent, responds to dry spells by offering delicate blossoms. These and other plants remind me that sometimes, in the face of scarcity, nature gives birth to her most stunning displays of beauty.

As I witness this seeming contradiction–strength in deprivation–in my plant world, I am reminded of how that same natural truth looms large in my literary world, too, especially in Emily Dickinson’s poetry. In fact, I often think of her as the poet of deprivation. Time and time again, her work reveals that strength born of hardship allows both the flower and the soul to bloom most fully.

I’m thinking right now of a poem that’s familiar to many because it’s anthologized the most:

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory

As he defeated – dying –
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

What an incredible celebration of deprivation! Those who experience the most deprivation—specifically, those who strive to succeed but do not achieve the victory—are the ones who truly understand and appreciate success. Deprivation of triumph can heighten our ability to recognize and value success when it is out of reach.

I’m thinking, too, of a lesser-known Dickinson poem that’s even more akin to what I see in some of my plants that flourish when they are deprived: “I Had Been Hungry, All the Years”

I had been hungry, all the Years—
My Noon had Come—to dine—
I trembling drew the Table near—
And touched the Curious Wine—

‘Twas this on Tables I had seen—
When turning, hungry, Home
I looked in Windows, for the Wealth
I could not hope—for Mine—

I did not know the ample Bread—
‘Twas so unlike the Crumb
The Birds and I, had often shared
In Nature’s—Dining Room—

The Plenty hurt me—’twas so new—
Myself felt ill—and odd—
As Berry—of a Mountain Bush—
Transplanted—to a Road—

Nor was I hungry—so I found
That Hunger—was a way
Of Persons outside Windows—
The Entering—takes away—

How amazing! Dickinson captures the intensity of deprivation by reflecting on how the memory of hunger magnifies the value of being fed. What a wonderful acknowledgment that the experience of lack—physical, emotional, or spiritual—sharpens the appreciation of fulfillment when it finally arrives.

It seems to me that this principle extends beyond poetry and nature into our own lives, where a degree of deprivation–let me emphasize, a degree of deprivation–can lead to greater appreciation, personal growth, and overall well-being.

For example, I’ve been practicing 16:8 intermittent fasting for a while now, an approach that’s believed to promote better health, improve metabolic function, and increase longevity. So far, it seems to be working. More importantly, it’s made me more mindful of what I eat and has given me a deeper appreciation for my meals. Instead of mindlessly grazing, I savor what I’m eating—turning each meal into something I look forward to and genuinely enjoy.

When it comes to my material possessions, it’s a challenge for me to embrace minimalism, but I am discovering that living with fewer possessions is helping me focus more on what truly matters to me, it’s reducing my stress, and it’s increasing my overall satisfaction. In essence, deprivation from constant consumption is giving me true gratitude for the plenty that I already have.

When it comes to taking breaks from technology and media, I agree that doing so can improve mental health, enhance sleep quality, boost productivity, and lead to more meaningful personal interactions. So here’s what I’ve done. I’ve given up entirely on television, and I don’t miss it at all. However, there’s no way–there’s just no way–that I’m cutting back on my Smartphone usage. After all, that technology provides you with my blog post every Monday, just like clockwork!

So let me move on quickly to another area where some deprivation does me some good. I’m thinking about the discomfort that comes through physical exercise. I’ve biked indoors and outdoors for decades, and for the first thirty minutes or so, it’s as painful now as ever, but I know that through the pain, I am growing stronger.

And, believe it or not, I even like stepping away from luxury and convenience from time to time. For example, I still take military showers just as I did in my graduate school days to cut back on my water consumption. Guess what else? Sometimes, it’s a cold shower. It’s a way to reset my expectations and make my everyday comforts more enjoyable.

There are, of course, other areas of life where a little deprivation can go a long way. Take social interaction, for example. I really like being with people, but now that I’m reinventing myself, I’m not with as many people as I used to be. However, I’m finding that my periods of solitude and reduced social interactions give me space to think, to reflect, and to tap into creativity that I might overlook in the bustle of daily life. The truth is, when I do spend time with others after a spell of solitude, those interactions feel richer and more meaningful. It’s as if the time apart makes connection all the sweeter.

And what about our leisure time? Yes, even fun has its limits. Limiting our leisure time can actually make us more productive and help us value those moments of rest more deeply. It’s all about balance, right? Even sensory deprivation can heighten awareness. I don’t have a float tank, but through meditation, I’ve found that stepping away from the chatter–external and internal–opens up a space for deeper relaxation and, more importantly, inner peace.

