Shawshank Wisdom

It can all start to feel like death by a thousand paper cuts.

Aging.

It happens to the best of us.

With every new trip around the sun, passing day, and next breath, we’re older than the ones before. The process does seem to accelerate though. Injuries that used to heal quickly now take longer to mend. Joints that didn’t hurt yesterday make themselves known today. Checking things out to see what this or that might mean, or not mean, becomes a more common occurrence. One can tire of having to think about, tend to, and tolerate a body that isn’t what it was not so long ago. At least this one does.

However.

Given that getting older is here to stay, there’s a choice to be made about what to do with what we’ve got.

Open our arms wide in acceptance, or shrug our shoulders in resignation.

One is active. The other passive.

To accept is to welcome, receive, and participate in. To resign is to give in, quit, and withdraw from.

Acceptance is about taking life on. Resignation is about letting it go.

Or in the words of Andy Dufresne, “get busy living or get busy dying”.

Please Hold

It is snowing like crazy. Roads are closed down. Cars are in the ditch. Businesses are closed due to the weather. Grocery stores are short on eggs. Flights are being cancelled. Schools are on snow days. Plans are being put on hold. Earlier this morning our neighbor came to plow our road, and in the process got his rig stuck in the ditch. A few minutes later my husband and two other neighbors rallied together with snow shovels, tow straps, and pickup trucks to pull him out.

In short, it’s winter. The days are short, the nights long, and there is an otherworldly stillness that fills the air with the sound of silence.

Winter is a reminder that life is unpredictable. It can change in a heart murmur, a snowstorm, an icy patch of road, or a power outage. It’s a time to remember that we are meant to rely on one another. Check in with each other. Share a meal, lend a hand, and maybe a snow shovel.

Winter is a reminder of the importance of slowing down and allowing life to come to just short of a halt. We ignore these slower days at our own peril. Times of dormancy are necessary for life to spring forth in new ways. In nature, and, in our bodies, our work, and our souls.

Winter is a reminder to be present to the here and nowness of our lives. It invites us to set aside our to-do lists and settle in for a spell. Lord willing and the creek don’t freeze, there will be ample time to get back into the groove of doing. This short season offers the possibility of establishing a pace and a rhythm for the year before the year establishes one for us.

I’m writing this as I am on what might be a five-hour hold time to book reservations for a much anticipated trip to Scotland later this year. The snow continues to fall outside my window. There are good leftovers in the fridge for dinner, firewood is stacked on the porch, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers are in the playoffs, and I’m at my desk writing.

Winter is life’s way of putting us on hold. Minus the elevator music.

The Basement

Today we tackled the basement. Old memories, holiday decorations, collections of this and that, things saved in case needed to repair other things, and on and on and on. Everything down there had a story, and it was hard to know where to start, what to save, what to store, and what to sell.

It was a daunting task.

When faced with a daunting task, it is almost impossible to take the first step.

When faced with a daunting task, it is almost impossible to do anything but take the first step.

When faced with a daunting task, it is that first step that makes the next step possible. And the next, and the next, and the next.

The basement is where we put things that we want to think about later. When later comes, a step at a time, what was daunting becomes doable, and what is doable becomes done.

The Garage

So we have this garage. It’s a big, beautiful, well-built garage. It was specifically built to have room for two cars, ample storage space, a garbage and recycling station, a workshop to die for, and an upstairs bunkhouse for overflow guests, complete with a full bathroom, and mini-kitchen. It was planned for all of those, has room for all of those, but has none of those, because there isn’t room for any of those. It is filled to the brim with, well, we’re not sure what, but we’re about to find out.

Tomorrow is the first day of Garage Resurrection Week. We’ve set aside the time specifically and intentionally to rid it of any and everything that isn’t needed, wanted, or has past its usefulness, so that we can bring back to life the purpose for which it was built.

A garage is such a metaphor for life. A garage becomes filled with things that get in the way of why it was built in the first place, and a life gets filled with things that get in the way of why we are here in the first place.

It boils down to this…What to keep? What to toss? What to pass on?

Wish us luck.

Betwixt And Between

Father Richard Rohr defines a liminal space as the place that is betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown.

That definition rings true, and sounds familiar, as this is the space where I find myself more often than not. That place between what I’ve known in the past, and that has perhaps served me well, but with a few more steps along my journey encountering new experiences, new information, new people, and new perspectives, I can no longer count on what I’ve known to guide my steps. This is, I think, how we are meant to travel in the world—letting go of certainty and grabbing ahold of curiosity instead. 

It is usually when I am sure that I know for sure, that I find out that I usually don’t. So much for certainty. 

Liminal places aren’t found periodically along our journey. They are the journey. 

What Goes Around

We all have old stories and toxic messages that keep circling around, appearing on our landscapes yet again. When they do, we have the choice of grabbing hold or taking a step back. In grasping a familiar message, we deepen our connection to the past, and continue to carry it with us into the future. In stepping back, we have the opportunity to evaluate its relevance in the present, and decide whether it is worth the weight it adds to our load. Each time our stuff takes another lap around our block,  we have the choice is to latch on or let go.