The Power Of The Summit

It all started when Tom was getting ready to retire from a 40 year civil service career as a research scientist for the United States Geological Survey.* It was going to mean a drastic change for our lives in almost every imaginable way, and rather than let this new way of life have its way with us, we decided to find our own way with it.

We booked a cabin at the beach for what we were calling our Pre-Retirment Summit, and came up with the following three questions:

1. What did we want retirement life to look like?

2. What were we excited about?

3. What were we anxious about?

There weren’t a lot of rules to the whole thing other than to show up with open hearts, open minds, lots of Sleepy Monk Coffee, daily walks on the beach, and of course, good food and wine. It was good work, hard work, fun work, and sometimes painful work, as we engaged in the kind of honest, sometimes raw, and always vulnerable conversation that partnership requires. What emerged out of that first summit was a blueprint for post-retirement life. More than simply a strategic planning session, it was another layer of our initial until-death-do-us-part vow. This is who and how we want to be in the world, separately and together, and this is how we will endeavor to do that.

The work done over morning coffee, afternoon walks, and evening wine served as a filter for our choices in the days and years ahead. It helped us get a handle on how we wanted to spend our time and be good stewards of our lives It also gave us a better shot at living with and loving each other well— however imperfectly at times.

The power of that summit was heading home having landed on lots of the same pages. Not all the pages, but the ones where we weren’t were fodder for the never ending work of becoming better humans together. It equipped us to better handle all that retirement from a long and meaningful career of doing really good work, would throw our way. Tom’s way, as he began to experience the silence and invisibility that comes with no longer being in the room, and the unoccupied hours waiting to be filled with new endeavors. My way, as I suddenly had a partner who was home. All. The. Time. And the new practice of making decisions together rather than running my own show. Our way, as we began to encounter rough edges, identify smooth ones, and discover new growing edges. And, it was that summit that helped us begin to establish the rhythms and rituals that would stitch our new life together, together.

We’ve held a summit every year since. The questions shift and evolve, but the process remains. So much of our time, focus, and energy is spent in the weeds of our daily. The summit is a chance to both get a bird’s eye view of it all, and to get down into the weeds of it all. To get a glimpse of life as it’s been, how it is right now, and how it might be. And, how it got to be how it’s been, how it is right now, and how to best make it what we hope it to be.

I wish we’d discovered it sooner. As I wander back over our 30 year of life together, I wonder what we might have done differently if we’d held more summits. Taken time to take stock, get on as many same pages as possible, and even more intentionally chart our course. None of our runways to whatever comes after this life are getting shorter, and while it’s never too late to start the practice of the summit, it’s also never too soon.

The power of the summit is in the dedicated time to reflect on what matters, and figure out how to even better connect who we are with how we live.

The power of the summit is in the conversations as much as what comes out of those conversations.

The power of the summit is in the freedom that is found when we don’t simply let life have its way with us, but rather find our way with it.

The power of the summit isn’t in the plans and to-do lists that emerge, but in knowing what those plans and to-do lists serve.

The power of the summit is…well… you tell me after you’ve tried one.

---

Side note: A summit doesn’t require a plus-one. Nothing wrong and plenty right with a summit for one.

Pre-Retirement Summit - 2018

This is an unpaid political announcement: Civil servants do important, non-partisan work on behalf of all of our citizens, often working long hours and at lower pay than they would in the private sector. Call your elected officials and tell them to value, support, and protect our civil servants.

Climbing A Mountain Part 5: It All Adds Up

My pack weighed over 40 pounds. That’s a lot to muscle up a mountain, and every pound made every step harder. It slowed me down, which meant that it had the potential to slow everyone else down too. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one with a heavy pack, and we all worked together to find a pace that was sustainable for our long haul.

But every pound mattered. Even one or two less would have eased my burden, and that of my fellow hikers.

Back home unloading my pack, I weighed every single item. I wanted to know how much that which was essential weighed, all in service of lightening my load for the next adventure. I began to understand why backpackers cut the handles off of their toothbrushes. It all adds up.

When we moved from our last house over 15 years ago, we didn’t do much sorting and sifting and shucking. We just stuffed everything into boxes, shoved them into two rented storage units, and shut the door. We didn’t think about them again until a couple of years later when we were ready to move into our new home. In the interim, as our house was being built, we housesat. Living like nomads, we brought only what was absolutely essential. At each new house I would set our two favorite coffee mugs on the kitchen counter, along with our French Press, and a photo of our family. And with that, while the house may not have been ours, we were home.

When it finally came time to unload the storage units so that we could load everything into moving trucks so that we could unload everything at our new home so that we could load everything back into our new garage, I took mental stock of the process. As the storage unit doors opened up I was tempted to simply hold an epic estate sale and leave it all behind.

Thankfully, we didn’t, as there were many things worth keeping. And truthfully, there were many things that weren’t. What we hang onto can all too easily become a burden. Be it possessions, wounds, habits, old stories, beliefs, or ways of being, it all adds up.

We all carry an invisible pack on our back. What is essential to an authentic and wholehearted life, and what is not. That which served us in the past may not serve us now, or perhaps never has. Every day is an opportunity to lighten our load, readying us for the adventures still to come, and equipping us to climb the mountains that will inevitably appear on our horizon.

The longer I live the more I am inspired to travel light. Maybe I’ll start by cutting the handle off of that toothbrush.

A New Start To The Day

The news ain’t great these days.

