How She Does It: Angela Santomero

Angela Santomero

Angela Santomero

Do you know Angela Santomero?  You might not.  But I bet you know her work, especially if you’re a parent.  Blues Clues?  Super Why?  Peep and the Big Wide World?  Angela created these characters and more.  It has been years since my children enjoyed those TV shows, but I’ll always feel a fondness for them.  In a very real way they accompanied my early years as a mother.  In addition to being the producer responsible for such great television hits, Angela is also the mother of two daughters.  She lives with them and her husband in Connecticut.

I was hugely honored when Angela agreed to participate in How She Does It (thank you to Samantha Ettus for putting us in touch.)  You can learn more about Angela, her work, and her thoughts on parenting at her website, Angela’s Clues.



Tell me about the first hour of your day?  (I often describe mine as being “fired out of a cannon”)

My husband does the heavy lifting in the morning. We get up and get our two girls out the door for school and then I get ready for work. I had started meditating for 10 minutes in the morning and have my “morning pages” journal by Julia Cameron on the side of my bed. But alas, as school started I have yet to do those things!

Do you have a work uniform that you rely on for getting dressed?  What is it?

For the Fall it’s usually a dress and tall boots!

How do you and your spouse reserve conflicts about scheduling?

The same way everyone does — we debate. But we debate Italian style!  :)

Do you second-guess yourself?  What do you do when that happens?

I have to remember to always trust my gut. My best decisions are the ones that I make from my intuition. I’ve always said that I studied and read every book about child development and then just “threw them away” and started writing from my gut. The truth is I need to be prepared and then to write from my passion.

What time do you go to bed?


Do you exercise?  If so, when?

I love yoga. I tend to go to more classes on the weekends than during the week.

Do you cook dinner for your kids?  Do you have go-to dishes you can recommend?

We make a mean veggie stir fry!  Varying the veggies and protein and sauce changes it up!

Do you have any sense of how your children feel about your working?

I know they feel proud. They have been to some of my talks where I get to thank them. And they love to see the entire production process and help out in it. My girls are 14 and 12 now so they have helped to give notes on scripts, storyboards, animation, and have even lent their voices for voice overs! They love seeing a bit of themselves on screen! I also know it’s hard when I travel or work late. FaceTime has been a godsend– I’ve been face timed out of meetings to check on next day outfits or haircuts or to hear the latest news in their lives.

What is the single piece of advice you would give another working mother?

Make your own rules with regard to your own kids and how you parent. Don’t follow anyone elses. And the best advice I was ever given was “you are the best parent when you don’t care what others think.”  Also, as a working mom, the ability to be flexible is key for me so I can be at as many things as possible.

And, inspired by Vanity Fair, a few quick glimpses into your life:

Favorite artist? Greg Santomero, my husband and Traci Paige Johnson, co creator of Blue’s Clues

Favorite jeans? AG

Shampoo you use? Kerastase and switch off with Peter Thomas Roth

Favorite book? The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron.

Favorite quote?  “Play is the work of childhood.” – Piaget

“Education is a dress rehearsal for life that is yours to lead.” – Nora Ephron

Favorite musician? Listening to a lot of Taylor Swift these days!

Favorite item (toy, clothing, or other) for your children?

My 12 year old:  her sewing machine

My 14 year old: her collection of Broadway playbills.

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

My writing life, and life’s only zero-sum resource


My favorite line from Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies, which I read this weekend.  I think you could say that a central task of adulthood for me has been stripping away whatever is unnecessary so that I can be sure to be present for the small and the daily, which is where I find life.

On my post marking nine years of blogging (O.M.G.) I asked if there were specific things people wanted to hear about.  More than one person asked a version of how do I balance it, how do I make time for writing, how do I juggle the various responsibilities that are a part of my life.  And then, about a month ago, a reader and friend wrote me an email with some more questions about making time for writing and it felt right to answer these queries in a post.