When it comes to desires and wants, holding back just a little, whether it’s with food, entertainment, or indulgent pleasures, sharpens my self-control and satisfaction. Deprivation, in this sense, helps me better understand what truly brings happiness.

It’s all about small degrees of deprivation. The challenge is to find the sweet spot that allows us to strike the right balance and rediscover the beauty in what we often overlook. Just as the bougainvillea’s vibrant blooms spring from the stress of scarcity, so too can our lives blossom when we lean into the strength that comes from having less. It’s in those moments of restraint that we gain clarity, grow stronger, and truly flourish.

Hot Off the Press! MORE WIT AND WISDOM! Order Your Copy Today!

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“What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.”

—Gabriel García Márquez (1927-2014; Colombian novelist, short-story writer, screenwriter, and journalist, widely regarded as one of the most significant authors of the 20th century; the quote is from his Living to Tell the Tale, 2003.)

The wait is over! More Wit and Wisdom: Another Year of Foolin’ Around in Bed has made its marketplace debut in paperback and Kindle formats and is available right now on Amazon. But hold on! It gets better. In a few short days, the hardcover edition of More Wit and Wisdom will hit the shelves, too, completing the triumphant trio of formats available for your reading (and gifting) pleasure.

But you know me! Time’s always a wastin’, and I want to picture you right now, tomorrow, or maybe even yesterday, flipping through the pages of More Wit and Wisdom, feeling the hefty weight of wisdom and humor in your very own hands or flicking your thumb across Kindle’s luminous screen, the pages gliding past with a satisfying whoosh.

Take a gander at the book’s cover:

(Cover, All Formats)

That’s me, right there, front and center, no doubt humming, “Hey, look, ma! I made it!” Well, I’m not sure about that, but it sure looks to me as if I’m on my way to do some work, somewhere. Why else would I be carrying a push plow and totin’ a can of Pledge and a jar of sourdough starter? Sure beats me! I guess you’ll have to ask Mike Caplanis, artist extraordinaire, who did the cover caricature. Or, when you buy the book, you’ll have to read “Sit Down. No, I Can’t Sit Down” (155-60), Mike’s inspiration for the cover. Then you can ask TheWiredResearcher, who thinks up all these shenanigans and has the nerve to send them out into the world, (un)dressed as they are. Obviously, they (k)no(w) no shame.

But far more important than my playful hype is this. When you buy a copy (or three) of More Wit and Wisdom, you’re helping me pay it forward in two major ways.

First, I’m betting that at least one educator in your life has made a lasting impact on you. More Wit and Wisdom is dedicated to educators around the globe:

(Dedication Page, All Formats)

Why not give a copy to the teacher who helped transform your life? Don’t forget to inscribe it with your own personal note.

Second, when you buy a copy for yourself, family, friends, and colleagues, remember this: every book that you buy is helping students further their education. Yes. You heard it right. Every penny made from book sales will go to the Student Success Fund at Laurel Ridge Community College. This is my small way of paying it forward.

(From the Copyright Page, All Formats)

Aside from helping students and thanking educators, check out the advance praise for More Wit and Wisdom.

From the Dustjacket (Hardcover Format)

Are those awesome comments or what? It seems to me that two college presidents (Thanks, Cheryl and Ski!), one dean (Thanks, Morgan!), two college professors (Thanks, Elaine and Jenni!), and one lawyer (Thanks, Frank!) ought to know a good book when one sneaks up on them in bed! If you don’t want to take their word, surely, you’ll believe my niece/goddaughter who is, of course, neutral in her comments (Thanks, Janet!).

Say what? You don’t believe one word of it? Well, buy your own copy of More Wit and Wisdom today and decide for yourself!

And don’t forget: Book Buy = Student Support!

Roll Out the Red Carpet!

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“In a world where we can be anything, let’s choose to walk the red carpet of life with kindness, grace, and a sprinkle of stardust.”

–Lady Gaga (b. 1986, Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta; a Grammy Award-winning singer, songwriter, and actress known for her groundbreaking music, bold fashion choices, and advocacy for social justice issues; one of the most influential and iconic figures in contemporary pop culture, captivating audiences worldwide with her unique blend of creativity and authenticity.)

Hey, y’all. Come here, curl up real close to me, get comfy, and listen while I purr. I need to share something with you that I simply dare not share with the world at large. But since you’re special and know how to keep secrets, I’ll share it with y’all. Okay? So, get close while I whisper my secret in your ear:

“The other day, I was lying on my sofa, all innocent and quiet like, and right out of the blue, I was smitten, right there in my living room, in broad daylight! Can you imagine?”

