LIVING LARGE

The human spirit is a fickled energy. Sometimes it wants to curl up into a ball and hide from itself and the world. We like to build tiny houses so that the soul doesn’t have too much room to wander around and get lost. We want to play our cards close to the chest. 

And there are other times when we want to run outside and dance in the rain. The spirit feels confined by the predictable and the routine. We are sure that there must be more and our heart will burst if we can’t stretch our souls to embrace the whole world. 

How do we free the spirit to fly?  How do we face our fear of falling and climb to heights we have not experienced before? 

I wish I knew. I am sure it is different for each of us. For me, it helps to accept myself as fickled and learn to embrace the place I am. When I am tired, when there has been too much stimulus and too many changes all at once, I try to give myself permission to draw in. I try to be conscious of the my boundaries and the need to draw them with a darker pencil. I try to accept this is a time to live small, to steward my energy and protect my soul. 

And then when I get restless, when the space begins to feel suffocating, I start testing my spirit. How large does it want to live? What tickles my fancy? Is there a play we can go see?  How about a movie? A concert? Friends to invite over? Day trips to explore unfamiliar places? Longer trips to far away places? Service to provide? 

Since the days we have to live are relatively few, and the world we have been given is excessively large, I want to live large as many days as I can. I need tiny spaces to rest and gain strength, but the fantastic world is my dream.  

COUNTERINTUITIVE

When we get anxious, we often find our body wanting to speed up and get more done. Anxiety functions as energy to try to accomplish something that will reduces the anxiety.  

This is especially true when we have lost something or someone significant. The absence of a center-piece of our lives makes us feel anxious. So, it seems normal to get busy and try to replace what is gone with something else that will function as a stabilizing presence for us. 

But, there is a problem with this strategy. Anxious energy is adrenalin that helps us get through a crisis, but it does not function for long term solutions for our emptiness. We frequently run out of energy before we have been able to discover another orienting center for our lives. When that happens, we become exhausted, maybe even depressed. 

So, I suggest something that is counterintuitive.  I suggest that when you are in the process of grieving loss (that is, learning to live without someone or something important) don’t hurry-up but slow-down.  When you are finding your way forward one step at a time, you have to think about your decisions more than you do when life is even and stable. The emotional stress of walking carefully, evaluating each move, determining if the direction forward is what you really want to do—these all take energy.   

Because you are using more energy to live each day, it is critical to take time to rest.  When you pace yourself, when you stop and give your body and mind a respite, they will serve you better for longer.  And working your way through a loss to new life takes longer than many other types of work. 

So, be gentle with your self and  give yourself energy renewal time. It will make a big difference.

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.