I’ve written about time before.  It’s one of the themes I circle around, like a black hole, drawn inexorably into its orbit.  I believe firmly that time is life’s only true zero-sum resource.  My life is replete with both joys and responsibilities.  I work full time.  I have limited childcare because I want to be Grace and Whit’s primary caretaker.  I don’t have a lot of help with household tasks and I am responsible for most domestic chores.  I keep a pad of paper on my desk, between my two computers (I have a laptop for work and a laptop for personal things, on which I do my writing and my blogging).  On that pad of paper is a running to-do list for household/life things, and I fill the page every couple of days.  I’m looking at it right now, and it says: UPS store, laundry, Whole Foods, Grace Thanksgiving food contribution, birthday card to Alexandra, post office, dry cleaner, order holiday gifts for godchildren, send book to Gloria.

One thing I know for sure is everybody feels busy.  No matter what our lives consist of, they all feel full.  And this feeling is all that matters.  I don’t participate in the societal glorification of busy that I see all around me, and I refuse to compare my life to anyone else’s.  That is just irrrelevant.  As I tell Grace all the time: run your own race.  That’s all any of us can do.

So how do I do it?  When do I make time for writing?  What does my life look like?  I wish I had good, clear answers here, but I don’t.

All I know is this: I have prioritized what matters to me.  I’ve made choices.  I’ve let a lot of things go. 

Once you know what you prize above all else, then how to allocate your time becomes radically clear.  I’ve stripped away almost all claims on my hours other than those belonging to work, family, and writing.  Because time is zero sum, things had to go.  I have many dear friends I very rarely (never) see.  We are often not invited to social events anymore, maybe because I said no several times and maybe because I’m boring.  I’m not on non-profit boards and I rarely go to adult events in the evenings or weekends. That time is for Grace and Whit.  This, the idea that how we spend our time reflects what we value, is a theme I’ve touched on many times before.  We know from Annie Dillard that “how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend your lives.” Your week is a map of matters to you.  I am deeply comfortable with my map.

I am an extremely structured person so many have been surprised that I have a fluid approach to work/life/writing balance.  I actually dislike the word “balance.”  Maybe it feels better to say that I have a fluid approach to integrating the various essential parts of my life.  I used to write after the children went to bed, but Grace and Whit stay up later now and that doesn’t work anymore.  I also find I am absolutely fried by the end of the day.

So on an average day, I wake up early – 5, 5:30.  Maybe 4 days a week I will go out for a run at that point.  I like being up before most of the rest of the world and find the dark and quiet very soothing.  When I get home, I have my first cup of coffee (this is one of my very favorite moments of the entire day) and take a shower.  Sometimes I still have half an hour before Grace and Whit get up, and I’ll use that time to clear out my work and personal email and to skim the blogs I read daily.

Then it’s up and at ’em.  I wake the children up, make breakfast for them, and take them to school.  I try to leave my phone in my bag during this hour, because I’ve found that I’m materially more present and relaxed with them when I do that.  We live less than a mile from school and could easily walk, but we usually drive because I’d rather they slept the extra 10 minutes in the morning. By 8 I’m at my desk and starting my work day.

While my office is in my house, about 3 or 4 days a week I have to go into Boston or elsewhere for meetings for work.  Most of my days, Monday to Friday, are composed of work.  Occasionally, if I have a 30 minute break in my schedule, I’ll read blogs or check twitter or, even, sometimes, write a quick blog post.

This is true answer to the question of when I write: around the edges of the rest of my life.

There’s no doubt that working at home is essential to my life operating as it does.  Despite the fact that I work a lot of hours, I have a lot of flexibility and I’m hugely grateful for that.  I have wonderful babysitters who pick the children up from school during the week and bring them home, but I’m also around most of the time.  Parenting children of this age feels less outsource-able than any other time before.  I don’t know when it is that they’ll want to talk, and I want to be sure I’m here when they do.  So I put that desire above almost all else.

Most days I take a break from the work computer around 6 to have dinner with Grace and Whit (usually something easy that I put into the oven earlier in the day).  Our babysitters have usually left by then.  After dinner I’ll do another hour or so of work while Grace and Whit are showering and finishing homework or simply puttering.  Many days we have to fit a practice in here too, so I drive several children to the hockey rink or make sure mine are ready to be picked up by a carpool.  My favorite days are the ones where we don’t have practice and life has a slightly slower rhythm.