Well, I couldn’t imagine it either, mainly because it came on so sudden like. I mean. I was just lying there, and then Shazam! I had been smitten! Well, actually, that shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise. I’m smitten easily, and I’m smitten hard. Hopefully, you are, too. Right now, I’m smitten by the gorgeous moss, harbinger of an early spring, greening itself in my Koi Pond Waterfalls. I’m smitten, too, by the online photography course I’m taking so that I can take better photographs with my new Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra. I continue to be smitten by advances in AI, especially by Aloha, a housekeeping humanoid who can cook and clean. (If you dissed me when I announced my Caden last November, I guess I’m getting the first laugh. Ready to hop on board? There’s room!) And, in case you’re wondering–and I know, I just know that some of you are–I have not been smitten by any of the studmuffins who failed to find their way into Anne Lamott’s life or into mine during our respective flings with online dating apps. (For her account, see “My Year on Match.com”; for mine, which matters far more and is really the only one that matters at all, see “My Year on Unmatched.com.”)

I cannot speak for Lamott, but I remain hopeful. I am doing my best to smite the frog at my kitchen door with regular, passionate kisses so that I can practice my pucker and stay in shape. Who knows? I might just have an opportunity to be smitten by a prince. (Princes like good kissers. Just sayin’.)

No doubt you’re wondering what the hell I’ve been smitten by, aside from my nonsense. Chill. I’m about to tell you.

I’ve been smitten by a red carpet. Mind you, though, it’s not just any ole red carpet. It’s THA red carpet that gets rolled out right in front of you to seduce you into a waltz with destiny, leaving you breathless with anticipation and a sprinkle of stardust in your eyes.

Yep. I’m a smitten kitten. Hear me purr? But here’s the thing. The glamour of rolling out the red carpet goes all the way back to ancient Greece, where it was mentioned in Aeschylus’ play Agamemnon describing the king’s return home after winning a battle. His wife Clytemnestra says to him, “Now my beloved, step down from your chariot, and let not your foot, my lord, touch the Earth. Servants, let there be spread before the house he never expected to see … a crimson path.”

Despite its ancient heritage, it was not until the early 20th century that rolling out the red carpet became associated with celebrities and VIPs, particularly in the entertainment industry. The first known reference to a red carpet being used at the premiere of a movie dates back to 1922, when it was laid out for the opening of the Egyptian Theatre in Hollywood.

Since then, the red carpet has become synonymous with prestige, glamour, and exclusivity, particularly at award shows, movie premieres, and high-profile parties. It’s often used to signify that the individuals walking on it are special guests deserving of special treatment and attention.

That certainly was the case during this year’s Grammy Awards, as the red carpet sizzled with music’s biggest stars like Taylor Swift and SZA. Amidst wardrobe changes and rehearsals, the red carpet set the stage for unforgettable fashion moments.

Beyond Hollywood, the red carpet is used in various other contexts as a symbol of importance, honor, and VIP treatment. I dare say that each of us, at one time or another, has said to ourselves or to someone else “I want to roll out the red carpet” to celebrate someone or to jazz up a special occasion.

You’ve probably had enough of my caterwaul, so I’d better roll out THA red carpet that turned me into a smitten kitten. Meow, meow, meow, purr, purr, purr, meow, meow, purr, purr, meow, purr, MEOW!

Like I said, I was lying on my sofa in broad daylight, amusing myself with some TikTok videos when out of nowhere a video featuring Opatija, a picturesque coastal town in Croatia, popped up on my smartphone. But it wasn’t just any ordinary kind of video. It was a red-carpet tourism video, weaving together a rich tapestry of emotions, triumphs, and shared moments. The taglines alone speak volumes:

● Exploring the vibrant tapestry of choices on the red carpet, where every step unveils a world of possibilities.

● In this beautiful world, imagine if every moment mirrored a red carpet affair—filled with smiles, hugs, and unbridled happiness. Let’s choose to embrace the elegance of joy in every step we take.

● Witness the unexpected on the red carpet—a celebration of diversity, love, and transformation.

● Imagine if every moment mirrored a red-carpet affair—filled with smiles, hugs, and unbridled happiness. Let’s choose to embrace the elegance of joy in every step we take.

Typically, a man appears suddenly and rolls out a red carpet in public places, such as sidewalks or parks, treating unsuspecting strangers as if they were celebrities, complete with photographers, fans, and sometimes even limousines. Without fail, the reactions and interactions with the new celebs are amusing and heartwarming, often catching people off guard with the unexpected VIP treatment. The goal is to capture genuine reactions and create humorous situations, so they often approach anyone who happens to be in the vicinity of where they set up the red carpet. This approach helps keep the content unpredictable and inclusive, as they showcase reactions from a variety of individuals.

