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Articles by Maggie Rowe
Life Is Mostly Annoying Little Things
You know all those little repetitive tasks you do day in and day out? The Russians, I found out, have a word for those: byt. Byt refers to the daily business that keeps a life going. Brushing your teeth. Washing the dishes. Making the bed. Figuring out why your internet is slow. Calling Spectrum to get it fixed, waiting on hold, getting cut off, calling back. All the annoying little stuff.
Life Is Mostly Annoying Little Things
Natasha Kamneva Source: Used with permission/Natasha Kamneva You know all those little repetitive tasks you do day in and day out? The Russians, I found out, have a word for those: byt. Byt refers to the daily business that keeps a life going. Brushing your teeth. Washing the dishes. Making the bed. Figuring out why your internet is slow. Calling Spectrum to get it fixed, waiting on hold, getting cut off, calling back. All the annoying little stuff.
Love and Grief: How the Body Remembers
My husband Jim and I took our dog Holly to the veterinarian last week and came home carrying only her collar. It still had the little metal tag on it. Holly Rowe Holly Rowe Source: Used with permission/Maggie Rowe I hadn't realized how much of loving a dog is physical until there was no longer a body there. I miss Holly burrowing against my side in the middle of the night. I miss coming home to the frantic scratch, scratch, scratch of her paws as she hurried to greet me.
Love and Grief: How the Body Remembers
Take our Depression Test Find a therapist to heal from grief My husband Jim and I took our dog Holly to the veterinarian last week and came home carrying only her collar. It still had the little metal tag on it. I hadn't realized how much of loving a dog is physical until there was no longer a body there. I miss Holly burrowing against my side in the middle of the night. I miss coming home to the frantic scratch, scratch, scratch of her paws as she hurried to greet me.
Ripe for a Vacation: The Wisdom of 'Urlaubsreif'
For most of my life, I've described myself the way many Americans do. I'm exhausted. Burned out. Running on fumes. I just need to get through this week. I just need to push a little harder. Those expressions have always seemed perfectly ordinary to me, but recently I noticed something they all have in common. They imagine me as a machine. A battery that needs recharging. A candle that's burned too long. An engine that's overheating. In every case, I stop because something has gone wrong.
Ripe for a Vacation: The Wisdom of 'Urlaubsreif'
Take our Burnout Test Find a therapist near me "Urlaubsreif" means "ripe for a vacation," framing rest as readiness, not depletion. Machine metaphors for exhaustion promote shame, while ripeness celebrates cycles of life. Recognizing "ripeness" for rest requires self-awareness before actual burnout hits. For most of my life, I've described myself the way many Americans do. I'm exhausted. Burned out. Running on fumes. I just need to get through this week. I just need to push a little harder.
Maybe You're Not Breaking Down. Maybe You're Molting
Motivational speakers love butterflies. So do gurus and pastors and coaches. Butterflies offer a stirring metaphor for the potential of human transformation. You disappear into a chrysalis, do some mysterious inner work, and emerge shockingly upgraded, effortlessly beautiful, and ready to soar. It's a lovely image, but it has one glaring problem: Almost none of us experience change that way. Most of us don't wake up one morning with a brand-new identity.
Maybe You're Not Breaking Down. Maybe You're Molting
Motivational speakers love butterflies. So do gurus and pastors and coaches. Butterflies offer a stirring metaphor for the potential of human transformation. You disappear into a chrysalis, do some mysterious inner work, and emerge shockingly upgraded, effortlessly beautiful, and ready to soar. It's a lovely image, but it has one glaring problem: Almost none of us experience change that way. Most of us don't wake up one morning with a brand-new identity.
Making First Impressions on People We’ve Known for Years
I’m very good at making first impressions on people I’ve known for years. Even with my closest friends, I feel the need to present my best self at all times. And that takes preparation. Text before you call. Let’s find a time. Thursday works. Two o’clock is perfect. Give me 20 minutes, and I’ll become the version of myself I’d like you to meet. I’ll put on a better shirt. I’ll remember my funniest stories. I’ll shake off whatever disappointment or irritation I’ve been carrying around all day.