I spend time with both children before bed, often quietly.  Sometimes we all pile into our bed to read books together.  Sometimes I read Harry Potter or The Golden Compass to one child.  Sometimes we talk about a math problem that is particularly thorny.  Sometimes we discuss what happened that day at school.  In between time with Grace and Whit I’ll check blogs or twitter again, and my email a last time.  I try to have all screens shut down and put away by 9 and that has made a difference in my sleep.  I read 30-45 minutes of an old-fashioned paper book in bed before I go to sleep.

My days tumble by at alarming speed, and many of them have a similar shape.  There is a lot of work, some domestic chores and responsibilities, and time for simply being around my two children.  Matt travels for work and is here some of the time but not all.  As you can see, there isn’t a ton of time for prolonged, focused writing.  I try to spend a couple of hours during the weekend doing that, and I’ve been known to sit at the hockey rink with my computer during a weeknight practice.  But I haven’t written a book yet, that much is clear, and maybe this is part of the reason why.  Blog posts lend themselves to brief windows of time, but sustained narrative works don’t.

I have often exhorted people to stop hiding behind “I don’t have time” and to recognize that what they value they make time for.  If I believe that – and I do – I should own up to not prioritizing writing a book.  When I do work on longer form things (and I have, multiple times) I use Scrivener. I love this software for structuring a book-length work.  I write essays for places other than my blog in Microsoft Word.  I write my blog straight into WordPress.

This entry is long-winded and unstructured, but I think in that way it echoes the topic at hand.  My life, and the days that compose it, aren’t rigidly ordered, either.  I put my professional life and my family life at the top of my priority list (those are the rocks in the jar of my life) and writing and reading come next (the sand that fills in the gaps between the rocks in the jar, to continue that metaphor).

Of course I feel sorrow sometimes at the things I haven’t done and those I don’t do on a regular basis.  I wish I had more time for yoga, more time for my friends, a published book under my belt.  But when I look hard in the mirror, my choices hold up to scrutiny (my own, that is – and nobody else’s matters, does it?).  On the surface, my life may look small, but what I have realized is that tight focus on what I truly value allows me to access a deep, glittering cavern insideMy life is simultaneously narrow and wide.  I don’t have any true regrets about what I prioritize in my life, and I feel comfortable that anyone can extrapolate from a description of my days what it is I most value.  Do you feel that way?

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

there is a consequence of attentiveness

And as with prayer, which is a dipping of oneself toward the light, there is a consequence of attentiveness to the grass itself, and to the sky itself, and to the floating bird.  I too leave the fret and enclosure of my own life.  I too dip toward the immeasurable.

– Mary Oliver, Winter Hours

Thank you to Katie, whose post about this book reminded me of it and caused me to re-read it.

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

Holiday ideas

For the last couple of years I have shared some book ideas for holiday gifts (2014, 2013, 2012).  Many of the books I mentioned in those posts – particularly those for young children – are still at the top of my list.  Those favorites don’t change much.  Still, each year there are a few new books that my children and I have loved that I want to share.   This year, I also have a couple of non-book favorites that I wanted to mention here.

Books for children:

Goodbye Stranger – Grace and I both read and loved Rebecca Stead’s new book.  It broaches timely and important themes in an approachable and entertaining manner.  Highly recommend!

Percy Jackson’s Greek Gods – I’ve mentioned Whit’s passion for Percy Jackson and he’s now reading the Heroes of Olympus series.  This book is already set to go under the tree of him.  It reminds me of D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths which is a book I myself loved as a child (and which Whit already has).

Everest – Gordon Korman’s trilogy riveted Whit (and was his only recent non-Rick Riordan reading).

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian – Grace is reading Sherman Alexie’s classic at school and loving it.  She did point out that it’s “probaby for older kids” as it has some “inappropriate stuff. Duly noted.

On a Beam of Light: A Story of Albert EinsteinThis picture book is my favorite recent find.  It has a dreamy quality and describes Einstein as a curious child who just can’t stop asking why things are the way they are.  Whit, my little wonderer, adores it. 

Enormous Smallness: A Story of E. E. Cummings – Another picture book that has recently captivated our house.  It evokes Cummings’ joyful childhood and shares some short passages from his work.  A beautiful reminder that there are many ways to dent the universe, and of the power of paying attention.

