MSI Press Blog

  We often talk about mindfulness as a solo practice: breath, body, silence. But in a household like mine—multi-generational, multi-family, multi-cat—mindfulness is relational. It’s the pause before reacting. The breath before interrupting. The noticing of someone’s tone, not just their words. Mindfulness in relationships isn’t about being perfectly calm or endlessly patient. It’s about being awake to the moment we’re in together. It’s the difference between “I’m listening” and “I hear you.” Between “I’m here” and “I’m with you.” In caregiving, mindfulness is the split-second awareness that someone’s cough isn’t just a cough. In friendship, it’s the quiet attunement to what’s not being said. In community, it’s the willingness to be changed by what we learn from each other. Mindfulness doesn’t isolate—it connects. It’s not just a tool for stress reduction; it’s a practice of presence that makes relationships more honest, more resilient, more alive. So today, I’m not meditating ...

  If you’ve ever made a snap decision based on a gut feeling—whether to trust a stranger, dodge a goat, or say yes to a second helping of pie—you’ve tapped into one of the oldest survival tools in our species’ toolkit: emotion. Long before spreadsheets and strategic plans, our ancestors relied on feelings to navigate danger, forge alliances, and choose where to build the next fire. Emotions weren’t distractions from rational thought—they were the scaffolding that made thought possible. 🧠 Emotions as Ancient Algorithms Fear, for example, isn’t just a nuisance—it’s a finely tuned alarm system. It evolved to help us detect threats faster than conscious reasoning could. Disgust? A microbial defense mechanism. Joy? A social glue that reinforced cooperation and trust. These emotions shaped decision-making long before language. They helped early humans decide whom to approach, what to eat, when to flee, and where to settle. In essence, emotions were the original decision-making soft...

  Let’s begin with a confession: I used to think emotions were like weather—unpredictable, inconvenient, and best endured quietly until they passed. I preferred the sturdiness of logic, the clarity of action, the safety of detachment. But somewhere between caregiving crises, spiritual retreats, and late-night porch conversations with my multigenerational household, I began to suspect that emotions weren’t interruptions to growth—they were the curriculum. Emotions as Teachers, Not Tourists We often treat emotions like uninvited guests. Anger? Slam the door. Grief? Hide the good china. Joy? Let it in, but only if it promises not to rearrange the furniture. But what if emotions aren’t visitors at all? What if they’re residents—part of the architecture of our inner lives? Personal growth isn’t a tidy staircase. It’s more like a spiral—revisiting old wounds with new wisdom, circling back to joy with deeper reverence. Emotions guide that spiral. They point to what matters, what hurts...