"Oops, Oh Well" — Statues, Striving, and the Peace In Between
Welcome to Treehouse Treasures and The Tree of Serendipity!
Climb into the Treehouse with me and discover a treasure that promises to be a gift you will cherish for ever!!
When I was a little girl, my mom made Christmas magical. I remember tiptoeing downstairs before sunrise, eager to discover what surprises waited in my stocking. Somehow, this simple morning ritual awakens that same childlike wonder. What beautiful gift is waiting to be discovered today?
I call it The Tree of Serendipity.
Yesterday, my tree offered Being Peace by Thich Nhat Hanh. Today, it opened to Mark Nepo's The Book of Awakening, to a passage exploring the choice between fame and peace. It asked a simple but profound question: What are we truly seeking?
As often happens, the books opened something much deeper than the words on the page.
Yesterday I found myself captivated by paintings of classical statues—especially Michelangelo's David. I've always loved statues, even weathered ones with missing hands or broken noses. They seem timeless, serene, untouched by the ordinary struggles of being human.
As I sat quietly, I asked myself, Why?
The answer surprised me.
Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I've been trying to become one myself.
Something beautiful that needs nothing.
Something unaffected by disappointment, longing, or grief.
A peaceful figure standing gracefully through every season.
I had to laugh.
Because that's impossible.
And maybe that's exactly the point.
The invitation isn't to become stone.
It's to discover that same stillness inside a living, breathing body that gets tired, longs to be loved, sheds unexpected tears, and occasionally forgets everything it knows.
There is something profoundly beautiful about the human body.
An artist spends months, sometimes years, carefully sculpting marble into the form of a human being because this body is worthy of such devotion. Yet how often do we look at our own aging bodies with criticism instead of reverence? We delight in the wrinkles of a Shar-Pei puppy or the sweet face of an old horse, yet struggle to extend that same tenderness toward ourselves.
What if our bodies are not problems to solve, but companions to love?
As I reflected on all of this, another question quietly emerged.
What is peace, really?
Is peace something we experience only after the perfect meditation, the mountain hike, the spotless home, or the healthiest meal?
Or can peace be found while washing dishes?
Driving to work.
Halfway through an unfinished project.
Standing in line at the grocery store.
I remembered a story about Mother Teresa. She was once invited to attend an anti-war rally. She declined, saying, "If you have a peace rally, I'll come."
That has stayed with me.
Perhaps peace isn't something we postpone until everything around us becomes peaceful.
Perhaps it is something we remember in the middle of ordinary life.
That feels very close to the heart of 1 Degree Up.
Not perfection.
Not performance.
Simply remembering.
Again and again.
Because we will forget.
We'll get swept away.
We'll say something we wish we hadn't. Skip the practice. Eat the thing we promised ourselves we wouldn't. Become impatient. Worry. Strive.
We'll be wonderfully, imperfectly human.
Years ago, during a Kundalini Yoga class, my teacher Ronnie offered one of the most liberating practices I've ever encountered.
As we shrugged our shoulders up toward our ears and released them again and again, she invited us to think about all the silly mistakes we'd made, all the moments we'd taken ourselves far too seriously.
With every exhale we simply smiled and said:
"Oops... oh well."
We laughed until our shoulders softened.
And I've carried those three little words with me ever since.
What a beautiful alternative to shame.
Oops.
Oh well.
Remember.
Return.
Begin again.
Maybe peace isn't the absence of forgetting.
Maybe peace is discovering how gently we can come home after we do.
Today, my Tree of Serendipity reminded me that peace is less about becoming someone extraordinary and more about giving our full attention to the ordinary beauty that has been waiting for us all along.
May we choose peace over performance.
May we offer ourselves the same kindness we so easily extend to the world around us.
And the next time life reminds us that we're beautifully human...
Oops.
Oh well.
Come home.
Have a Namaste. A Beautiful Day!
May All Beings Be Free. May All Beings Be Loved. May All Beings Be Safe.
