Lately, I’ve been noticing how it’s the subtle shifts in perspective that really rock my world. It’s not always the giant leaps or the magnificent hooplas that get me moving forward or out of stuckness. Sometimes it’s bending and kneading my mind a bit in order to provoke a quiet whisper that tells me there’s more to celebrate than what meets the eye.
I admit it, I’ve been feeling grumpy. It seems like every bulldozer and dumptruck in the state of North Carolina has been parked in front of my house for the last two weeks, digging, grating, and digging some more, while a man being paid to direct traffic (not) stands in my yard revealing his pencil holder from time to time. There is a constant droning noise, occasionally interrupted with the beep beep beep of when something moves in reverse, and the walls and windows are vibrating incessantly. It’s enough to make one feel a little Jack-Nicholson-ish (y’know, like in The Shining), or at the very least, go out there and invite (beg) the workers to turn off the equipment during their lunch break when they’re not using it anyway.
Phew. Thanks for letting me get that out.
What I’m being somewhat forced to notice is that savoring isn’t always about taking what’s delicious and making it last, like Noah does with his popsicles. It’s sometimes about taking what’s challenging and sowing seeds of intention and fancy within the mud. And while going outside and kindly asking the men playing in the dirt to leave or chaining myself to my neighbor’s mailbox in protest probably wouldn’t do me any good, I know that getting down to that raw and naked connection to spirit and self through teasing my awareness away from what annoys me, will.
First step… headphones. Music. Drums. Oh yes. Invite the wild in me out to play.
Second step… find a nourishing spot in the house to write where I’m not looking out the window at bright yellow monsters with big wheels and large scary teeth. While I considered the cave-like ambience of my bedroom, I choose to sit at my dining room table, where in front of me, I see dogwood blossoms dancing with a gentle breeze and sunshine planting warmth in our garden of broccoli and lettuce and strawberries. Today, I need light.
Third step… water. Every time I have a wee inkling that what’s happening outside is beginning to invade this sacred space, I take a few sips. Washing away the angst, consuming my vision, letting it all move through me, grounding myself within my body. I should well exceed my water requirements for today…
Fourth step… write. It doesn’t even matter what comes out or who reads it. It simply matters that I have this conversation with myself so that my mind and heart can capture what’s real beyond what I assume to be real, so that I can witness my own resilience, so that I can make room for all that is, the clear sunny 80 degree day AND the dirt piles.
Fifth step… go outside, despite the noise. Take a picture. Can I find beauty in all that chaos? Just stepping outside the door, I feel my breathing getting deeper. Perhaps I can ignore the ruckus and find solace and even stillness in the emerging green, the warmth against my skin, the turquoise sky…
…and even discover delight in colors daring to peek out from behind a backhoe.
By the way, with what I’m encountering today, it seems like a perfect time to remind you that if you claim your spot at this summer’s wild woman retreat this Friday, Earth Day, I will not only treat you to a rockin’ discount, but I will also plant a tree in your honor and document it with pictures and a story about your tree. We both get to give a little back that way… isn’t that fantabulous? Click HERE to register or to find out what juicy adventures await you.