Most mornings as I wait the recommended four minutes before I can press the coffee, I scan my email inbox. Along with the tantalizing smell of freshly ground coffee brewing, my senses are assaulted with the latest New York Times Breaking News Headlines. While there is the very occasional headline that to my heart constitutes good news—the swearing in of Judge Katanji Brown Jackson—most of the time what I read breaks my heart a little more—the past two weeks have almost put me under—and hope is hard to find.

It’s not a great way to start the day.

So, I changed it.

I unsubscribed to The NY Times newsletter.

I subscribed to Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s A Hundred Falling Veils: there’s a poem in every day

This morning I was greeted with my first poem from Rosemerry, about, of all things, hope. (You can find her poem, Longing to Be Seen here)

How we start the day matters. Along with coffee and time with my husband and our dog as the sunlight first hits the meadow, I’m choosing to start my day with poetry, and a little hope.

Maybe you will too.

---

(Now before you go jumping to any conclusions, it’s not that I don’t want to be informed about the goings on in the world. I am simply choosing not to start my day there. Being part of a well informed citizenry matters to me, and it should matter to you too. Our democracy depends on it. There are good sources of news, as in real information as opposed to opinion and rhetoric out there, and, spoiler alert, they are not found on social media.)

The House I Hate

I hate my house.

Don’t get me wrong. I love our home and all the life that happens here. We couldn’t live in a more spectacular spot. Mt. Adams looms directly in front of us, offering a staggeringly breathtaking view that is just there for the looking. Our home is a place of hope and healing, a space to grieve and give thanks, and a dwelling where imperfect love, grace, and welcome reside in abundance. This rustic home is a shelter in the storm and a sanctuary in a world that seems to be crumbling before our eyes, threatening to taking us all down with it.

But I still hate my house.

We built it 14 years ago, and it is in need of freshening up. It’s true that most of the furnishings have a fun story behind them. There’s the fantastic $25 couch from the Goodwill Outlet (yes, that’s a thing), a dining room table and chairs from the consignment store next door to Sleepy Monk (our favorite coffee shop in the whole entire world), the matching Woolrich blinds that were still in their original boxes when I found them at another Goodwill, and the coffee table that used to display men’s ties from my days working for Nordstrom. There is a serious lack of floor and table lamps, as those seem to be what little grand boys love to bring crashing to the floor. Nothing goes with anything else, and if I hung sale tags on everything, you would think you’d wandered into a secondhand store with a first-class view. The house is a decorating hodgepodge that has gotten under my skin. And not in a good way.

Given the current economy, this isn’t necessarily the time to invest in a large-scale makeover. Two things are helping me navigate my current aesthetic crisis, and neither one costs me a dime.

The first is a comment from my sister several months ago. She suggested that every time I walk through the house, I should remember something good that happened here. Remember all of the gatherings and conversations and decisions and stories and apologies and connections and celebrations that have happened in this house that I hate that sits under the shadow of that glorious mountain. Recall the tears and hugs and laughter and prayers and meals and toasts and naps that have taken place in front of that beautiful rock fireplace.

So much good has happened here, and it’s had nothing to do with finding the right fabric or purchasing the perfect rug. It’s happened because of the intention with which we built this home, the vision we had for it to be a safe place for all who walk through the door, and our ongoing work to learn how to better love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach. Starting right here. In this house that I hate.

The second source of help came today in the midst of what is always a fruitful monthly conversation with my spiritual director. As he quietly listened to me express my need to get back to writing but not finding my way to my desk to actually write, and my failed commitment to spend regular time in contemplative prayer and meditation, it hit me. I recently took an inventory of the spaces that I actually love in this house that I hate. There are two to be exact. One is my tiny office on the stair landing, the other my meditation space tucked under the eves upstairs. I love everything about these two spaces: their location, the furnishings, the colors, and the way they are arranged. The two places I love the most are also the ones where I need to show up the most.

So many things can get in the way of doing what we most need to do to so that we can be who we most want to be. The fear that stops us in our tracks. The lie that things are so bad that what we each do doesn’t matter. The pain, blame, shame, finger pointing, screaming matches that find their way into our news feeds, email inboxes, and social accounts. The too-muchness of it all can cause us to do too little, and then everyone loses.

Writing is the way I make sense of the world and my place in it. Quiet time in the presence of the Holy grounds me in a world that is spinning out of control. If there are two things that I need to do, these are them. And I haven’t been doing them. And it shows.

My desk and meditation space that I love are waiting for me, right here, in this house that I hate. All I have to do is show up, and the rest will take care of itself.

Turning In Circles

Do you have a dog?

Do you know how sometimes they turn around, and around, and around, and then around some more, before finally plopping themselves down to settle in to just the right spot?

Do you ever feel like that dog?

Me too.

In fact, lately, I’ve felt a lot like that dog. Maybe you have too. We’ve been turning around, and around, and around, and then around some more, all in an effort to plop ourselves down and settle in to just the right spot. It can feel like we’re wasting time, not getting anywhere or making any progress. But the good news, for that dog, and for us, is that when we are turning in those circles, we’ve found the right spot. We’re just not quite ready to plop ourselves down and settle in there yet. There are a few more circles to turn before we settle down to write that book, start that new painting, or sign up for that class. With a few more spins under our belt, we’ll be ready to find a therapist, get serious about our health, or make a long-awaited change. A couple more circles, and we’ll finally find the courage to ask the question, have the conversation, or face the issue head-on.

Take it from that dog. With every circle, we are a little bit closer to plopping ourselves down to settle in to just the right spot.