THE WAY FORWARD

Sometimes the way forward is clear. You made a decision to do a certain thing: go to school, accept a job, have a child.  The decision set the path. Now how that job is done, that child is raise, that school is navigated may not be clear, but at least there is some direction.

But, the way forward isn’t always as clear as we would like. We may feel as if we are dropped into the middle of a wilderness. We don’t know how to get out. There are no paths to follow. We have no compass to give us direction. We are not even sure what getting out of the wilderness would look like. 

This is what happens to us when we have lost something that has given us a clear sense of ourselves, our identity. When we lose a parent, a child, a spouse, a career—those things in our lives that are central to how we know ourselves—we often feel lost and unable to make our way forward. 

How do we go forward when this happens? First, it is always helpful to know that if the path forward is clear, it may not be your path. Our choices, our decisions and where they lead only become clear in the living of our lives. We don’t know how each day will turn out.  

Therefore, the way forward is one step at a time. We don’t know if the direction is right so we take a step and see where it leads us. Then we take another one. If we take a mis-step, we back up and try another direction—one step at a time, not beating ourselves up for our mis-step. This is the way forward in life. 

Helen Keller said, “If life is not an adventure, it is nothing at all.” Living life one step at a time takes courage. Take heart!! Be kind to yourself. See where the adventure leads.

FALLING ASLEEP

I lay on my back, listening.  The night sounds drift in through the open window. A cool July night (an oxymoron). Deb’s sleep breath even and peaceful. I have awakened from sleep.  It is the middle hour of the time I sleep. I can’t go back to sleep. 

Sometimes I get anxious. I try to go back to sleep.  I work at it.  I clear my mind and listen to my breathing.  I feel make my muscles relax, sinking into the mattress. I work so hard that I keep myself awake.  

But other times, I stop my stress and I think, “This time is a gift. Night is a time when the body can lie here and the mind can play.”  I relax without trying, imagining myself hiking, listening for the sounds of the house, sounds that I don’t hear in the day when we are busy. I wonder about those I love and how they are doing. I remember the day and imagine what tomorrow might be like. 

Those nights I am glad to be awake at night. I am glad not to miss my mind’s musings—my soul’s soundings—my heart’s hoping. This quiet time can heal hurts and fan the embers of hope.   

During these nights, I can understand what Richard Byrd, Arctic Explorer of the last century said about his falling asleep while alone in the frozen night of the north: “A man can live a lifetime in a few half-dreaming moments of introspection between going to be and falling asleep; a lifetime reordered and edited to satisfy the ever-changing demands of the mind.” (Burning the Midnight Oil: Illuminating Words for the Long Night’s Journey into  Day, edited by Phil Cousineau). 

Those gifts of quiet space between sleep and sleep are times for editing and reordering. I love them.

MAKING MUSIC

It was over in an hour. And it was fantastic!!.  But when it started, I failed to appreciate just what a gift we were given. 

We went with friends to hear the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra play in Garfield Park.  It was a free summer concert on a perfect evening. The music started and I settled in.  But, before they had finished the first piece, I noticed something.  I noticed the orchestra.  I  noticed our friend Roger playing the English Horn.  Then I noticed each individual.  Over 100 professional musicians.

Do you know how easy it is to take this incredible gift for granted?  There we were, listening to some of the world’s finest musicians pooling their gifts to contribute these incredible musical gifts to me. Over 100 individuals!!  Probably millions of hours of practice as each individual has trained for decades to bring this one sound to this one evening. And there were hundreds of thousands of dollars of musical instruments. And there were all the music teachers who trained all these musicians.  

There there were the sound people who had put up the microphones so the music sailed across the park.  And the police who managed traffic, and the United Moving Van which had hauled the chairs, stands and music to the park.

And there were all the years of tender care given by hundreds of people to help the park become what it was—a public place open to all.  And all the citizens who paid taxes over the decades to keep the park going and pay for the musicians to be there.  

And there they all were—all these incredible gifts—to make one hour of fantastic music.

None of us lives to ourselves alone. All that makes life full and rich is the result of a complex tapestry of lives woven into each hour we live. 

Be thankful. 

PERIPHERAL VISION

I have two brothers and a sister.  The four of us were together recently. The gathering was for our oldest sister’s funeral.  These are always times for remembering.  We talked and told stories. As always, it was an interesting experience because it sometimes seems like we didn’t grow up together.  We talk about a given memory of a given event and it was almost like we weren’t at the same event.  We all remembered different things about it.  

In a recent conversation with a friend who has been studying the science of the brain, I discovered that the mind remembers in snap-shots.  And they are not taken with a wide-angle lens.These images are rather narrowly focused and there is limited peripheral vision.  Because the brain has a series of still photo that are connected to any given memory, we have to create a narrative around the images to make sense out of them. 

I think the narrative that is developed around the snap-shots is strongly effected by the emotional impact of the event.  For one person, the event might have been very painful.  For another it might have been deeply confusing.  For yet another, it might have had little emotional impact.  When we sit around and remember together, the narratives we create around the particular events becomes the truth about what happened.  And we can argue about whose memory is closest to the actual reality of the event.

But, I am not sure arguing is the best way to use our time. I don’t have to be right.  What I want to do is to stretch my understanding of our past with the narratives and perspectives of my siblings.  What was in my peripheral vision may have been the center of the photo for my sibling.  If I am able to see more clearly the snap-shot that they have captured, and if I can understand better the narrative they have created around the photo, I can develop a deeper appreciation for the complexity and rich texture of the life we lived.  

And who knows, I may even adapt my narrative and gain more insight into the way I act and the way I feel. 

DISTRACTED FROM OUR LIFE

Several years ago I took a long road trip.  I took Annie Dillard along in a book on CD.  I listened for hours as the “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” revealed wonderful discoveries she made while living for months in a cabin by herself in southern Virginia.  I have very fond memories of that trip as I remember all the stories she shared in the book. 

But, what I don’t have memory of is the road trip itself.  That is, I don’t remember anything about the scenery along the road in Indiana, Tennessee, Alabama, Texas, Kansas and Missouri.  I don’t remember the temperature because I was cocooned in my Audi.  I don’t remember where I stopped and ate.  I have no sense of how long it took me to get where I was going. The only thing I do remember about the road trip was the Texas State Police pulling me over because I was going too fast.  But, nothing else. 

Looking back on that experience, I am glad I listened to the book. It has enriched my life. But, I am troubled by how this might become a practice—being absorbed in something apart from where I am.  It is very easy to avoid life where we are living by being drawn into other places outside ourselves. Murray Schafer has called this “schizophonia”.  This represents a dislocation between what we see and what we hear.  

Now it is one thing to make choices to do this.  It is another to assume that this is the norm for living. Because, it seems to me that while we can enjoy life apart from where we are, we might miss some powerful experiences in our life because we are not paying attention to being here and now in this one place. We may miss our children’s growing up even when we spend time in the same house with them if we and they are always engaged in relationships a part from those around us.

Maybe what is important is to examine our lives and determine what is most important at any given time rather than simply allowing ourselves to be distracted from our life.