Books for adults:

Felicity: Poems – Mary Oliver’s new collection of poems has a lambent lightness and a new focus on human love (rather than the natural world) which seemed like a departure to me.  I love every word this woman writes.

Hold Still: A Memoir with Photographs – Sally Mann’s lyrical memoir contains pages of gorgeous photographs.  A great gift for lovers of modern art, of the South, or personal history.

A Window Opens – Elisabeth Egan’s debut novel was one of my favorite reads of this year.  I reviewed it in more detail here, but this is a wonderful book whose themes – being a mother and a daughter and a professional and trying to juggle a great many balls and occasionally dropping some – deeply resonated with me.

Our Souls at Night –  My other favorite novel of 2015 was, rather than a debut, a final book.  Kent Haruf’s beautiful story manages to be grave and graceful at the same time.  I adored this book.

 Brave EnoughI reviewed Cheryl Strayed’s new book of quotes recently, and think it’s a terrific gift for any person in your life who loves quotes, anyone who lives writing, anyone who seeks truth. 

Non-book gifts:

Nicely Noted subscription.  I’ve been receiving letterpress cards in the mail from Nicely Noted for more than a year now, and I just love the concept.  I’m a big fan of actual paper cards in the mail, and I love supporting small businesses, both of which Nicely Noted does in spades.  Highly recommend.  Olive Box has a new “card box” option that is quite similar.

Tinker Crate subscription.  I’ve written before about this service, which I love.  There are a variety of options depending on the age and interests of the child, but Whit receives a STEM-focused project once a month.  He eagerly awaits the arrival of his Tinker Crate.


Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

A weekend of light and darkness


What a weekend.

On Friday I watched Grace’s final cross-country race.  As we waited for the start, it rained.  And then an extraordinary rainbow appeared, like I’ve never seen before. The photo above has no filter.  There were a lot of schools at this final race, so there were separate girls’ and boys’ races.  Grace has had an excellent cross-country season but one speckled with a lot of anxiety; her fears about performance have gotten the best of her and propelled us to a place of wondering how to keep a sport she enjoys and is good at from being destroyed by nerves.  It’s been an emotional few weeks as we grapple with how best to handle these worries.

In short, I wasn’t really sure how this last race of the season would go.  I stood and watched as 73 girls lined up by school on the starting line.  The gun went off and I so devoutly wish I had a photograph of Grace as she strode across it.  She took the lead early and definitively but much more striking to me was the look on her face as she set off.  I have literally never seen her look so determined.  I told Matt I think on my deathbed one of the images of Grace I’ll recall is her at that moment.  There was something both intimately familiar and brand-new on her face as she set out: serious, singele-minded, dogged.  Every tear from the month was there, too, but behind this new resolve.  I watched her in awe.

Off they went.  “I don’t think she’s going to win,” I whispered to my mother, standing next to me.  A girl who came in 3rd in States to Grace’s 12th was in the race, and there were a lot of runners.  “I just want her to feel good about it.”  Mum nodded, agreeing.  We watched in silence.  Our home course is a straight out-and-back so there is no glimpsing the runners mid-race.  I stood with my parents and waited.  After what felt like forever we saw the first runner in the distance.  I could not tell if it was Grace.  I looked for her green sneakers, which have always identified her for me from far away, but I couldn’t see them.  The second runner could be her, I thought, but the gait looked unfamiliar.  My chest felt tight as Grace came into clear view.  She was the lead runner, and she was way out in front.  Nobody was near her.  And what made me happiest was how masterful she looked, how strong, how confident.


She crossed first, ending the season on a terrific high note.  I am proud but far more importantly, so is she.  And she feels good about having wrestled some demons this year and of having come out feeling she can still find joy in running.  I know this will not be the last time these fears raise their heads, but I also know that having vanquished them once will help give her confidence the next time they arrive.

IMG_8730While Grace cheered on the boys’ race, I watched the sunset over the Charles River.  I admired it, and photographed it, but felt a vague and inchoate sense of uneasiness too.  The sky looked thunderous, dramatic, full of portent.  Like the strange, eerily truncated rainbow earlier, there was something unsettled in the sky.  It was as we drove home that we learned about the Paris attacks.  The sense of accomplishment and pleasure of watching my new teenager running quickly dissolved into desperate sorrow and worry about the world.  I instagrammed a photograph I had taken of Grace and Whit lighting candles in a church in Paris 6 months ago.


