Jodi Hills

So this is who I am – a writer that paints, a painter that writes…

Tag Archives: calm


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Self leveling.

If you dip the cookie in the frosting, pick it up slowly, turn it over, sway it a little side to side and front to back, the frosting will level itself out. I don’t know how it knows, but it does. It’s the gift before the giving.

I think we’re all given the tools. Right from the start. Oh, sure, it takes a little turning. A little swaying. But when you know. You know. 

I used to go into my room at five years old and color my emotions. I didn’t have the words for what I was feeling, but I had 24 Crayolas that could relay the message. At six, — as Mrs. Bergstrom gave us the spelling, the words — I began to write poems.  Thus began this cookie’s life of self leveling. And the real gift is, I now have something to give.

I’m not special. We’re all given the tools. Maybe you garden. Maybe you bake. Or build. Or teach. 

Yesterday, after painting in the studio, feeling the magic of this new portrait beginning, I wanted to call my mom. Oh, how she loved magic!! And perhaps frosting even more. So I returned to the kitchen, dipped the cookies that I had made earlier that day, and turned and swayed and leveled myself in all that love, and somehow I knew she knew. 

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Chateau du Seuil.

Long ago I wrote “On the days that I can’t create something beautiful, at least let me have the wisdom to see it.” I suppose the same goes for peace. 

She’s the first thing I see each morning. I sit on the side of the table that faces her. In the painting, she sits behind her easeled art, within her book, and all is calm. I know this place. Whenever anxious, they are my two safety zones — holding the brush, or cradling the words. The bang of my heart quiets to a whispered beat, and I am saved.

It’s why I like the French words for not worried — it translates to pas inquiet (Inquiet means un quiet, or disquiet, a lack of peace.) So to be “pas inquiet” is to not be worried, to sit in this glorious peace. 

Before I had the words, I had the tools. And on the days when I find myself in the chaos, I do have the wisdom, or at least the opportunity, the reminder, to see it — the place where my heart can rest and my mind can wander. 

But it does deserve attention. It needs to be fed. Acknowledged. Yesterday, after baking the bread, we rode the waft of its scent to the vineyard that produces our favorite olive oil. It bears the taste of olive and earth, so pure, that when poured on the grains of the bread, placed on the back of the tongue, your eyes can only give way to the wave and roll to the back of your brain, the threshold, the most quiet place where gratitude lives, where worry cannot find its way.

And so I, we, begin the day, without a bang, in the beauty of this glorious peace.

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Still. And again.

In Mrs. Strand’s kindergarten class at Washington Elementary, there wasn’t a problem that sitting still couldn’t solve. If we were too hot, “Sit still,” she would say softly. Too excited. Too nervous. Too tired. Too anything. We solved it all by sitting quietly at our desks. In the saving grace of her whisper, we knew everything would be ok.

I listen for her voice, still, and still. Those calming words that told us not to run away from it, but just be in it. I think we often get afraid to feel. We want to fight it. Push it away. Outrun it on the playground. It’s a lesson I’m still learning. Even knowing it. Living it. Creating it on the canvas, I still have to keep learning. But she was right, Mrs. Strand. And when I allow myself to just feel it, calmly, trusting the words that my five year old self found to be true, it is then that I can breathe, recover and become. I can love, still, and again.

I sit in this morning whisper, and know everything will be ok.

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Blue Mind

I wanted to tell her that there is this thing – something better than a thing – this phenomenon that happens when you are close to the water. It’s called Blue Mind. I had only heard of it a few days ago, but had experienced it my whole life.


When I take a swim in the pool in the morning – it transports me back to 10 years old, riding my bike to Lake Latoka. Not parking the bike, just letting it fall into the sand. Kicking off my shoes, and shorts, racing into the water. Then floating. And swimming. And feeling the everything and nothing of being weightless. The everything and nothing of being without worry. This glorious everything and nothing buoying me for an endless summer.


Now the “experts” will say that “Blue mind” is characterized as a mild state of meditation that evokes a sense of calm, peacefulness, happiness and contentment. It’s your brain’s subconscious, positive reaction to being on, in or near water. You instantly feel a higher sense of wellbeing, slower breathing and lower heart rate.


That sounds right too. And I wanted to tell her all of that, but I didn’t know all of the French words, and she was crying, and it seemed too long to explain. I started to say something and the sight of the Mediterranean Sea caught my eye and my breath.

I learned a long time ago that joy arrives in every shade of blue. I smiled. Hugged her, and thought, we could probably just go outside.