Tag: Inspiration

What Do You Want to Take into 2026?

This time next week we will be in a new year, which often lends itself to setting goals and resetting our priorities. I would like to offer a second approach which involves using the next few days for reflection, rather than immediately determining what needs to be different about 2026.

I let go of rigid New Year’s resolutions years ago. It might have been because I lost momentum after a few months, or sometimes the goals were short-term and once accomplished, I lost interest. Over time, I realized I was more motivated by examining a few core values and using those as a basis for how I lived, rather than deadlines or goals to meet. Progress and practice, not perfection.

For example, the fitness goals – building strength and flexibility and losing weight, eating healthy, and prioritizing sleep and rest. Nothing wrong with these as goals, I thought I only needed to set metrics to measure success. But what if instead I accepted that these goals were the foundation of my approach to physical well-being, incorporated them into my daily rhythm, and treated them as core values? One less resolution, one more practice.

As a recovering MBA, I am familiar with the need to set goals, deadlines, identify deliverables, and measure progress. But these days, I value time for reflection. In marketing we used to talk about the difference between “what’s so” or the facts, and “so what?”, which was more about making meaning out of the facts. Using this approach in reflection, I seek to slow down, sit still, and consider what has happened and what is going on. Then I go deeper into the “so what?” and consider what it means to me. What was the impact, what has changed, how do I integrate this knowledge into how I move forward?

In this way, reflection is like the light that shines back after bouncing on a surface; it is the understanding that follows allowing yourself to sit with your thoughts and experiences. 

I have already blocked out a day for reflection on 2025, in preparation for thinking about how I want to enter 2026. Call it superstition or the wisdom of the elders, but we were taught that you should enter the year doing more of what you want in the year to come, and leave behind those practices that no longer serve you. For a yogi friend, it is why she offers what she calls her Big Momma practice on January 1. Her grandmother had shared her wisdom about heading into the new year with her, and she chooses to gift those of us who show up with a yoga practice in the afternoon. I will be there, on the mat, in a sanctuary loft that looks over the altar where light is reflected through the stained-glass windows.

The next day is my day dedicated to reflection. I have a ritual, it includes dressing comfortably, making sure water and delicious food are nearby and ready. I light a candle when I enter the room and might play a little music for background as I settle in. I will grab a journal for writing down notes and thoughts, and have my calendars, digital and paper, nearby if I need to schedule events.

First, I consider the year in review – key events, people in my life, travel, what I accomplished, maybe what I left undone. Going through the calendar helps me remember. 

Then, I consider and write down my responses to several questions that I have gathered over many years. Some questions are:

What went well?

Am I learning?

Where was joy?

What felt hard?

Where was God in my journey?

What would I change?

Often, musing over one question might lead to another question I want to consider. I stay open to whatever the time of reflection offers. Only after I have given enough time to reflect will I begin to dream about what might be next for me, and that can be the foundation of practices reinforced, or new goals imagined and planned for. 

In my spirit, I believe that 2026 is going to be amazing, and I am excited about the day I have set aside for next week. I have the time and resources in this calm season to slow down and consider what I want more of in my life, and how I want to use my gifts, curiosity, creativity, and time.

For reflection:

How do you feel about 2025?

What would you like to leave behind?

What do you want to take into 2026?

Finding Joie in Provence

If Provence was a color, it would be a lush shade of green. On my trip, I saw green everywhere—the green of the olives and the leaves in olive trees, fern green, celadon, the basil that I picked in a garden, sage, mint green, the various shades of green in the fields—green was the color that beckoned me in France. It was on the hillsides of Gordes and Roussillon, in the clothing, in the lovely linen napkins that were a gift from a new friend. I love nature, particularly trees, and I felt like I was immersed in green while I was there.

I recently returned from a couple weeks in Provence and it was an incredible trip. For the first part of my journey, I was with a small group of women, all open to learning more about how to find more joie (joy) in life. Through strolls around villages, shopping in open air markets for antiques, food, art, and other goods, shared meals at the table, and moments of quiet awe and joy, we had the opportunity to learn more about the region, meet people, and consider what joy meant for us. 

From the welcome toast and apero at our villa, to the goodbye dinner on our last night together, the retreat was the right balance of time immersed in various day trips and time spent alone to reflect on what I was experiencing. I learned about the delight of apero, which is a light meal in the late afternoon or before dinner where you take a pause, enjoy a beverage and fare such as olives, nuts, crackers, vegetables, maybe cured meats. The menu is simple; it is really about community and sharing. 