Making First Impressions on People We’ve Known for Years
We often perform for close friends, aiming to present our "best selves" even when it's unnecessary. The Trinidadian concept of "lime" values unplanned, authentic gatherings over polished presentations. True intimacy grows when we stop rehearsing and simply share our ordinary, unfiltered selves. I’m very good at making first impressions on people I’ve known for years. Even with my closest friends, I feel the need to present my best self at all times. And that takes preparation. Text before you call.
The Joy of Longing
Sometimes I'm driving down a highway when I pass a single farmhouse standing by itself, miles from another building, its porch light already glowing though the sun hasn't quite finished its work. For a few seconds, I live there. I imagine making soup in its kitchen. I know the names of the hawks. I have forgotten what day of the week it is. The feeling passes as quickly as it arrived, but it has happened all my life: A lighthouse. A cottage in Ireland. An apartment over a bookshop.
The Pendulum of Striving
We tend to live like malfunctioning windshield wipers. Frenetic motion. Sudden collapse. Frenetic motion again. One week we are downloading habit trackers, ordering supplements with names like Alpha Brain Thunder Powder, and telling ourselves that this is the month we finally become the kind of person who answers emails within 24 hours. We wake at dawn. We stretch. We hydrate aggressively. We make ambitious, sprawling lists in multiple notebooks. Then comes the recoil. We dive under the duvet. And we stay.
The Pendulum of Striving - Maggie Rowe
We tend to live like malfunctioning windshield wipers. Frenetic motion. Sudden collapse. Frenetic motion again. One week we are downloading habit trackers, ordering supplements with names like Alpha Brain Thunder Powder, and telling ourselves that this is the month we finally become the kind of person who answers emails within 24 hours. We wake at dawn. We stretch. We hydrate aggressively. We make ambitious, sprawling lists in multiple notebooks. Then comes the recoil. We dive under the duvet. And we stay.
What I Learned From Being Catfished - Maggie Rowe
The email came in early Wednesday morning. I was in one of those brittle creative moods where every unfinished project seemed gathered around my desk like creditors. I had been checking sales figures for my memoir, Easy Street: A Story of Redemption From Myself, because I am apparently the sort of person who can write publicly about spiritual growth while privately refreshing BookScan like a lab rat hammering a pellet dispenser.
What I Learned From Being Catfished
The email came in early Wednesday morning. I was in one of those brittle creative moods where every unfinished project seemed gathered around my desk like creditors. I had been checking sales figures for my memoir, Easy Street: A Story of Redemption From Myself, because I am apparently the sort of person who can write publicly about spiritual growth while privately refreshing BookScan like a lab rat hammering a pellet dispenser.
The Voice Telling Me to Do More Is Wearing Me Out
You should have gotten up earlier. You shouldn’t have procrastinated. You should have put it in the calendar. You should have followed up. You should have checked in. You should have reached out. You should have circled back. You should have planned ahead. My mind offers these little reprimands all day long, like an anxious middle manager pacing the halls of a failing corporation. I scold myself because I think the scolding will improve future performance.
The Voice Telling Me to Do More Is Wearing Me Out - Maggie Rowe
You should have gotten up earlier. You shouldn’t have procrastinated. You should have put it in the calendar. You should have followed up. You should have checked in. You should have reached out. You should have circled back. You should have planned ahead. My mind offers these little reprimands all day long, like an anxious middle manager pacing the halls of a failing corporation. I scold myself because I think the scolding will improve future performance.
The Art of Wu Wei
Ten strangers came to my house, which is not how most things begin if you are trying to control them. If control is the goal, you start smaller. You soften the variables. You invite one person, maybe two, and you make sure they already like you. You create conditions in which approval is almost guaranteed, or at least gently implied. But this was an Airbnb Experience, which, for those who have not yet fallen down that particular rabbit hole, does not mean people are staying overnight.
