Mindfulness in everyday life.
Though I entered “sheltering at home” with internal fire—creating new resources, revamping my website, moving classes to Zoom—I recognize the unsustainability of my pace. I was operating from a “sprint” mindset: move quickly, make changes, help everyone. Now I’ve shifted to a “marathon” mindset: move slowly, consider new ideas, help the person right in front of me.
Tuesday, on a trip to the grocery store, I felt strange, uneasy, and fearful. Walking into Woodman's, I saw people with face masks. Everyone kept a 6-foot distance. No one looked at each other. There were rationing signs in every aisle. Plastic windows stood between customers and grocery-store staff. Intellectually, I knew all these steps were important and needed, yet emotionally I couldn't reconcile my heart with the surroundings.
Early spring is a tender time. A few trees bud; a few plants emerge. Late spring is a frenzy: everything grows and blooms. But early spring is for the brave. And this reminds me of human behavior. We don’t often reveal our tender, vulnerable places. Before we act, we wait for others (to know what’s “normal”). We seek external approval. At times, our choice comes from wisdom, but more often it comes from fear.
Many of you aren’t on social media or you’re trying to cut back (especially with the information overload of COVID-19). I support these efforts. Still, I want my Facebook posts—shorter messages —to be accessible to everyone. Each month, I’ll create a digest. Take your time, there’s no rush. Let yourself rest in these photographs and words:
Saturday afternoon, Mark and I drove to the Wiouwash Trail. We wanted a long walk outside. En route, we were hit by another car (unusual circumstances, details unnecessary). Mark had to swerve. I thought we were clear, but the impact came, which sent us into another swerve, and we landed in a steep (yet blessedly soft) ditch. No airbags deployed, but our hearts raced. It was scary and startling. I was shaken. Much more shaken than I first realized.