My mother confirmed that she heard from her cousin who lives in Paris and that his family was safe.  We spent the weekend doing family things but I had Yeats’ seminal lines from The Second Coming in my mind the whole time:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

It’s hard not to be totally overcome with fear in moments like this.  The world feels like it’s spiralling out of control, and everywhere we turn it seems like there is a threat (if not international terrorism, then home-grown school shooters).  We cancelled a trip to Exeter on Saturday to see the Exeter/Andover game, which I think came out of some deep-seated desire by me to stay home, stay together, stay quiet.  We told the children about the attacks and watched our family friend reporting on television from Paris.  They had lots of questions, which I tried my best to answer in a balanced way.

How quickly this life can shift, from rainbows and victory to heartbreak and fear.  I’m accustomed to some back-and-forth; it is how I’m wired, after all.  Yet the amplitude of the oscillations seems to be growing, and that unnerves me, I’ll be honest.  I’m trying to remember the joy on my daughter’s face as she sprinted across the finish line first, and the glow of that otherworldly rainbow, and even the way my son curled into me on the couch as we watched Christiane Amanpour reporting from the streets of Paris, familiar now to Grace and Whit as they have been so long to me.

I’m not willing to let go of my stubborn belief that there is much light in the world, but there are surely times when that belief feels more attenuated, when the darkness threatens to overwhelm it.  This is one one of those times.  Do you know what I mean?

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

light flitting over a pond

I believe in movement.  I believe in that lighthearted balloon, the world.  I believe in midnight and the hour of noon.  But what else do I believe in?  Sometimes everything.  Sometimes nothing.  It fluctuates like light flitting over a pond.

– Patti Smith, M Train

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox



with my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother, 1974


with my mother and my daughter 2002

I recently read – devoured, more like – Anne-Marie Slaughter’s book, Unfinished Business.  There are a great many points swirling around in my head but one of the foremost ones is in the acknowledgements. Slaughter mentions her first meeting with her editor at Random House. “Tell me about your grandmothers,” the editor asked. Reading that made me gasp.

Tell me about your grandmothers.

I had two simultaneous thoughts.  The first, of Virginia Woolf’s famous quote that “we think back through our mothers, if we are women.”  Indeed.  The second, of my repeated assertion that I come from a formidable matrilineage and of the power of saying the names of the women who came before us.

It’s not a secret that I desperately wanted to have a daughter.  We didn’t find out the gender of either baby before they were born, but I had a strong sense that Grace was a girl.  I didn’t want to say it aloud, though, because I was somehow afraid of jinxing myself.  I wanted a girl for many reasons – I am one of two girls, I adore my own mother, I studied the mother/daughter relationship closely in college – but one of them was certainly wanting to continue what feels like a strong history of women in my family.

And then on October 26, 2002, after a long and difficult labor, she arrived.  And suddenly I had a daughter.  I was a daughter and I had a daughter.  It’s become a familiar thing, at this point, watching my mother with my daughter, but it never gets old.  I do think back through my mother, as Woolf says.  I have written many times of my mother’s expansive warmth, of her magnetism, of how “she has always attracted people to her, and, like a sun, is surrounded by more orbiting planets than I can count.”

I have written often of an afternoon soon after Grace’s birth when Mum came over to sit with her while I tried to nap.  Grace was asleep on the third floor of our house, I lay in my bedroom on the second floor, and Mum puttered in the kitchen on the ground floor.  As I lay in my dark bedroom I felt a tangible cord connecting me both up and down, ahead and backwards in time, my place in the generational line firm, determined.  I will never forget the extremely vivid sensation I felt that afternoon of being ensconced between my mother and my daughter.

My grandmothers were formidable too.  Each bright and principled and very different but equally compelling.  I suspect both of my grandmothers would have had careers, if that was more common in their day.  Both graduated from impressive colleges (Middlebury and Wellesley), read voraciously, supported causes they cared about (both my grandmothers were very active in their local chapters of Planned Parenthood), and provided for me terrific examples of strong women who supported husbands and families while having minds of their own.  I feel fortunate to have had such women in my own lineage, and it’s not an exaggeration to say I think of them every day.