I went to Provence with an open mind; I wanted to be surprised and not locked into any particular outcome. I had been to Nice and knew I loved the region, but I prayed before leaving that I would be open to receive whatever was there for me. We were encouraged to reflect on what we experienced that was meaningful for us while we were there, and also to consider what we might want to take back with us, such as a new practice, an old one reimagined, or a different mindset. 

Each day held a surprise; we spent one morning at Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, which has the largest antiques market outside of Paris. I saw everything including furniture, copper pots, vintage linens, silverware, plates, clothing, along with fresh vegetables that were displayed like an art installation. Another day, we visited Loumarin where we had a unique cooking experience. The couple who were our hosts graciously provided a menu, detailed recipes, and taught us how to prepare the meal. The table setting alone was exquisite. I loved preparing the meal, but my time in their garden, picking the basil that would be used in our lunch, was meditation for me. I could feel my body shed any stress or concerns that I brought with me; one person said that I was “in the zone.” That kind of peaceful, quiet attention to a simple task is one thing I want to have more of in my life. It gave me not only peace, but joie.

I want to thank Ajiri Aki for her meticulous planning so that we could have such an amazing time. Her vision of what it means to have to a good life is transformative and allows space for people to discern what a good life, one filled with joie, looks like for them. She has written a wonderful book called JOIE: A Parisian’s Guide to Celebrating the Good Life, which is how I first learned more about her. She is on Instagram and Substack and I enjoy her pieces because of her creativity and willingness to share insights on how to enjoy a good life.

For the second part of the trip my husband met me in Aix-en-Provence where we enjoyed strolling Cours Mirabeau, an avenue that was created in the 1650s as a route for carriages. We visited the numerous shops on the side streets, always saying a pleasant “Bonjour” upon entering. This year Aix is celebrating Cezanne 2025 in honor of Paul Cezanne, the French artist, and we were able to visit Bastide du Jas de Bouffan, his family home and garden, for a guided tour that included an explanation of the history of the home and its role in Cezanne’s life. There were more delicious meals in cafes, shopping for gifts to take back home, and winding down in the evening, a glass of rosé for him and something sparkling but no-alcohol for me. And of course, there was chocolate!

These pictures are but a glimpse of the beauty of Provence, but here are some others:

I have always been drawn to France for reasons I no longer try to unravel. I often joke that it is because my people are from Paris, but that’s Paris in Kentucky, so that cannot be the real reason. I think it’s because my experiences there have always been so enlightening and inspiring. I have found the people to be nice and appreciative of my efforts to use their language as best I can. I like the pace of Provence; it’s somewhat slower than Paris. People are clearly engaged with each other, but the volume of conversation and life in general is set at a much lower range than here at home; I like that too. The architecture and the landscape are truly beautiful.

I love a set table, using cloth napkins, and nice plates, etc., but after this trip, I want to slow down when it comes to preparing and enjoying my meals. I hope to take more walks, because I walked every day there. Admittedly the weather was gorgeous, but walking seemed to be the most efficient way to get around in the smaller villages, and I savored the walks on narrow streets without cars racing by at 50 miles an hour. The owners in the market stands were patient enough to talk about what they sold, where it came from, and how things were made. I am certain this can happen here at home, maybe it is more about me slowing down enough to inquire. 

When will I return? I don’t have a date yet, but I know that I will go again. The next time I hope to travel with more of my family; they were as entranced by the photos and descriptions as I was by the experience, so they want to come along. I am grateful for this period in life, what I am calling my calm season, because I have the time and resources to travel in a way that I couldn’t for a while. Beauty and joy can be found in the simplest rituals and places, and it need not be expensive. 

With Joy!

Ramona

Quiet Time

I am just back from a week in New Hampshire with family and now I enter the quieter portion of the summer. The weather was great, sunny days with the kind of humidity that seems mild since I grew up in Cincinnati. We baked make-your-own pizzas in the backyard, visited Klemm’s Bakery for pastries, Hayward’s Homemade Ice Cream twice, and drove up to Cape Elizabeth, Maine for seafood and a stop at a nearby lighthouse. Being together was the best part, and I shared photos with those who could not join us. The only hiccups were flight delays, supposedly caused by “fog” in Boston. When I checked with my family in the area and spoke with a woman waiting for her daughter, everyone said there was no fog on a sunny midafternoon that they could see, but I knew the plane would leave when they said it could, so I read while waiting. I’m currently reading “How Beautiful We Were” by Imbolo Mbue, a novel about how a village in Africa is affected by the American oil company that started production and left the people and their land ravaged by illness and neglect. They resist for years, fighting to restore their homeland. I have not finished it, but there are passages so beautifully written that at times I need to put the novel down and just absorb the language and message.

