I still believe that less is more. But sometime less is, well, less.

But “less” and “more” are not apples to apples. It’s more like apples to rambutans. Or apples to kangaroo jerky. (Not that I’ve ever tried kangaroo jerky. Or a rambutan for that matter.)

I’ve written less, but I’ve worked more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve baked and cooked a lot more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve read more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve watched more HGTV. And TLC. Bravo, too. (Darn Housewives and their over the top, un-relatable melodramas.)

Less and more. Apples and rambutans. Writing and working and everything else. They need not be exclusive. They can not be exclusive. There’s room for it all.

It’s about balance. Taking a million (or more) teeny, tiny steps in the right direction. Saying no to the good–in order to make room for the great.

Oldest lesson in the book? Almost. Am I willing to give it another run? You bet.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because Rome wasn’t built in a day, ya know? (Photo by semuthutan via Creative Commons.)

I gave away the pretty, little emerald ring that my high school/college sweetheart gave to me for Christmas. It was a lovely ring—not tremendously fancy, but full of sentiment. It has been nearly 15 years since we parted ways. And for just as long, that little ring has sat unworn in my jewelry box. An unfortunate fate for something so pretty. 

So, after thinking about it for a few years, I decided it was time to find this ring a new home. Time to pass along the joy I experienced when I received this ring myself. Knowing it could brighten someone else’s holiday meant more to me than holding onto it. An energetic exchange. 

After posting an ad in the Free section on Craigslist, I received an e-mail from a mother whose family had recently lost all of their possessions in a house fire. Everyone escaped without harm; however, all of their creature comforts and sentimental belongings were lost. Perhaps this ring will begin a new collection of sentimental possessions. 

Her daughter, the soon-to-be owner of my ring, is a 12-year-old girl with sparkly eyes, slender fingers, and a wide smile. She came by my house with her father and younger brother to pick up a comfy leather chair and some holiday decorations that I was also giving away. Little did she know, in the pocket of her dad’s Patriots sweatshirt, was a small box containing something sparkly and special, especially for her. Her mother planned to put it under the Christmas tree with a note saying it was sent from an angel. 

I could rattle off a hundred reasons why I’m anything but an angel. I’m just been fortunate over the years to have bought and received a lot of lovely things, for which I am oh so grateful. 

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because gratitude goes both ways. 

All I want for Christmas is a Christmas card. Yes, a card. With a pretty picture on the front and words, penned by you, on the inside.

Heartfelt thoughts. Well wishes. Future plans. A remember-when story. Whatever feels right. Whatever feels true.

Sure, I like things. Cozy sweaters, sparkly jewelry, and decorative knick-knacks. I do. But really, I have plenty. Your words, however, are one of a kind. Something I can treasure forever.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because our mailboxes should be fillied with joy, not junk mail. (Photo by Aunt Owwee via Creative Commons.)

Oh, Pandora—you sneaky l’il matchmaker, you. Thank you for acquainting me with Ray LaMontagne. With Nickel Creek. Mick McAuley, too.

You noticed that I keep giving the thumbs-up to the artists with smoky, bluesy voices who bring a catchy beat to their tunes. Iron & Wine. The Swell Season. Joshua Radin. Bonus points for eloquent lyrics and the dips and swells of a violin accompaniment. Soulful music that catches me off guard and settles into me, deep. Transports me. Gives structure to feeling. Humbles me.

  “Don’t look for love in faces, places. It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find kindness.”                      –Ray LaMontagne

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because beauty is multisensory.  

Without the to-dos and distractions of the day all around me, my trusty yoga mat allows me to find my purpose—my raison d’être—time and again.

Tonight, cushioned by the unity and solitude of a room full of yogis, my breath merges with mantra:

I am . . . I can . . . I will . . . I did . . .

And then, this song comes up on the playlist—a sign, perhaps, from the iPod gods that everything is as it should be.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because you need not know your final destination in order to be on your way. (Photo by Em Kâ Bé via Creative Commons.)