Typically, the people who walk the red carpet in the videos seem to be surprised by what is happening. Almost always, they are hesitant to step onto the red carpet after it has been rolled out in front of them, even as the tall young man extends his arm graciously and invitingly. Their movements are cautious, almost as if they’re tiptoeing into unfamiliar territory. Their expressions betray a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity, unsure of what awaits them as they traverse this unexpected path. Each step is tentative, as if testing the ground beneath them for stability.

Yet, as they progress further along the scarlet pathway, something remarkable begins to happen. A subtle shift occurs in their demeanor, a gradual transformation fueled by the energy of the moment. Their apprehension gives way to wonder. Their eyes light up with newfound excitement and anticipation. With each stride, they seem to shed the weight of their doubts, stepping into a realm where anything is possible.

As they walk across the red carpet, a sense of liberation washes over them, freeing them from the constraints of everyday life. In this fleeting moment, they are not defined by their roles or responsibilities but by the sheer exhilaration of the experience. Laughter bubbles forth, spontaneous and unrestrained, as they embrace the joy of the unexpected.

Amidst the vibrant tapestry of emotions, the little dramas of life begin to unfold. Strangers become companions, sharing stories and forging connections that transcend the fleeting encounter. Inhibitions are cast aside, replaced by an unbridled sense of camaraderie and belonging. It’s as if the red carpet has become a stage, and they are the stars of their own impromptu performance.

In the end, as they step off the red carpet, their spirits are buoyed by this enchanting journey. Though they return to the routine of their daily lives, they carry with them the indelible imprint of this extraordinary moment—a reminder that magic can be found in the most unexpected places, if only we dare to take that first step.

“Dare to take that first step. “

We can look at that statement in two ways. The people in these little dramas have to dare to take that first step onto the red carpet. Then, and only then, can these magical transformations take place, even if only for a few moments. But let’s not forget the other individuals who are involved in these little dramas: the Croatian video team, who time and time again, dare to roll out the red carpet for strangers whom they encounter. Without the video team, strangers could not become stars.

I cannot help but wonder what our own little corners of our world would be like if we spent some time thinking about ways that we dare roll out the metaphorical red carpet before strangers whom we encounter in our own lives.

It could be as simple as sincerely complimenting someone on something positive about them. Whether it’s their style, smile, or skill, our words can brighten their day. For instance, we might notice someone’s vibrant scarf and express admiration for how it complements their outfit. Their initial surprise might give way to a smile of appreciation, boosting their confidence and spreading warmth.

It could be as simple as performing small, random acts of kindness without expecting anything in return. It could be as simple as holding the door open for someone, helping carry groceries, or simply offering a friendly smile. Imagine seeing someone struggling with heavy bags and offering assistance without hesitation. Their gratitude and relief could radiate as they realize there are still caring strangers in the world.

It could be as simple as striking up conversations with people we encounter in our daily lives. This could be as straightforward as asking how their day is going or commenting on something happening in the community. Picture starting a conversation with someone standing in line at the grocery store and sharing a laugh over a funny observation. Our genuine interest and friendliness might brighten their day and foster a sense of connection.

As I continue to be smitten by the transformative allure of the Opatija tourism videos, where a mere red carpet, a lens, and the sincere desire to infuse fleeting moments with joy can ignite profound change, I am stirred to contemplate our collective capacity to impact the lives of strangers. Perhaps, in our quest to touch hearts, we need not seek grand gestures. Perhaps all that we need to do is strive to live our lives as radiant beacons of kindness and warmth so that with every interaction, we joyfully roll out the red carpet.

My Year on Unmatched.com

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Ooh, somebody, ooh (somebody)
Anybody find me somebody to love?
(Can anybody find me someone to love)

–Freddie Mercury (1946-1991; legendary British singer-songwriter, best known as the charismatic frontman of the band Queen; the quote is from their song “Somebody to Love.”)

Some people say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Maybe so. Personally, I’ve never been one to imitate. I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum. Yet, way back in 2013, I ran across an essay by Anne Lamott, a New York Times best-selling author and one of my favorite writers. The title was straight to the point: “My Year on Match.com.” In case you don’t know about Match.com, don’t feel bad. At that time, I didn’t either. I’m not certain that I had even heard about it. After all, I was happily partnered and had no desire to know about online dating apps. But I like Lamott a lot and decided to read the essay to find out whether she succeeded in spicing up her life with a studmuffin that she picked up on a dating app.

As I expected, Lamott was as candid, witty, reflective, and self-deprecating as I had always found her to be. Indeed, her essay builds upon her experiences using an online dating app, but she takes it up a notch by exploring themes of self-discovery, resilience, and the importance of authenticity in relationships. It’s a well-structured essay as well as an entertaining read, so I started using it in my Creative Writing classes. It seemed to me that my students couldn’t do better than to imitate Lamott’s memoir style of writing.