The Art of Wu Wei - Maggie Rowe
Ten strangers came to my house, which is not how most things begin if you are trying to control them. If control is the goal, you start smaller. You soften the variables. You invite one person, maybe two, and you make sure they already like you. You create conditions in which approval is almost guaranteed, or at least gently implied. But this was an Airbnb Experience, which, for those who have not yet fallen down that particular rabbit hole, does not mean people are staying overnight.
Becoming Comfortable With Discomfort
Kurt Vonnegut once said, “Stay in New York too long, you get too hard. Stay in Los Angeles too long, you get too soft.” I live in Los Angeles, which means I have, over time, developed a highly refined relationship to comfort. If you asked me what matters most to me, I would not say comfort. I would say growth, or truth, or connection. Something with a little more spine.
May Confusion Dawn As Wisdom
Every other Sunday, for many years now, I have met with a small group of fellow Buddhists to study Tibetan Buddhist texts, principles, and meditation under the guidance of our long-time teacher. Before we begin studying, we chant together. One line in particular has stayed with me: May confusion dawn as wisdom. I have always liked the sentence, though I cannot claim I fully understand it. Most of the time confusion feels like something to get rid of as quickly as possible.
Are you the same kind of different as me?
Remember the activity book pages we had as kids that asked us to identify the object that was different — “one of these things is not like the others” — and the high school exams that tested our ability to compare and contrast? From our earliest days, we’re taught to notice differences. It’s how we learn about the world. Travel often fascinates us with its discoveries. Are you usually most surprised by elements in your destination that seem familiar, or by the ways they are different?
What If You’re Fundamentally Not Flawed?
Saint Augustine Source: Pixabay/Bellafor My church’s youth ministry organization was called Awana, which stands for “Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed.” It is, I maintain, the least catchy slogan ever devised for children. The phrase comes from 2 Timothy 2:15 (King James Version):“Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed.” Awana began in 1950 in Chicago as a Bible memorization program for kids. The boys were called Pals.
When I'm Right, I'm Most in Danger of Being Wrong
On the door of a local store in our town square, there are cheerful, aspirational slogans printed in tidy, modern fonts. Among them: “Do something with joy, or not at all.” “Beauty is not trivial.” “Every product should have a story.” Inside, the vibe is curated optimism: plants, candles, linen that whispers wellness. But then… right out front on a rack by the entrance, there is a jacket.
Can an Art Exhibit Answer a Zen Koan?
Koan From Gateless Gate:Ritual of Returning Source: Ann Shi, used with permission “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” That’s the one we’ve all heard. A koan, they’re called. Even if you’ve never set foot in a Zen center, chances are this question has floated past you at some point like a mysterious spiritual fortune cookie.
Praying the Blues
“The Psalms are the bluegrass of the Bible.” This peculiar metaphor popped out of my mouth while I was teaching a lesson on the Psalms to our adult Sunday School class. My husband and I had just attended a Balsam Range concert the night before, which might explain my preoccupation with this musical genre.
The Myth Of Progress
I am a longtime devotee of the God of Progress. Forward is good. More is better. Faster means I’m winning. If something hurts, it’s probably growth. If something feels empty, well, that is just the price of forward motion. Up until recently, I did not think of my devotion to progress as an allegiance to a particular mythology. I took it to be reality. Like gravity. Like time. I bought into it early and enthusiastically. Progress meant saying yes to opportunities even when they made me feel slightly sick.
Tohu v’Bohu: The Void Before Creation
In the second line of the Hebrew Bible, before light, before land, before anything with a respectable shape, the world is described as tohu v’bohu. Depending on the translation, this primordial state is rendered as “formless and void,” “empty and waste,” “invisible and unformed,” or, more poetically, "chaos with a pulse." Which is to say: The universe began as a mess.
The Myth of Progress
I am longtime devotee of the God of Progress. Forward is good. More is better. Faster means I’m winning. If something hurts, it’s probably growth. If something feels empty, well, that is just the price of forward motion. Up until recently I did not think of my devotion to progress as an allegiance to a particular mythology. I took it to be reality. Like gravity. Like time. I bought into it early and enthusiastically. Progress meant saying yes to opportunities even when they made me feel slightly sick.
