There’s a healthy and an unhealthy way to love ourselves. Jesus said, “love your neighbor AS yourself.” 

This implies that we must first learn to love ourselves authentically before we can really love others – or as St. Anthony says — “all human beings.”

Christian monks throughout the world this week embark on the season of Advent, a period of silent preparation for the coming of Christ into the world at Christmas. 

All of us have seasons in life that are marked more by waiting and anticipation than by action.

During my Novitiate year in the monastery, I was in charge of the refectory (aka the kitchen) – keeping it clean, keeping food in the pantry, etc. 

My chore one afternoon was to mop the refectory. Father James, an older Irish Carmelite in his 70s (and one of the wisest men I knew) walked by and invited me to sit in on a class he was teaching during the same time I was supposed to mop. I would have preferred to go to the class and honor his invitation but I didn't know what the right thing to do was.

At 19 years old, I got a group of friends together over my first summer back from college to go skydiving over the Georgia plains. I remember the skydiving guides telling us before we went up: 

“Now, when you get up there and you’re standing on the edge of the plane holding on, everything in your mind and body will NOT let you jump. You actually wont be able to jump because your body wants to preserve itself. But when we say go, you HAVE to jump. You will have to mentally override your instinct and force yourself to jump. You will have to trust that it will be ok. That is why you came here.”

We make dozens of decisions a day – how to respond to someone, what to eat, how we will spend our time, and much more. 

One of the best aids to making healthy decisions in the “little” things throughout the day actually has nothing to do with a given decision. It starts way before the decision arises.

In one particularly grueling job I had years ago where we often worked to 10pm each night, I remember one more junior person would make rounds after she finished her work at 9pm – or later and ask “I’m wrapping up so what can I help you with?” 

This floored me – she should be going home but she wanted to help others to get home too. Through this, maybe she worked a few extra hours but she also left a lifelong mark on my understanding of how to build up others at work. I think that was a good investment of her time.

Most of the brothers I lived with in the monastery took naps regularly. Yes, you read that right. They napped. 

I’m not saying everyone can or should nap. Frankly, I struggled to nap myself - but I did try. 

These brothers also usually slept 7 or more hours per night on average. 

Why such dedicated sleeping habits? 

Detachment is often misunderstood. It’s not about caring less. It's about holding what we possess – whether material or intangible – so lightly that we can let go when it no longer serves our greater mission of love. 

Once when I was in the monastery, I remember my cousin came to visit. As she was leaving, she asked me with a bit of sorrow in her tone,

"Don't you get lonely here?” 

The question surprised me a bit. Sure, loneliness happens to all of us from time to time. But, I didn’t consistently feel lonely. Most of all, because I was blessed to experience a closeness to God that was deeply nourishing and lifegiving. But secondly, because I was with a caring community day in and day out.

How often do we feel paralyzed by a decision that feels too big, too overwhelming, or too final? Whether it’s a career change, a move, or a personal commitment, the pressure to make the “right” decision can cloud our ability to take action. We sit with the weight of it—perhaps for days, weeks, or even months—feeling stuck and unsure.

Recently, a friend asked me for career advice. He was at a crossroads of making a big career change and felt crushed by the weight of that decision. I tried to lower the stakes: “Before you make this huge switch, can you test it out first?” Testing it out can be as simple as spending a few hours a week working in a similar role.

In the monastery, we had dinner together every night. This was a privileged time for nurturing community and relationships. Of course, doing the same thing with the same people every day sometimes felt boring or mundane.

It can often be hardest to love those closest to us – members of our family, classmates and friends that we see all the time, people who no longer hold novelty or intrigue for us. But consistently finding little ways to serve and love those in our midst actually becomes the fabric of true heroism.

People often ask me what the hardest thing to give up in the monastery was. I think they assume it's sex, and they want to hear me say that. 

Shortly after I entered, I remember a wise older brother telling me, “People think the hardest vow to keep is chastity. Actually, it's obedience.”