Fast forward nearly a decade, and I found myself imitating Lamott, too, in a roundabout way. My partner had died at the start of 2021, and two years or so into my grieving, I started thinking that maybe I should try dating once again. Why not? Doing so would in no way diminish the special relationship that Allen and I had for 20 years. Doing so would in no way diminish the love that we shared and the love that I still feel. Irreplaceable is just that: irreplaceable.

At the same time, like all human beings, I crave companionship and connection, someone with whom I can share experiences, conversations, and life’s moments. Dating might do just that. Equally important, it would be great to have someone who understands, accepts, and offers a sense of emotional security. Dating might do just that. And let’s not forget about being able to engage in shared interests and activities, which can bring joy, excitement, vibrancy, and fulfillment to daily life. Gardening. Cooking. Hiking. Embracing. Kissing. Snuggling. Dating might do just that.

Those notions aren’t new ones for me. If you follow my blog regularly–and I am confident that you do–you will recall that I’ve written about this dating thingy already in my “Dating after Twenty-Three.” Obviously, there’s no way–there’s just no way–that I could have written a post as silly as that one without giving some serious thought to the prospect of getting back out there into the dating scene. You bet. I had.

Those ponderings were fueled, in part, by Lamott’s essay. After all, she and I have lots in common. We’re both writers. (All right, fine. I’m not a New York Times best-selling author, yet.) She’s single. I’m single. She’s looking for a man. I’m looking for a man. She wrote about her online dating experience, and here I am writing about mine. Her essay appeared in Salon. Well, mine is appearing here in my blog. Who knows. With luck, it might get picked up by The Advocate or Out Magazine or even Queerty. Simply put, I figured that if Lamott could bring dating apps into my world, so too could I bring them into your world.

However, I confess. Thinking about joining a dating app frightened the hell out of me. It was frightening for Lamott, too:

“I’d done so many scary things in my life, but this might be the scariest. At the age of 58, I joined a dating site.”

That sentence caused me to ghost Lamott for a while. I was downright nasty:

“Stop whining, Anne! You’re a SWF ISO SWM. So what if you’re 58? You can look ahead and behind and find some good stuffds.

“Try being a 76-year-old GWM ISO GWM in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

“Then and only then can you talk about scary.”

All right. I realize that maybe I need to pause here and explain some of those initialisms that I just tossed out. They might be as new to you as they were to me before I tried this online dating thingy.

● SWF ISO SWM stands for Single White Female in Search of Single White Male.

● GWM ISO GWM stands for Gay White Male in Search of Gay White Male.

And, please, please, please, let me explain one more initialism for you in case life makes you take up with a dating app. RN does not stand for Registered Nurse as I, in my naïveté, believed. It stands for Right Now. I will say no more. But I will advise you to be cautious of that initialism unless, of course, you’re looking for RN.

Then, of course, there’s another initialism I should warn you about in case you decide you’re going to imitate me. Dating is fine and dandy, but what I’m really looking for is a date that might become a serious and meaningful relationship that might lead to a Long-Term Relationship. Toward that end and with the intent to be fully candid and transparent, I included LTR in my profile. Bad move. I discovered that in many circles, LTR stands for Leather. Now I know. Now they know. I limit mine to my shoes, my belt, and my book bag. My profile now reads: “ISO meaningful dates leading to possible Long-Term Relationship.”

Finding out the deeper meaning of LTR and RN might well be my most frightening discovery in my online dating experience. I mean, after all, I fell for it. At my age, who wouldn’t look more than once at a man who’s a registered nurse. Well, he wasn’t, and I’m still lookin’.

Notwithstanding near-encounters of the casual, leather kind, I’ve been imitating Lamott for nearly a year, and I certainly have a thing or three to share, and I’ll do so right here, right now. So, let’s see. How shall I begin to spit out all the butt-ends of my dating ways? It’s simple. I’ll begin at the beginning when I, armed with nothing but a smartphone, unbelievable naïveté that borders on stupidity, and a questionable sense of humor, tackled a virtual world of dating sites, each boasting to be the ultimate game-changer. Check out their come-ons:

● Love: Only a Click Away. (This might have been where I was introduced to RN.)

● Start Your Love Story Today. (Sadly, everybody out there seems to have a love story. Most are tragedies.)

● There’s much more fun after 50. (Says who? Take me to your leader. RN.)

● A shared interest is just the beginning. (Yep. I’m pretty sure this is where I found LTR. Not shared. Not interested. Next.)