Missing the Children I Never Had
I miss the children I never had. I was never pregnant. I never miscarried. There is no medical chart, no ultrasound photo folded into a drawer. And yet, there are two girls I have known for quite some time—two girls conceived in my mind. I’m not exactly sure when this little mental game started. Maybe when I began wondering what I would have named a child if I had had one. The feeling and wondering involve some sort of ache. A longing. But it isn’t only painful.
My World Is Not the World: How Goat Yoga Expanded My Perspective
Author's goddaughter Nerys with goat Source: Maggie Rowe, used with permission/ My goddaughter Nerys likes goats. I like yoga. Therefore, goat yoga was inevitable. On January 3, I went with Nerys and her friend Ellory to the Los Angeles Arboretum. Our group of 20 gathered indoors, unrolling our mats in a bright, echo-y room that felt halfway between a yoga studio and a rec center about to host a kids’ birthday party.
Break Free Of Your Own Reality Bubble
Two years ago I started co-hosting a podcast called "50 Words For Snow" devoted to words that do not quite exist in English. Words that name experiences we feel constantly but rarely examine. Some of these words are charming. Others are unsettling. A few of them quietly rearrange the furniture in your mind. One of those words is umwelt. My cohost Emily John Garcés recently discussed the concept of umvelt on our New Year’s episode with Jared Bias.
Let's Make Some Noise
Kika Mousse Source: Used with permission/Kika Mousse I do not have a great singing voice. I do not even have a good singing voice. My singing voice is the vocal equivalent of a lopsided gingerbread house made out of crackers. Every holiday season, I join a choir somewhere and immediately worry that the person in front of me will turn around, hear whatever sound just escaped my mouth, and think, "Gawd, who let her in?" And yet, I love singing at Christmas. I love the communal lift of it.
The French Word You Need For the Holidays
There is a moment every December when I look at my calendar and realize that the holidays are essentially a triathlon made of tinsel and small talk. First, there is the driving portion, which involves circling unfamiliar neighborhoods, Googling parking rules, and eventually abandoning the car somewhere that feels both illegal and inevitable. Then comes the chat endurance test, during which you must remember who got divorced, who got a dog, and who now runs a kombucha company.
L’Esprit de l’Escalier: Staircase Wit
Imagine this. You are at a holiday party with your friends. Not the friends you see every week. The other ones. The ones you really like but haven’t seen since last December and may not see again until next December. You have put in the effort. You have put on the outfit. Specifically, the festive one-piece jumper that looks sensational under twinkle lights but has the structural engineering of a bank safe requiring multiple dexterities to remove when it’s time to pee.
The World Is Trying to Change You. Let It.
I cohost a podcast called Fifty Words for Snow, where my wonderful Welsh cohost, Emily John Garcés, and I chase down unusual and valuable words from across the globe. Some are ancient. Some are modern slang. Some are invented by poets who create entire languages. Our only requirement is that the word shifts the way we see the world. This week, the word that did that for us was biophilia.
The Case Against Self-Made
On my podcast Fifty Words for Snow, my co-host Emily John Garcés and I sometimes “put words on trial.” We assign a judge, gather the evidence, and ask whether a word has outlived its usefulness. Recently we prosecuted a very American term, one that many Psychology Today readers may quietly feel inspired by: self-made. It was an unexpectedly spirited trial. But for me, the verdict felt inevitable. It is time to retire the idea of the self-made person altogether.
What If Your Noble Purpose Has a Secret Agenda?
The poet David Whyte once said that “ambition is a word that lacks ambition.” I take him to mean that the way we usually use ambition—career, status, the next big thing—is actually smaller than the larger undertaking of a life. The real question is not “What am I achieving?” but “Who am I becoming as I achieve it?” That sounds lofty and poetic.
What If Your Noble Purpose Has a Secret Agenda? - Maggie Rowe
The poet David Whyte once said that “ambition is a word that lacks ambition.” I take him to mean that the way we usually use ambition—career, status, the next big thing—is actually smaller than the larger undertaking of a life. The real question is not “What am I achieving?” but “Who am I becoming as I achieve it?” That sounds lofty and poetic.
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