25/2021

25/2021

I’m surprised by the softness that seems to surround me in this middle period. There have been times when life has felt so hard, I couldn’t see that it could ever not. It has taken time for me to learn how to practice the pursuit of equanimity. Or to pursue the practice, rather.

When we are young, things feel extreme. We don’t quite understand the sly, knowing smiles we see on the faces of those who’ve already been where we stand, nor their lack of excitement about the position of our feet. We struggle despite advice. We rear up against strife despite the soft utterings of “this too shall pass.” We don’t know. We can’t know. It just doesn’t seem to usually work that way even for the wisest old souls.

This morning I rose early, even by my standards. The photo I took from the porch swing says 5:50am as I look at it now. I took it quickly, almost unconcernedly, while I sat and sipped coffee and thought about the coming day because what I saw quietly struck me like the pluck of a single harp string. I knew I’d not escaped anything — I’d still have to do the laundry, wash the dishes, care for and feed and water the creatures from the human ones to the four-legs to the avians to the plants, try to schedule the virtual tour of the school the board of education demands is appropriate for my son even though it’s far from that and we saw the same school last year and rejected it, manage comings and goings and interruptions and questions, make plans, think, figure it out. But even as recently as last year, those thoughts would’ve made my heart palpitate. And though I know this will pass too, I was able to just take in the scene — the birds sang as they flew up to the feeder and their bath, the dogs pecked around in the grass, the sky was turning from grey to blue, the big red maple in the left side of the yard reflected at least five different shades of green, and my ferns looked happy. And it was okay. It was good. Hell, it was great.

Sometimes I think the great joke of life is that we don’t even begin to figure out how to live until we start to hear the minutes tick away. It’s only then that they become so precious to us that we become unwilling to waste them. It’s only then that we become so precious to ourselves that we become unwilling to waste ourselves. It’s only then that we sit on the porch with our coffee, take in the scene, and whisper, “it is enough.”

Sending love everywhere today,

AM