● This is the year to focus on yourself, boost confidence, and attract genuine connections! (Sure. 899 views and 12 likes. What a confidence booster. Those numbers really pump me up.)

● It’s never too late to experience the beauty of togetherness. Join today and find that special someone who will make “together” your favorite place to always be. (Sweet. Sure. Gimme time to buy some Velcro.)

● Don’t waste more time on casual flings. See who our experts match you with, for free. Take our free compatibility quiz today!

I learned fast that the assessments tend to be pretty reliable. I learned even faster that “free” isn’t. What’s the point of belonging to a dating app if I can’t see profile photos and can’t message? If you want to see and if you want to say, get ready to pay. Like I said, “free” isn’t. Everything comes with a price, including online dating.

Then, I learned that online dating isn’t as secure as I expected. Scammers sneak under the radar. Check out this one.

“Hey. I just met my new boyfriend. Otherwise, I’d like to connect with you. But I showed your profile to a friend who likes you a lot and lives near you.  Here’s his email: IHopeYouFallforThis.net.”

What else? Despite the sophisticated assessments and matching algorithms, all of my matches around my own age look like frogs! As for the ones that make my heart pitter-patter, most are in California or New York City. But guess what? Those potential matches are usually way younger than my age preference. I’m not interested in guys under 45. Forty-five is calculated based on a scientifically established compatibility formula: half my age plus 7. Anyway, some of those guys nearly threw me into AFib because sometimes they threw me a wink or a smile. But here’s the thing. Just as soon as I revived myself with smelling salts and mustered up the courage to return a smile, they had disappeared. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve decided to use my own formula for calculating the lower compatibility age for my dates. I’m thinking along the lines of half my age + half my age + “guaranteed annuity.”

Don’t get me wrong. I have had some near successes. I’m thinking about the match who was a year older than I, had a chiseled face, and checked off all the right boxes in all the right places. He kept me awake, dreaming about endless possibilities until I dozed off with endless possibilities chasing me in my sleep. I “liked” all of his attributes. He “liked” all of mine, too. We were a perfect mutual admiration society. What did I do the next morning? What did I do? I logged back on to suggest a real-time date. And what did I discover? What did I discover? He had deleted his profile. Next.

Not to despair, though. One match remains, and one is all that it takes. Plus, he’s not a frog. Actually, he’s damned handsome and super butch. More, our compatibility scores are off the charts. I look and look and look. Yep. He seems perfect. But he’s three hours away, and he seems as cautious as I. Nonetheless, we’ve exchanged a smile or two, a “like” or two, and a message or two. Right now, I’m waiting to see whether he responds to my message that I sent him this morning inviting him to lunch. Rest assured, I have a strategy for how we can meet in the middle for a grand lunch, assuming that he answers and that his profile has not disappeared when I attempt to reply.

While I wait, hoping for the courtesy of his reply, if I were asked to rate my online dating experience so far, I would give it a big fat zero. Dating experience? When? Where? Oh, to be sure. I’ve had a few entertaining Vibe Checks via secure video. By mutual agreement, they did not lead to dates. Through one, however, I now have a newfound daily messaging buddy.

Believe it or not, I’ve actually had some fun. Right now, for example, Unmatched.com seems to be recycling all the profiles. I look. I scream:

“Seen them all! Seen them all already.”

Does it matter if I “liked” him in the past? Maybe his memory isn’t as good as mine. Maybe this time around, he’ll “like” me back. Hope springs eternal.

Also, I’ve learned a lot. I mean, really. I have. I just need to stop liking every Tom, Dick, and Harry coming down the app. Also, I think that I would much rather be in a bar seeing the eye-candy in person and in action. But, hey, I would probably end up with one drink too many and find myself at home with one of the frogs that I’ve managed to avoid successfully online.

But you know what else? Through all the ups and downs, the frogs and fleeting connections, I’ve discovered a treasure trove of emotions that transcend the swipe of a screen. Whether it’s the warmth of a genuine conversation, the laughter sounded over shared interests, or the spark ignited by a thoughtful message, each interaction reminds me of the beauty that surrounds me.

As I reflect on my journey through online dating, I’m reminded of the longing for companionship, connection, and shared experiences that initially spurred me into this adventure. Yet, amidst this pursuit, I realize the importance of staying true to myself. I know now more than ever that I’ve never been one to imitate. I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum, and that’s a rhythm I intend to continue, joyfully chanting my blessings. My entire life has been filled with love, joy, and contentment. Until Mr. Right arrives, I revel in my autonomy, finding joy in my passions and savoring life’s pleasures independently. This journey has taught me the beauty of self-discovery and embracing life’s twists with open arms.