I meant to write about letter writing, which many of us don’t do as much because it has been replaced with the quick text or social media update. I love writing notes and often will send a card with a letter or an article to folks, just to let them know that I am thinking of them. I don’t always get a letter back, but that is not the point for me—I love the slowing down that letter writing requires.

Last week, I did get some sad news—a friend and mentor, Ellen Doyle, OSU, passed away after living with an illness that she had been dealing with for over two years. Ellen often updated her friends, letting us know of her travels, treatments options, and speaking candidly about the gravity of her illness. I was surprised when I got word of her passing, but she had been letting us walk with her all along, preparing us for what she knew could happen.

Ellen wrote a wonderful memoir, “Dear Uncle Stanley”, which shares letters her uncle wrote during her young adulthood; she also wrote to him over those years. She was discerning and coming to understand her call to spiritual life as a sister in a religious community, and he was an older priest, speaking honestly with her about life and its challenges. I appreciated her love of letter writing and how letters are not just welcome in the moment, they also serve as a record of a moment in time. Mbue’s novel also uses letters between those in the village and a friend in the States to move the story along. There are many epistolary novels and memoirs, and I love how a letter can give an intimate portrayal of a person’s mind and heart. Ellen lived a rich and full life, and I know her spirit is at rest. That doesn’t mean I won’t miss her, but I am grateful to have known her for over 50 years.

In this quieter season, I will make a point to send a card or a letter to more people. It is more permanent than a text, even if the recipient does not hold on to it for decades like Ellen did. It is a way of checking in, letting those we care about know we are thinking of them.

This morning in my Pilates session, my trainer asked me if I was retired. I said, “No, not really; I’ll always have a project here and there.” Last week I said yes to an offer to facilitate a panel discussion, and I am in the planning stages for a few other projects that I will share as they are more fully developed. I appreciate this quieter season. I can be still long enough to let the ideas settle, like a butterfly on the coneflowers outside my window. If you are able, carve out some quiet time for yourself, whether it is a few hours or a few weeks. If we get still enough, if we are comfortable with the quiet, we can hear. And if you can hear, you can dream.

Cape Elizabeth, Maine

O-o-h Child

This is not the time to put a spin on it, today feels a bit heavy because of the rising strife in this country. There is no need for me to count all the ways we are not getting along, you probably have your own list.

While I was driving in the car earlier this afternoon, a song came on and I immediately was taken back to my early teens, summer camp, and a sense that the world could and would be a better place; it would just take some time. One of the songs on the radio that summer was O-o-h Child by the Five Stairsteps, and if you are of a certain age, especially if you are Black, you remember the words:

O-o-h Child, things are gonna get easier, O-o-h child things’ll get brighter. 

Hearing this song reminded me that no matter what is going on — assaults on peaceful protests, a seeming lack of compassion for those who have the least but are expected to give up the most, growing tension in communities that used to be able to coexist — things can seem dire but we don’t give up hope. We remain or get engaged, living out our faith and activism in ways that are consistent with our beliefs and access to resources.

I’ll be at a conference this week, joining writers from across the globe. Peeking at the panel topics, I sense that activism and how to use one’s voice as a writer will be a huge part of our discussions as we gather. In the meantime, here is that song that I learned so many decades ago.

Video of O-o-h Child, sung by The Five Stairsteps. (Press “skip ads” if one pops up, it was not present when I listened to the song.)

May it give you a bit of hope in the middle of the storm.

Ramona

What I learned at Biscuits and Banjos

Spring is here and I am finally getting out more, traveling. In April, I went down to Durham for the first Biscuits and Banjos Festival, hosted by Rhiannon Giddens. When I heard about it last year I was all in—I have been a fan of Giddens since I saw her years ago with the Carolina Chocolate Drops. Rhiannon Giddens is a GRAMMY Award-winning singer, plays numerous instruments, including the banjo and fiddle, has earned the MacArthur “Genius” grant and a Pulitzer Prize. I was also eager to get back to Durham since I have only been back for business a few times since living there while I earned my MBA at Duke, which was decades ago.

Biscuits and Banjos was about more than food and music, although we did eat our fair share of biscuits while we were there. This was a celebration and education on the influence and importance of Black culture on the culinary and music traditions in this country, which include the banjo, blues, country, jazz, and gospel. There were panel discussions, performances, and a chance to talk with some distinguished and interesting speakers. The festival brought together performers from as near as North Carolina and as far as the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

I appreciate how much I learn from other creatives and usually come away from these live performances with a new respect for what it takes to pursue art of any kind. Christian McBride, a bassist, performed with the student jazz ensemble from North Carolina Central University. The students were a bit nervous at first, but I will not forget the light in their eyes when they settled in and played alongside an accomplished musician; it was something to see. When I witnessed the power and energy of the Legendary Ingramettes, a gospel group that has been at it for over 60 years, I took heart in knowing that it is never too late, I just need to do the work that is before me.

I am aware that many are watching their expenses in ways they may not be accustomed to, given the political and economic climate we are in. But I would rather give up spending in other areas, and now that I have the time, I want to immerse myself in live musical performances as much as possible. There are also numerous free concerts, especially in the summer. I seldom come away wishing I had not spent the time and money, and often leave inspired not just to create, but to act, get involved, share my voice. This is part of the power of the arts—it can rally us to get busy in ways speeches and social media cannot. 

Rhiannon Giddens and the Legendary Ingramettes

Giddens, the Carolina Chocolate Drops, and the entire host of musicians take the stage at the Durham Performing Arts Center.

Resting in Winter

This morning is a cold one and usually I might complain. But this year I am reminding myself, again, that the coming winter and its colder temperatures with less daylight serve a vital purpose for nature and for me. One purpose is the same, it is a time to rest and rebuild.

Every year about this time a group of black birds settle in South Bend for a week or so, although some days it seems longer because of all of their cawing and screeching. I remember the first time that I noticed the ravens. I was sitting on the couch in my living room, talking to a friend on the phone. A landline, albeit cordless. I looked outside and saw dozens of birds settled in the intersection outside my window, in the street, and pecking at the ground. It was a bit terrifying because there were so many of them, and it reminded me of the scenes from the Hitchcock movie The Birds, where they descended on a town and started attacking people. However, maybe this area is just part of their migration path because they don’t stay long. For them, passing through town, likely led by the winding St. Joe River, is innate and part of an annual ritual.

For years I would bemoan the approach of winter, fretting over the cold and lack of sunshine, and I almost felt forced to stay inside. Two things helped me to change my mindset. The first was my growing love for gardening. Once I saw the winter as a respite for nature and an opportunity for the world above ground to be silent while my perennials preserved energy, I accepted that winter’s cold was part of the process and I could relish what was quietly happening underneath the frozen soil. I would look at the bare trees and think, “just resting, they will be back.”

Another purpose of this season was revealed at a winter retreat I went on in early 2018. I was going through a hard time, kind of low, and the gloomy days did not help. What I did was counterintuitive – instead of heading to a tropical beach, I went to the Berkshires for a week of winter hikes, workshops, and rest. I learned how to identify the tracks of animals moving about in the snow and realized that I did not have to shut myself in because it was cold, I just need to dress for it.

Our home is nearly decorated for Christmas, with lots of reds and greens, Nativity scenes, trees of varying sizes, Grinch decorations, and lights, so many lights and candles. This year has been such a busy one and it is time for me to slow down and enjoy this season. There will be some holiday gatherings, but I am also leaving time to write, sew (now that I finally got a new machine) and learn how to sit still without cooking up the next project. One of my brothers once teased that me and another brother are “always looking for something to do.” That quality has served me well but in this season, I am going to hush the small voice that tells me I could get one more thing done, that the goal is constant productivity and doing. It is not always easy, but I am learning. 

In a few weeks I will share some of my favorite reads of this year, but here is one that might help others who struggle with winter. The book is How to Winter by Kari Leibowitz. In the meantime, I hope you can enjoy some of the stillness that comes with this time of year.

Peace,

Ramona

Finding Comfort in Presence

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My father is not doing well, he’s over 90 years old and his body is slowing down. He doesn’t talk as much, eat as much, or move around like he used to. Some of this was expected—I have seen the changes over the years, but his age and health are also factors. There are days when I miss the extended conversations of months and years ago, the ones that you don’t always consider might come to an end…until they do.

My father used to tell me a story about his relationship with his mother, and how it differed from the ones she had with her other children. My grandmother passed shortly after I was born, so I know her mostly through stories and photos; the stories were always happy ones. She used to worry a bit about my father because he was more likely to handle problems on his own, and she wondered if he would tell her about issues she could help him with. She knew her son well enough, and their relationship was close so they knew what was most important to them.

It was presence, the simple act of sitting together in the room, joined in spirit and ready to talk or listen should the occasion present itself. He told me, “For us, it was presence. We could be in the same room and didn’t have to say much.”

I think of those words more these days as I spend time with my father. Our visits are quieter now, sitting outside when the temperatures rise into the 70s, or inside, where he wraps himself in a blanket even as I sit there and wish for a lower temp on the air conditioner. He takes longer pauses when he speaks, and sometimes he gently closes his eyes, still listening, taking it all in, but resting. A week or so ago, I found myself remembering longer conversations and big laughs. It is a funny feeling when you realize that an experience to which you have become accustomed might not occur as frequently, or will completely stop one day.

That’s when I remembered the words he had shared with me, the idea of presence being enough. I thought how for my father, words weren’t always the most important thing, sometimes it was the presence, the silent connection that two people could share.

Now I am looking at these quieter times with my father differently. It’s not that we don’t talk, even when the laughter is not as full as before, the twinkle in his eyes and a soft chuckle let me know he is still amused by something I’m saying. I have decided to lean into his presence, the fact that we can still be in the same room and communicate with each other. It might be different, but for me, it is enough. Okay, maybe it does not always feel like quite enough, but it is as if he is gently guiding me to a new future, towards acceptance of what is coming. I believe his presence, his spirit, will remain after everything else has changed. My father and I will be connected, as he is to his mother, now long deceased, and the ancestors that came before us all. We share a spirit, they are present.

A New Season

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Summer might be almost over, and it is if you follow the meteorological calendar which has autumn beginning September 1. We’re past back to school season which always feels like a fresh start, at least for me. But this year is different. No longer working or employed for an organization, I am back to doing what is my first love – writing.

The word retirement – if that is what you choose to call leaving regular paid employment – doesn’t quite capture this phase of my life. I have full days, and wonder how I got so much done when I had to balance the professional, personal, and creative. I have enjoyed writing since I was at least six, and I remember the many stories I wrote and read, mainly about animals, during those first years of writing. Even while during corporate work, then nonprofit – arts, education, etc., the call back to writing never seemed to leave. So here I am, with the time and freedom to go back to the page. Last week I was part of a writing intensive, a good way to immerse myself in craft with a writing community. In between talks about writing, revising, and publishing, we also completed writing exercises, many of which will develop into complete essays.

Tending the garden (what I call yardwork), resuming my Pilates practice, having fun with family and friends, attending live performances (saw Bob James a week ago), are other ways I spend my time. And sometimes I do what appears like nothing, which is a big shift for me and something I need to almost talk myself into; I am so used to running full speed every day. But it’s all good. Like autumn, it is a good time to slow the pace, wrap up some of the old projects, and make sure everything is settled for the season I am about to enter. 

Mother’s Day 2023

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I wrote this post several years ago, months before my mother passed away. I often think back to it when I remember what kind of mother she was, how she allowed me to grow into the person I am but also provided knowing guidance. I am in a period of transition, and I am grateful for her, and hope this will help those who are nurturing and guiding people they love, regardless of the label others might place on the relationship.

From 2017:

This is for mothers everywhere, and for those who have poured their love, patience, and wisdom into the life of another person, whether it is your own child or someone who needed a gift that you were able and willing to provide. Despite going to Catholic grade school and college, there was a verse in […]

Happy Mother’s Day – Treasures — Ramona M. Payne

Choosing What I Need

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Tonight, I am thinking about this question – are there times where you give up your ability to choose what you need? I don’t mean those areas where you make a certain decision because you have to, or because someone, perhaps a child or partner, is counting on you. I am thinking about the little decisions we make where if we just stepped back, we might be able to say ‘No” or “Not right now,” or even “Yes, yes, I can make time for that…because I want to, because I need to.”

Now more than ever, with so many of us feeling stretched to the limit, it is important to exercise the ability to consider what is best for you and not automatically doing things the way you always have. I am reevaluating my “shoulds” to make sure they are in alignment with my goals – personal, professional, spiritual, and creative.