Sometimes you find little refresher bits of wisdom in the oddest places.

Today was a grey day, and I was curled up on the couch reading strictly for fun. Blissffuly absorbed in a Spenser novel. Not even a new one, at that: School Days.

And on page 85, Spencer talks to his dog Pearl:

Pearl was a good listener, even if she didn’t have much in the way of advice to offer. We sat quietly. I thought. I drank some scotch. Housman was right.

“First of all,” I said to Pearl, “somebody said once that you probably can’t figure out the truth, if you think you know ahead of time what the truth is supposed to be.

Pearl made a little sigh and settled.

“So I can’t go at this trying to clear anybody. I just have to find out what happened and why.”

A very good reminder about figuring out the truth.

Sometimes we get so comfortable and so familiar with where we are, that we forget to keep moving forward.

In “I Already Did That”, from Joy is My Compass, Alan Cohen writes:

It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar, and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. Ironically, there is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power. We are only truly secure when we are feeling alive. As Helen Keller said, “Life is a daring adventure - or nothing.” Another teacher explained, “A ship in a harbor is safe - but that is not what ships are for.” And we are reminded to behold the turtle who makes progress only when he is willing to stick his neck out.

Whenever I face the possibility of doing something different, and I get that feeling of reluctance, I try to remember to ask myself, “But this thing that I want to keep doing that’s so sure and so comfortable … did I already do that? Is it time to move on?” And sometimes, there’s more to what I’m doing that I still have to experience. But sometimes, too, I’ve already experienced the fullness of that particular decision.

And it is time to move on.

Cohen ends with this:

There are two ways in which any path we walk upon strengthens us: Once, when we commit ourselves to it; and again, when we choose to leave it. We build rafts to carry us from one side of a river to the other. To attempt to carry the raft on the next footpath would be self-defeating. Spiritual wisdom is simply knowing when to build the raft, and when to leave it behind.

Too often, I tend to forget that I’m not only making decisions to commit myself to something - there is also a time when it is time to move on, and do something a little different. “In movement there is life, and in change there is power.”

Developing a practice gives you grounding, a stable foundation from which to move forward every day. But what if you’re not drawn to the more traditional practices, like meditation or martial arts?

Create a practice out of anything that you love.

In The Way of Aikido, George Leonard talks about the marriage of practice and play. And he points out that anything that you do “for the sheer love of it, as an essential expression of one’s soul” can become a long-term practice.

From this perspective, then, there are so many opportunities to begin, today, in this very moment, to create a practice, to commit to it and develop it into something that sustains you long-term:

The same thing is true in many aspects of life: exercising, doing your finances, working around the house. On a visit, Marshall McLuhan insisted on washing the dishes after dinner. “It’s my meditation”, he told us.

Perhaps more important, what we call our work can be recontextualized as a paractice. The key question again is whether you are doing it primarily for its own sake or primarily for its extrinsic rewards. This isn’t always possible, but in more cases than you might imagine, it’s a choice you can make.