Turning Busy Thoughts Into Light

This week has been all about settling back into our routine. We were on a little vacation, and as lovely as that was, there’s something comforting about returning to the familiar rhythm of home. I’m also meeting with my first podcast guest this week, which feels both exciting and a little surreal — recording with someone else is a whole new chapter for this project.

Lantern Making

While we were on our vacation last week, I was inspired to do a lantern making project. It was -15°, and I’ve always wanted to make ice luminaries. It’s something that my husband’s grandfather had done and a warm memory for my husband. I made well over 15 lanterns and lined a wooded path with them. It was simple and beautiful — lighting each candle one by one, then blowing them out again one by one. There was something unexpectedly cathartic about it. The quiet. The repetition. The glow. The sense of release.

When I sat down to record this week’s podcast, I realized I didn’t want to talk about anything. I wanted to offer the feeling I had while walking that path — the sense of release, the softening, the way my thoughts felt less like a storm and more like something I could place gently outside myself.

How the Lanterns Worked on Me, Too

As I guided the meditation, I noticed something happening inside me.

There’s a moment, when you imagine taking a busy thought and turning it into light, where your whole body loosens. It’s like giving yourself permission to stop holding everything at once. While I was recording, I could feel my own mind unclench. Thoughts that had been swirling all week — the to‑dos, the transitions, the anticipation of interviewing my first podcast guest — suddenly felt less sharp. They had somewhere to go.

What surprised me most was how comforting the imagery became for me, even as I was speaking it aloud. The lanterns felt like little anchors. The path felt familiar. And the idea that each thought could illuminate instead of overwhelm shifted something in me. It reminded me that my mind isn’t a container that has to hold everything tightly — it’s a place where things can move, transform, and eventually settle.

By the time I reached the end of the meditation, I felt lighter. Clearer. More connected to myself than I had been all week.

That’s the gift of this practice — not perfection, not emptiness, but a gentle reorientation. A way of saying: I can set this down for a moment. I can let the light hold it.

If you try the meditation, I hope it gives you even a fraction of the calm it gave me while creating it. And if nothing else, maybe it encourages you to find your own version of a lantern‑lit path — a small ritual that helps you turn busy thoughts into something softer, steadier, and easier to carry.