I can feel the matrilineage that I come from – that I’m a part of – throbbing in my veins.  It is a very real, almost tangible part of my life.  Sometimes I sense my grandmothers, and others who were dear to me who are now gone, somewhere just beyond the horizon. I know they’re there.  I think back through them, as Woolf says, on a daily basis, the women whose names I can recite reverently:

Susan, Janet, Priscilla, Marion, Marion, Elsie, Eleanor.

And, of course, Grace.

Tell me about your grandmothers?

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

Cross-country metaphors


  A flashback photo for this post: me in 6th grade after a road race.  I see so much of Grace in this photo!

I’ve written before about the metaphor that cross-country is and has been to me for parenting.  As Grace’s second season comes to a close, I’m thinking about another analogy that the sport presents, this time to life itself.  There are two particular ways that – in my opinion – cross-country metaphorically represents life itself: pacing and peer groupl.

One thing you learn as you become a cross-country runner and experience racing is how to pace yourself.  Do you start out in the front of the pack, and try to stay ahead of others for the whole race?  Do you start slower and trust that you can gain?  How do you gauge how much gas is in your tank, and how fast you can go, and for how long?  I asked Grace these questions recently and found myself a bit surprised that she had fluent answers to them.  She’d clearly thought about these things.  Her answer, in case you’re wondering, is not to lead but to stay with the front group and then feel like she has enough in reserve to sprint to the finish.

I had the great privilege of attending a small breakfast with Anne-Marie Slaughter at the end of October.  There were a great many things that moved me in her comments, but one in particular feels resonant here.  She said that she thinks people – not women, notably, but people – should view their careers as interval training.

This of course brought cross-country to mind.  So much of life is about pacing – how fast you go, how long you can keep going, when you push and when you ease up. The interval training analogy presupposes that life has seasons, and that sometimes are more flexible than others.  I believe this fiercely.

Secondly, so much of life is about who you run with, isn’t it?  Who do you want to follow as your pace-setter, who do you want to accompany into the woods, who do you trust to lead you out of them?  Who do you want to hear breathing at your shoulder, who do you want to push you, who do you maybe want to lose to?

Two themes in my writing – and in my life itself – are metaphors and running.  The former is how I understand the world and the latter is an important mechanism to help me live in it.  You are probably growing weary of both.  If so, I apologize!


Grace warming up before the race last Saturday.  I love this photo of her, in her own world even with hundreds of people around, and in flight.

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

The World I Live In

I have refused to live
locked in the orderly house of
reasons and proofs.
The world I live in and believe in
is wider than that.  And anyway,
what’s wrong with Maybe?

You wouldn’t believe what once or
twice I have seen. I’ll just
tell you this:
only if there are angels in your head will you
ever, possibly, see one.

– Mary Oliver, Felicity

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

Start with what you know

I love Jeanette LeBlanc‘s writing.  All of it.  I particularly adored a piece of hers that I read recently, Start With What You Know.  She evokes so powerfully the writing life, the tension and urge and essence of the white hot need to come to the page.  I was inspired to share my own list of what I start with, of what I know.


this, the sunset out of my office window, is something I know to be true

I think most clearly in the morning, and I like to start my day before the sun is up.

I like my coffee with coconut milk and coconut sugar.  Hot, and more than one cup of it.

Life is messy and most people carry some scars and wounds with them.

Drinking alcohol doesn’t really work for me most of the time anymore.

I’m more attuned than most people to aches and pains and changes in my body.  This only makes me a hypochondriac if I act on every discomfort.  It makes me aware and sensitive if I remember to sit tight and wait.  Most things pass.

Writing is an essential part of almost every day for me.  I need to write what I see, what I think, what I feel.

I feel a lot.  Good and bad and everything in between.  I ride roller coasters inside my emotions every single day.  The challenge is creating more space between the feeling and the reacting.

My spidey sense about other people is rarely wrong. I need to trust it more.

Nothing puts me more quickly and firmly in touch with the ineffable, deeply reassuring energy that throbs through the universe than being outside.

When you write what you know, what do you start with?

Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox