There are inner matters and outer matters.

Both require our attention at different times, stages, phases, and seasons of life. Recently, I found myself losing touch with my inner life, pulled outward by the intensity and noise of the world around me — particularly by the current state of our nation and the wider world.

There is a constant background hum now, a kind of low-grade static streaming from my phone and laptop about the latest “emergency.” It calls to me and captures my attention. And honestly, it’s seductive. I find myself witnessing in real time what I hold dear as an American citizen — rights and civil liberties I once took for granted — being relentlessly eroded.

And then, something immediate in my environment interrupts the spiral and brings me back to the present moment. In those moments, I can loosen my mental and emotional grip on the outer world and remember that many of these circumstances are beyond my control.

I still have agency. Always.

Sometimes that agency begins with something very small: taking my next breath with awareness and sensing into presence. Receiving the simple nourishment of oxygen. Releasing what is no longer needed.

This morning, I felt inspired by a piece written by Debra Roberts on Substack (a longtime PBC friend). In her essay, she points toward the small and often overlooked joys of the natural world — insects she lovingly calls “our kin.” Her reflections reminded me of my connection to everything around me.

From that place, I can rediscover my right-sized place in the ongoing dance between inner and outer focus.

And then something begins to settle.

A kind of steadiness in my heart emerges, along with a deeper sense of groundedness in my body. I notice gratitude arising for the hidden and often unseen gifts woven throughout ordinary life. They are here. Available to me. Waiting, perhaps for me to choose.

And I remember that where I place my attention matters.