Lately, my life has been a bit slower and quieter than I'm used to. There's new space in my day to day that wasn't there before and I've tried my best to let it be and see what happens. Holy shit, it is not easy.
Let's just say that I'm not the best at letting things go. I like—okay, I love—order and check lists and knowing that I'm getting something done every day. I want to think that it's less about having a sense of control and more this incessant need to be productive and feel like I'm perhaps creating some sliver of meaning in the world.
But really, what is there to create? Taking a step back, I see how self-centered that idea is. Who am I to contribute to everything that already is?
So instead of trying to fill the space like I always do, I'm sitting in it. And gently, with little agenda or expectation, feeling that effect it has. Noticing how badly I want to jump up and fill it. And you know what? Slowly, very very slowly, that urgency to move and do begins to fade a bit. And in it's place? Truthfully, I'm not sure how to describe it. But isn't that the point of it all?
I think back to some wise words from Alan Watts:
“Paradoxical as it may seem, the purposeful life has no content, no
point. It hurries on and on, and misses everything. Not hurrying, the
purposeless life misses nothing, for it is only when there is no goal
and no rush that the human senses are fully open to receive the world.”
The purposeless life. It doesn't project the hope and shiny inspiration I'm normally drawn to. But in this newly found space that's there, well, it merely is. And I am. And you are. And for right now, that is enough.
Friday, April 29, 2016
Friday, April 8, 2016
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
And the music plays on
The clouds move with power and purpose, morphing into one another as
they hurry along in some unknown direction beyond what I can see. The
whole sky turns over and around and under and a vigorous, brisk wind
enters like a passionate burst of notes on a piano. The tall trees dance
along gracefully for a few moments, until the music stops and
everything falls silent.
I am one tiny, seemingly insignificant spec in this world. But I am still a spec. I feel the cold wind on my cheeks, running its fingers through my hair and the sun shines down on my face through the temporary windows shifting between the clouds. Perhaps I am a part of this picture, of the hugeness and enormity of nature. And just as the clouds and wind and blades of grass move in their directions, I move in mine. Sometimes with purpose, sometimes with ease, and sometimes with faith knowing that this life, all of it together, creates a spectacular wholeness that I am only beginning to discover.
I am one tiny, seemingly insignificant spec in this world. But I am still a spec. I feel the cold wind on my cheeks, running its fingers through my hair and the sun shines down on my face through the temporary windows shifting between the clouds. Perhaps I am a part of this picture, of the hugeness and enormity of nature. And just as the clouds and wind and blades of grass move in their directions, I move in mine. Sometimes with purpose, sometimes with ease, and sometimes with faith knowing that this life, all of it together, creates a spectacular wholeness that I am only beginning to discover.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
A girl
The evening is silent, except for the gentle sway of trees and the last
bit of bird chatter before they too head off to their nests. I sit in
bed, curled up in an ancient powder blue robe, turning the pages of an old
college photo album that I dug out of my closet. I pause for a moment
and count the years. One, two, three ... seven. These pictures were
taken SEVEN years ago. How is that possible?! We all look so young. And
regardless of the time that has passed, as I flip the pages, the most
vivid memories come hurdling toward me. Impromptu dancing in the middle
of the street, beach camping, floatopia, sitting on the sea wall talking
about life and what we all wanted—or thought we wanted—after college.
And of course, walking everywhere barefoot all the time.
Each photo holds a world of its own—a story that springs to life with such color and brilliance. And even more than the memories themselves, I reconnect wholly to the person I was and how I felt at that time. Oh how things have changed. Man, how I have changed. Somewhere along the way I created this new life and a reality I would have never dreamt up seven years ago.
And sometimes I think about the dreams I used to have. I haven’t quite gone down the path I thought I would and I wonder… Have I compromised myself? Have I stopped fighting for what I want, and most importantly, for the person I want to be? I realize that this journey often doesn’t go as planned and I’m okay with that. But what about my values? Have I stayed true to those? Would my idealistic, hopeful, fiercely independent college self be disappointed? Or would she be proud knowing that I’ve forged this new path, taken risks and tried my best to be kind and gracious to the people that I’ve met along the way?
More often than not, I look back over the years and think about how much I’ve “grown up” and realized what adult life is and means. But maybe it’s healthy to revisit that old self, filled with potential and excitement for anything and everything still to come. To remember the unspoiled view of the world I had and a fearlessness that made me feel like anything was (and is) possible.
On the second to last page, I pause at one photograph. There’s a girl standing barefoot, looking out at the golden sun setting over the Pacific. She sees nothing but rolling waves and sea and light. There are tears in her eyes but she still smiles from her heart knowing that whatever comes next will be good. That this life might be full of surprises but this place, this self, will always be right here. And she’s right. That girl is right here. She hasn’t left and neither have her dreams. Sometimes it just takes some digging and a few old photos to find her.
Each photo holds a world of its own—a story that springs to life with such color and brilliance. And even more than the memories themselves, I reconnect wholly to the person I was and how I felt at that time. Oh how things have changed. Man, how I have changed. Somewhere along the way I created this new life and a reality I would have never dreamt up seven years ago.
And sometimes I think about the dreams I used to have. I haven’t quite gone down the path I thought I would and I wonder… Have I compromised myself? Have I stopped fighting for what I want, and most importantly, for the person I want to be? I realize that this journey often doesn’t go as planned and I’m okay with that. But what about my values? Have I stayed true to those? Would my idealistic, hopeful, fiercely independent college self be disappointed? Or would she be proud knowing that I’ve forged this new path, taken risks and tried my best to be kind and gracious to the people that I’ve met along the way?
More often than not, I look back over the years and think about how much I’ve “grown up” and realized what adult life is and means. But maybe it’s healthy to revisit that old self, filled with potential and excitement for anything and everything still to come. To remember the unspoiled view of the world I had and a fearlessness that made me feel like anything was (and is) possible.
On the second to last page, I pause at one photograph. There’s a girl standing barefoot, looking out at the golden sun setting over the Pacific. She sees nothing but rolling waves and sea and light. There are tears in her eyes but she still smiles from her heart knowing that whatever comes next will be good. That this life might be full of surprises but this place, this self, will always be right here. And she’s right. That girl is right here. She hasn’t left and neither have her dreams. Sometimes it just takes some digging and a few old photos to find her.
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