Cheers to adventure! Cheers to never losing sight of the magic, even on Unmatched.com.

Embracing Your Inner Cupid: A Valentine’s Day Journey of Self-Love

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I’ll tell you how the Sun rose – 
A Ribbon at a time – 
The Steeples swam in Amethyst – 
The news, like Squirrels, ran – 

The Hills untied their Bonnets – 
The Bobolinks – begun –
Then I said softly to myself –
“That must have been the Sun”!

But how he set – I know not –
There seemed a purple stile
That little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while – 

Till when they reached the other side – 
A Dominie in Gray – 
Put gently up the evening Bars – 
And led the flock away –

–Emily Dickinson (1830-1866; one of the most important and influential poets in American literature).

I almost never devote an entire blog post to a special occasion. Well, now that I think about it, I suppose that I have done so on a handful of occasions. I’m thinking of my “Old Anchors for the New Year;” “Memories of Christmas in the Country;” and “A Halloween Obsession.” Then, of course, I recall posts that I wrote on my birthday last year and the year before: “Happy Birthday Me! My Journey from Machines to Artificial Intelligence” and “Hor(r)o(r)scopic Contemplations.”

Yes. I really do consider my birthday to be a special occasion. And, yes, as I have disclosed before with candor and transparency, I really do buy myself birthday gifts in advance. I have them wrapped in over-the-top paper and tied in fancy ribbons and bows. I include a note reminding myself of what an extraordinarily special and one-of-a-kind guy that I am. Then I hide the gifts so that I’ll be surprised on my special day. If I don’t love myself, how can others love me? That’s true for you, too. Love yourself.

Actually, reflecting on self-love and my birthday posts is what got me to thinking about today’s post. Many people struggle with self-love because of negative self-perceptions, comparison to others, fear of selfishness, and emotional baggage. However, we need to remember that self-love is essential for our overall well-being, and we need to prioritize self-care, self-compassion, and self-acceptance. By cultivating a deeper sense of love and appreciation for ourselves, we can experience greater resilience, fulfillment, and authenticity.

What better time of year to show ourselves some self-love than on Valentine’s Day, which is fast upon us, heralding a flurry of romantic gestures and heartfelt sentiments. Obviously, Valentine’s Day is associated with romantic love and expressions of affection between couples and lovers. Obviously, too, Valentine’s Day has morphed over time to encompass broader expressions of love and affection, including friends and family. We’re talking more than 250 million roses; more than 150 million cards; more than 36 million heart-shaped boxes of chocolate; millions of romantic dinners out at fancy restaurants; and lots of gifts, averaging around $196 each.

Cards. Roses. Chocolates. Dinner. Gifts. All for special people on Valentine’s Day.

I hope that you show the special people in your life how much you love them on Valentine’s Day. Showing others that we love them nurtures the roots of connection, fostering a sense of belonging and solidarity that transcends boundaries and enriches our shared human experience.

I hope that those who think you’re special show their love for you on Valentine’s Day. It’s good to be reminded that we are valued, worthy of affection, and capable of inspiring joy in others. In the embrace of love, we find the courage to flourish, to reach higher, and to bloom into the fullest expression of ourselves.

But, more, I hope that you take time in the midst of these Valentine’s Day gestures, coming and going, to wrap your arms around yourself and to remind yourself of how special you are. Celebrate your own inner Cupid. Loving yourself nurtures the roots of your being. Loving yourself helps you cultivate resilience. Loving yourself helps you find solace in your own company. Loving yourself helps you embrace the beauty of your imperfections and your brokenness. Loving yourself radiates outward and brightens the world around you.

With that in mind, let me offer you a little gift that might help you move a little closer toward self-love. It’s an Emily Dickinson poem. It has nothing to do with love, yet it has everything to do with love. I was smitten as soon as I thought of the poem, and it occurred to me that the lines of her poem, expanded with some prose of my own, might serve as a compass to guide you through the day. Let her words coupled with mine serve as a roadmap to self-discovery and love. So, amidst the bustling festivities, let this post be a steadfast companion–a suitor if you will–illuminating your path. I hope that in some small way, it helps you find the inspiration and courage that you might need to walk in harmony throughout the day with your inner Cupid. Be bold. Put your one hand in the other and hold tight. In loving yourself, you will unlock the boundless potential within, paving the way for a Valentine’s Day filled not only with outward expressions of affection but also with a profound sense of self-worth and empowerment.

§    §    §

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose –

Maybe start your Valentine’s Day by getting up early so that you can see the sun rise. Then enjoy your favorite breakfast. Go ahead: indulge in a sugar splurge of heart-shaped pancakes and maple syrup. Damn! Why not include a large caramel latte? Do whatever you want that best suits you, but be sure to take time to appreciate yourself and your journey.

