Meaningful May
Milestones, Merryn Moments, Productive or Present, Ocean Medicine, Murals and. Masterpieces, Embodied Practice, Contemplative Community, Stories that Stay With Us.
As I reflect on this month, I am increasingly convinced that some of the most important things in life cannot be measured, monetized, optimized, or checked off a list.
Which is a curious realization for someone who has spent much of her life creating goals, meeting deadlines, building programs, writing books, teaching courses, and yes—finding great satisfaction in crossing things off a to-do list. I still love a good list. There is something deeply satisfying about making progress, accomplishing a task, or bringing a project to completion.
But I am beginning to wonder if some of the most meaningful parts of life resist measurement altogether.
An ocean swim.
A long conversation with a daughter.
A story that lingers long after the final page.
An unexpected encounter with beauty.
Time spent in contemplation.
None of these produce a tangible outcome. Yet all of them shape who we are becoming.
Perhaps productivity is only part of the story. Perhaps a well-lived life requires not only producing, but also receiving. Not only accomplishing, but also paying attention.
This month has been full of those quieter gifts. A birthday celebration. Lucca’s graduation. Time with Merryn. Ocean swims and long walks. Murals and public art. Conversations with writers at Penn Writers and spiritual directors from around the world. Great stories that linger long after the final page.
Moments that may never appear on a résumé or annual report, but that somehow make a life feel richer, deeper, and more fully lived.
Milestones
Birthdays have become different for me as I’ve grown older.
When I was younger, birthdays often felt tied to milestones, accomplishments, or expectations. Another year older. Another year to figure things out. Another year to become who I thought I was supposed to be.
Now they feel more like invitations to pause.
This year, I found myself feeling grateful—not because life is perfect, but because life is life. There have been seasons of great joy and seasons of deep grief. There have been times when I felt certain and times when I was utterly lost. Somehow, all of it belongs.
A birthday reminds me that growing older is not guaranteed. It is a gift.
I am grateful for the people I love, meaningful work, good books, a body that still carries me where I want to go, and the countless ordinary moments that make up a life.
Another trip around the sun.
What a privilege.
Perhaps birthdays make me more aware of time—not in a fearful way, but in a grateful one. They remind me that life is always moving, always unfolding, whether we notice it or not.
That awareness felt especially poignant this month as we celebrated another milestone: Lucca’s graduation with a Master’s degree in Deaf Education.
Watching young people step into the next chapter of their lives is both joyful and humbling. It seems only yesterday that they were children, and yet here they are building careers, relationships, and futures of their own.
One of the unexpected gifts of growing older is having a front-row seat to the lives of people you love. We witness their struggles, their growth, their accomplishments, and their becoming.
Time moves whether we are paying attention or not. But when we pause long enough to celebrate a birthday, a graduation, or another meaningful milestone, we are reminded of just how precious that time really is.
And what a privilege it is to witness one another becoming more fully ourselves.
Merryn Moments
One of the greatest gifts of this month was spending time with my daughter, Merryn.
As parents, there is a strange transition that happens when our children become adults. The relationship changes. We are no longer managing schedules, driving carpools, or reminding them to finish homework. Instead, we get the opportunity to know them as fellow travelers in the world.
I love watching who Merryn is becoming.
There is something profoundly satisfying about spending unhurried time together—sharing meals, conversations, laughter, and silence.
No agenda.
No lesson to teach.
No problem to solve.
Just being together.
Those moments remind me that relationships rarely flourish through efficiency. They grow through presence. Through shared experiences. Through making time for one another.
Merryn and I sat over lunch far longer than necessary, solving none of the world’s problems and somehow feeling better anyway.
[Images]
I am increasingly convinced that some of the most meaningful investments we make are measured not in dollars or accomplishments but in attention.
Productive or Present?
I’ve been thinking a lot about productivity lately.
Our culture tends to reward visible outcomes. Finished projects. Full calendars. Growing businesses. Published books. Completed tasks.
There is nothing inherently wrong with any of those things. Much of my life has been devoted to meaningful work, and I genuinely enjoy creating, teaching, and writing.
But I wonder if we sometimes confuse activity with meaning.
A walk can be productive.
A conversation can be productive.
Rest can be productive.
A good cry can be productive.
An afternoon spent reading a novel may do more to restore the soul than several hours spent answering emails.
Perhaps the question is not simply, “What did I accomplish today?”
Perhaps it is also, “What nourished me today?”
