Mindful Matter
Listen to your body.
When it comes to taking care of our bodies, there’s no shortage of opinions on how we should be living. Recently, I realized that I’ve been part of that noise. You see, I love sharing things that bring me joy — especially when it comes to health and wellness. One example is with yogurt. For many years, I’ve loved starting my day with a dose of really thick yogurt. If at any point in the day I don’t feel great, I turn to yogurt. It gives me energy and makes me feel fantastic. So naturally, I started telling all my friends and family how great yogurt is and how everyone should be eating more yogurt. It wasn’t long before I started getting pushback from people telling me that yogurt made them feel the opposite. It made them ill, or gave them a stomachache. Initially I would think, “Oh well, maybe they aren’t having the right yogurt.” But then I thought back to the source — what was it that made me so convinced that yogurt is that great? It was my body — the way yogurt made me feel. But everybody — and every body — is different. So even if something makes me feel my best, that doesn’t mean that everyone will have the same reaction. This was an “aha moment” for me about the importance of being in touch with and listening to our own bodies. Our bodies communicate with us in a variety of ways. Some are visible, like a rash or a stuffy nose. But others are more subtle, like a slight tummy ache, or having a cloudy-headed feeling. In recent years, I have come to appreciate that a powerful way to improve our personal wellbeing is to fine-tune our ability to listen to our bodies. The more we practice this skill, the more easily we realize when our bodies are trying to tell us something. Being mindful of the small ways my body communicates helps me understand and prioritize my health in a holistic sense. This month's Wellness Guide provides a framework to reflect on how you feel in different areas of your life to help you connect with your current state of wellbeing. To your health, Dave RadparvarCo-Founder, Holstee
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The New Colossus
“Give me your tired, your poor,Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free...” You have likely heard these words before. They are from “The New Colossus”, a sonnet written by Emma Lazarus in 1883 (full text below). She wrote it to help raise money for the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York City (the statue itself a gift from France). Unlike the original Colossus — a famous Greek statue built to demonstrate power — Lazarus saw the Statue of Liberty as having a "maternal strength, one that would boldly and compassionately welcome newcomers." This was an important message given the context. Around the time Lazarus was writing the poem, the U.S. passed the Chinese Exclusion Act, which limited immigrants from a specific region for the first time in American history. Then in 1886, when the statue opened to the public, the U.S. happened to experience a jump in immigrants from Europe, triggering 19th-century pundits to start inciting fear about the wave of newcomers. The similarities between 1883 and modern times are notable, which is one reason we feature this poem in this month’s Kinship guide. At 138 years old, it seems there is still something we can learn from it. Our greatest sign of strength — our colossus — stems not from our conquests but rather from our compassion. With open minds, open arms, and open hearts, Mike RadparvarCo-Founder, Holstee The New ColossusBy Emma Lazarus "Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,With conquering limbs astride from land to land;Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall standA mighty woman with a torch, whose flameIs the imprisoned lightning, and her nameMother of Exiles. From her beacon-handGlows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes commandThe air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries sheWith silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
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Don’t wash the dishes...
Over the weekend I visited an intentional living community that was hosting a craft festival. Above the kitchen sink, there was a handwritten sign that caught my attention. It said: "Don't wash the dish because it is dirty. Don't wash the dish because someone told you to. Wash the dish because you love the person that will use it next." I love that. I love it because I know what it feels like to do something from a place of love rather than obligation. It causes a ripple effect of positive energy, one that starts by liberating the person making the action. When I do something from a place of love, my mind isn't keeping score. It's not calculating the return on investment. I’m operating from a place of abundance and joy. Whether it’s a complete stranger or if you are the one using the dish next — washing it shows your respect and appreciation for those that come after. Of course it's not just about dishes. It’s about our relationship with ourselves, our neighbors and our planet. Like with the dish, we shouldn't leave this planet better than we found it because someone told us to — but rather because we love our kids, our kids’ kids and the countless creatures who will depend on the planet long after we are gone. Do it because of love, and you will love doing it. Even the dishes :-) Dave RadparvarCo-Founder, Holstee
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You’re not invisible.
For months, I’ve been going to the park near my house to do my morning stretching. The first few times, I was unfamiliar with the place, and with the people. I tend to be shy in new environments, so I kept to myself. Headphones on, music playing, I focused on my exercise routine and avoided eye contact. I didn't want to disrupt anyone, so I chose to ignore everyone. I was, in a way, pretending I was invisible. After a few weeks, I began to recognize some familiar faces. But by then, I had gotten so used to not acknowledging anyone that I thought it might be perceived as odd to start saying hello now. Maybe they hadn’t seen me and wouldn’t recognize me like I recognized them? Then one day, this older silver-haired man with a white sweatband, tiny running shorts and socks up to his knees came to the park. He immediately greeted me, shook my hand and started his workout. As he jogged off, I saw that it wasn't just me he was acknowledging, but everyone he passed. A smile to the guy walking his dog, an encouraging thumbs up to the woman doing squats, a good morning to the family biking to school — this guy was sending out good vibes to everyone. It might just be me, but that little bit of acknowledgement made me feel welcome — not just welcome in the park, but welcome on this planet. It was a reminder that we are all in this together, that we’re part of something greater. It made me feel better about myself. And it planted the seed that today might be a great day. He was planting seeds of trust, openness, and community in everyone he passed, just by simply acknowledging that we all exist. The skeptical voice in my head, the one that is constantly bombarded with messages of fear, tells me not to trust strangers — that someone who engages with me probably wants something in return, that it’s best to keep my head down. But if we border ourselves with walls built of fear, we not only block out perceived threats but we also miss out on the possibility of love, friendship, new ideas and adventure. In the spirit of this month's theme, Kinship, I am going out of my way to acknowledge people and grow the sense of community we all live in. Make someone feel welcome; you may just make their day. Dave RadparvarCo-Founder, Holstee
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