Room to Notice
This morning, I found myself sitting beneath a tree outside a coffee shop in Providence, RI, a cup of coffee and a book beside me, enjoying the spaciousness of an unhurried Saturday morning.
I arrived here yesterday with my oldest daughter, helping her settle into her apartment for another year of college.
As I sat there, a young mother and her toddler were leaving the coffee shop. She was telling her child that they were going to the beach next. Her little one climbed into the stroller with a book and continued talking with her mother as they got ready to go.
The mother and I exchanged smiles.
“That is the life,” I said.
“I was thinking the same thing looking at you,” she replied.
We both laughed.
I told her that she would find her way to this season, too—and that it was a beautiful place to be.
There was something about that exchange that stayed with me.
I was looking at her—her little one tucked into the stroller with a book, the two of them heading off to the beach together—and remembering that season of life.
And she was looking at me, sitting beneath a tree with my coffee and my own book, seeing something from where she stood, too.
For just a moment, we seemed to recognize the beauty in each other’s place along the way.
A little later, I walked into an art store. The young man working there greeted me and almost immediately asked if he could see my necklace. It is a small piece that often seems to invite curiosity, and we found ourselves talking for a few moments.
Two encounters with people I didn’t know.
Neither lasted very long. Neither was planned. And yet I left both feeling touched by the simple experience of noticing and being noticed.
I’ve been sitting with that ever since.
There is something about having enough space to be present to what is around us. To look up. To become curious. To allow ourselves to be delighted by another person, a conversation, a tree, a beautiful object, an unexpected moment of connection.
And I think there is something else, too.
When I feel connected to my own wonder and inspiration, I find myself wanting to share from that place—not so someone else will experience what I am experiencing, but in a way that seems to leave room for them to discover what awakens wonder in them.
I spend part of my week in a preschool classroom, where I get to witness this kind of wonder again and again. There is something beautiful about watching a child become completely absorbed in their own curiosity—when something catches their attention and, for a moment, the rest of the world seems to fall away.
Perhaps we don’t outgrow that capacity.
Perhaps we sometimes just need enough room to notice it again.
Making room
In these first weeks of gathering at Anam Cara Sanctuary, I have been thinking a lot about room.
Not simply the physical rooms that now hold blankets and bolsters, cups of tea, quiet conversation, and people resting together.
But the kind of room we make within our lives.
During Embodied Rest this week, I watched people settle beneath blankets, place eye pillows over their eyes, and gradually become very still.
And when the practice came to an end, no one seemed particularly eager to leave that stillness.
There was nowhere else we needed to get to within the practice.
So we stayed.
These moments are teaching me something about what I hope to tend here.
I hope Anam Cara can be a place where, for a little while, nothing needs to be accomplished.
A place where there is enough support, enough time, and enough spaciousness to become curious about what is already here.
A breath.
A sensation.
A question.
A moment of beauty.
Perhaps even something we hadn’t realized we were longing for.
September at the Sanctuary
There are several ways to practice and gather this month.
Embodied Rest
Wednesdays · 6:00–6:45 pm & 7:30–8:15 pm
A 45-minute practice of settling into the body through gentle awareness, breath, and deep rest. Much of our time is spent lying down with the support of blankets, bolsters, and eye pillows.
Our first season is Rooted, and together we are exploring rooting through body, breath, support, rhythm, connection, and trust.
Supported Yoga & Rest
Thursdays · 6:00–7:00 pm & 7:30–8:30 pm
A slow, supported yoga practice using bolsters, blankets, blocks, and other props to create space for stretching, opening, softening, and being held.
The final portion of our time together is protected for deep rest.
No particular flexibility or yoga experience is needed.
Tea Sit
Sunday, September 13 · 10:00–11:00 am
I’ve been asked, What exactly is a Tea Sit?
At its simplest, Tea Sit is an invitation to gather around tea and practice paying attention.
We’ll sit together with tea, allowing the preparation, pouring, receiving, and drinking of it to become part of the practice. There will be room for quiet and conversation, and we may sit with a few words—a poem, a passage, or a question—with space to reflect or journal if you feel called.
You don’t need to know anything about tea.
You only need to come curious.
Rest & Ritual
Sunday, September 27 · 2:00–3:30 pm
A longer gathering where rest is held alongside simple ritual, reflection, and the rhythms of the season.
As we move toward the autumn equinox, our September gathering will explore Tending What Sustains—noticing what nourishes and supports us, and what we might choose to tend as we enter a new season.
Together, we’ll be introduced to abhyanga, an Ayurvedic tradition of warm oil application, through a simple practice for our own hands and feet. There will also be time for reflection, supported rest, and tea as we welcome the shift toward autumn.
Something to carry with you
As I think back on this morning, I keep returning to how little it took for those moments of connection to happen.
A little time.
A little attention.
A willingness to notice and be noticed.
Perhaps that is enough of a practice for this month.
To leave a little room for curiosity.
For wonder.
For one another.
And to wonder:
What becomes visible when I give myself a little more room?
I hope September brings you moments that ask for your attention.
Warmly,
Cara