“What helped me become more fully alive?”
Murals and Masterpieces
One of my favorite ways to explore a place is by paying attention to its art.
This month, I found myself lingering before a mural at the Midwife Center, admiring both its beauty and the care that went into creating it. Another day included a bike ride to visit the Crossroads Foundation mural by Pittsburgh artist Anne Melnyk and Lilli Taylor whose work often celebrates community, connection, and the stories that shape a place.
And then there was the mural in downtown St. Petersburg that stopped me in my tracks. From a distance, I could have sworn a biplane was flying directly toward me. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized it was painted on a building. The illusion was so convincing that I found myself smiling at having been fooled.
Murals tell stories. They reveal something about the people who live in a community—what they celebrate, what they remember, what they value, and what they hope for.
What struck me wasn’t simply the artwork itself. It was the experience of slowing down long enough to really see it.
In a world that often encourages us to move faster, consume more, and get on to the next thing, art offers a different invitation.
Notice.
Wonder.
Feel.
Stay awhile.
There is no prize for being the first person to finish looking at a mural. The gift is in the lingering.
Perhaps that is true of life as well. Some of its greatest treasures reveal themselves only when we slow down enough to pay attention.
Embodied Practice
At Penn Writers, we explored how creativity often emerges when we stop trying so hard to force it. Sometimes a few moments of movement, breath, or attention are enough to help a story find its way to the surface.
As someone who spends much of her life writing and teaching, I continue to be amazed by how often the body knows something before the mind can explain it.
Many of us spend our days living from the neck up.
We think.
Analyze.
Plan.
Problem-solve.
Write.
Yet creativity often emerges when we reconnect with the body.
A few stretches.
A few mindful breaths.
A brief walk.
A moment of noticing sensation.
These simple practices are not magic. But they often help us access something deeper than intellect alone.
Some of my favorite moments from teaching occur when people realize they don’t need to force creativity. Sometimes they simply need to create enough space for it to emerge.
Contemplative Community
I also had the privilege of gathering with colleagues through Spiritual Directors International.
In a world that often feels loud and hurried, contemplative communities offer something increasingly rare: space.
Space to listen.
Space to notice.
Space to be present to ourselves, one another, and the sacred.
I am always struck by how much wisdom emerges when people gather not to impress one another but to pay attention together.
Contemplative practice does not necessarily make life easier.
But it does help me meet life differently.
More slowly.
More gently.
More awake.
Stories That Stay With Us
I’ve spent time this month with some wonderful stories.
Good stories have a way of expanding our world. They remind us that every person we encounter carries a history, a longing, a heartbreak, and a hope.
Lately, I’ve been enjoying novels by Abigail Drake. Whether she is writing about a small town or Pittsburgh’s South Side, her stories are filled with quirky characters, humor, tenderness, and the beautifully imperfect relationships that shape a life. She has a gift for noticing the struggles, longings, and quiet triumphs of ordinary people.
Reading her work reminds me that some of the most meaningful stories are not about extraordinary accomplishments at all. They are about people doing their best to love well, heal what has been broken, find their place in the world, and keep moving forward when life doesn’t unfold as planned.
The older I get, the more drawn I am to stories that honor the complexity and beauty of everyday life. Perhaps that is because most of us are not living dramatic movie plots. We are simply doing our best to love well, show up for one another, and make meaning from the days we’ve been given.
Good stories help us remember that these ordinary moments matter.
They invite us to slow down, pay attention, and see ourselves—and one another—with a little more compassion.
And sometimes, that feels like nourishment for the soul
What stories have nourished you lately? I’d love to hear what you’ve been reading, watching, or listening to. Feel free to leave a comment and share a recommendation.
A Closing Thought
As May comes to an end, I find myself grateful for a month filled with celebrations and quiet joys.
A birthday.
A graduation.
Mother’s Day.
Ocean swims and long walks.
Murals and bike rides.
Embodied practice.
Contemplative community.
Good stories.
None of these will dramatically improve my résumé.
Yet all of them have nourished my life.
And perhaps that is reason enough.
Staying Connected
If you’d like to learn more about my books, events, retreats, speaking, spiritual direction, yoga therapy, you’ll find everything here (or hit “reply” to this email):
Website: JoanneSpence.com
Subscribe: joannespence.substack.com/subscribe
Exploring what it means to live well, love well, age well, and ultimately die well.
Thank you for reading—and for being part of this community.
Live well. Be well.
Joanne