A Ribbon at a time

After breakfast, take a moment to reflect on your journey of self-discovery and growth. Here’s a wild idea, but it’s no more outlandish that my buying birthday gifts for myself. Cut ribbons to celebrate each major step forward in your life, each lesson learned, and each milestone reached in your journey of self-love and acceptance. Write affirmations on the ribbons and tie them around items in your home as reminders of your worth and inner strength. Let the ribbons reign supreme for a few days. Turn on a ceiling fan and let them flutter in the breeze. See how you feel.

The Steeples swam in Amethyst –

Look out your windows and really take time to see what you see. What’s out there, inviting you? Maybe go outdoors and commune with nature. Believe it or not, Nature will hear you and will respond to your need whatever it may be. Let the morning light bathe you in all of your favorite colors, real and imagined. Be reminded of how important it is to nurture your own spirit. Be present and grounded in the beauty of the world around you and appreciate the love that you have for yourself.

The news like Squirrels ran –

When you get back home, focus on the knowledge and information that you need to nourish your mind and soul. Engage with the world around you, staying informed and educated, knowing that self-awareness and personal growth are integral parts of self-love. Spend some time learning something new or engaging in a hobby that brings you joy and happiness.

The Hills untied their Bonnets –

Hopefully, you’re starting to feel rejuvenated. Go ahead and let your hair down, perhaps literally and metaphorically. Celebrate your independence and ability to thrive on your own, nurturing the love you have for yourself.

The Bobolinks begun –

In the afternoon, listen to the rhythm of your own heartbeat and dance naked with yourself in front of a mirror. Embrace the freedom to be yourself fully and unapologetically. Remind yourself that happiness comes from within and that true fulfillment is found in embracing who you are rather than in forcing yourself to be who others would have you be.

Then I said softly to myself –

As the day draws to a close, whisper sweet nothings to yourself, Practice self-affirmations and positive self-talk: “I am enough.” “I embrace my worthiness.” “I am deserving of love and happiness.”

That must have been the Sun!

As the sun sets on Valentine’s Day, let yourself thrill to the realization that you have witnessed the unknown: the sun! Remind yourself that even on the cloudiest of days and even in the darkest of times, your inner light is bright and can lead. Be grateful for the love you have for yourself, knowing that it is the foundation upon which all other love is built.

How he set – I know not –

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the world, remind yourself that you don’t need to know everything. Sometimes, it’s enough just to witness the beauty of a sunset or the laughter of a child or the feeling of warmth from a hug.

There seemed a purple stile

In the evening light, envision the steps that you have climbed in your life, the steps that led you to greater heights of self-discovery and acceptance. Be reminded that the path may be winding and uncertain, but it is also filled with possibilities. Lean in and ready yourself for whatever lies ahead.

That little Yellow boys and girls

Embrace your inner child and celebrate aspects of yourself that are playful, curious, and full of joy. Blow bubbles. Watch as they float and pop. Have a pillow fight with an imaginary friend. Fall asleep reading yourself a bedtime story out loud.

Were climbing all the while–

As you climb higher and higher towards a greater sense of self-awareness and self-acceptance, your journey may be challenging at times, but it is also deeply rewarding. Recognize the strength and resilience within yourself as you continue to climb towards greater self-love and acceptance.

Till when they reached the other side –

Day by day, you will make progress, and eventually, your self-love will bring you closer and closer to living authentically and wholeheartedly.

A Dominie in Gray –

Be your own Dominie–your own teacher–guiding you with compassion and insight as you navigate the complexities of loving yourself fully and unconditionally. Acknowledge the presence of your inner guide and teacher and trust their wisdom and guidance.

Put gently up the evening Bars –

As the evening descends, embrace the idea of setting boundaries and creating space for self-care and reflection. Let the evening bars remind you to honor your own needs and prioritize your well-being, knowing that self-love requires nurturing and protection.

And led the flock away –

As you bid farewell to the day, gently wrap your arms around yourself, give yourself the big hug that you deserve, and enjoy some of those scrumptious chocolates that hopefully you put on your pillow, just for you. You deserve them.

§    §    §

Valentine’s Day will come, and Valentine’s Day will go. Yet, we can carry forward the love. By loving ourselves wholly and unconditionally, we not only enrich our own lives but also, we inspire others to do the same. May every day be filled with self-love, self-compassion, and self-acceptance. May we awaken every day to “I’ll tell you how the sun rose” as a gentle reminder to embrace our inner Cupid who resides within forever.