Treading Water

Most days I feel like I am just treading water. Not getting anywhere. Barely keeping my head above water.

My self-talk tells me I should be doing more. Making progress, getting more accomplished, having a clear sense of purpose and direction. Not simply keeping myself from going under.

In the midst of one of those water treading days recently, I suddenly remembered my time as a Sea Sprite—a member of my college synchronized swim team. We Sea Sprites spent a lot of time treading water. In fact, we couldn’t get on to practicing our routines until we had completed our necessary water treading time. It was the essential skill needed to successfully perform together. It was hard and tiring work, but without the ability to tread water for a sustained period of time, we couldn’t perform our routines skillfully and with grace, strength, and in partnership with one another. It was only through the consistent practice of treading water that we developed the physical strength and endurance necessary to perform at our best. It required determination, grit, and a commitment to our shared success to keep treading water, when all we wanted to do was climb out of the pool and collapse on the deck. But the pool was where the magic happened.

Haven’t we all been treading water?

Given the treacherous waters of the year(s) we’ve just endured, it’s a miracle that we haven’t gone under. Rather than seeing treading water as simply coping, maybe we can begin to embrace it as the essential skill that it is. The one that enables us to live with grace, strength and in partnership with one another.

What is keeping us afloat? Treading water. What will continue to keep us afloat? Treading water. The willingness to stay where we are when all we want to do is climb out of the pool and collapse on the deck.

Take it from a former Sea Sprite.

The pool is where the magic happens.

Sometimes It's A Real Slog

Heading uphill yesterday at the beginning of what we’ve come to call “our” logging road, it was hard from the get-go. We have been hiking this same 1.7 miles straight uphill since March, and it’s never been piece-of-cake easy. Which is a good thing because that means we are continuing to increase our stamina and strength, so that we can keep going strong for as long as possible.

But yesterday, it was rough. There was snow on the road making it harder to get a good purchase. I could feel myself start to panic a little, and for the first time I actually wondered if I could make it to the top. Focusing on how hard it was, I lost sight of the fact that I could stop if I needed to. And when ready, keep going.

This is really hard. I said to my husband.

We stopped so that I could catch my breath. Gradually calm replaced panic, and we set off again, this time at a slightly slower but still steady pace, our footsteps falling together on the road. It was still hard, but somehow the hard wasn’t as hard, when I remembered that we simply needed to keep going. And if we did, we would make it to the top.

This is a real slog today, Tom said. (Thank God! It wasn’t just me.)

We broke out of the trees just as the sun was cresting the top of the ridge across the valley. The brilliant blue sky, white snow, and dark green trees all added up to a spectacular morning. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

Two deer appeared on the hillside, and then two more, all of them slowly climbing the steep, snow covered slope. Disappearing behind some trees, and then appearing again, it was like a game of hide-and-seek. One minute they were there, and then they were gone. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

This feels a lot like life right now, I said.

This year has been nothing if not an uphill grind. A grind that’s likely to continue for some time to come, and It will be hard. Somedays it will be a real slog. There will be days when we might panic a little, not sure if we can make it. We will need to stop and catch our breath so that we can remember that we simply need to keep going. And if we do, we will make it to the top, even catching glimpses of beauty along the way.

It never got easy yesterday. But the view from the top was worth every step. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

Stop and catch your breath when you need to, and then, keep going.

This is Christmas

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Except it isn’t.

Not this year. There are traditions we’ve come to count on year after year, and if we can’t honor those traditions, well then, it’s just not Christmas.

Except it is.

We have to let go of so many things that make the holiday the holiday, that it almost feels easier, more manageable, and less painful to pretend that it’s just not Christmas.

Except it is.

It might not look anything like the ones we remember, but a reminder of what Christmas has always been— Love showing up in the darkest of places and the most unlikely of circumstances.

It might not look anything like what we want, but it might be just the one we need.

If we try and make it what it’s always been, we’ll miss what it could be.

This is Christmas.

Let’s not miss it.

Having Its Way With Us

I love December. The way the sun stays low in the sky, the temperatures fall and darkness descends early, and the reminder that the year isn’t over yet. Yes, a new year looms over the horizon, but this one isn’t done with us yet.

This year, perhaps more than any other, we’ve discovered so much about ourselves. The good, the bad, and even—or especially—the ugly. These final days of the year are ones in which to take stock and decide what to do with what we’ve been given. And, when the time comes to turn the page on a new year, know what to bring with us, and what to leave behind.

The year 2020 has been one for the books, and there are still 31 days for this year to have its way with us. May we end this last chapter well.

Mox-Nix

When faced with two options, my sister often replies, “Mox Nix”. It comes from the German es macht nichts, and originated with American soldiers stationed in Germany after WWII. The gist of the term is that it really doesn’t matter, or it isn’t that important.

I’ve always loved the term, and how the words feel rolling off my tongue.

If 2020 has taught us anything, it is that there are things that matter, and things that don’t. We’ve also learned, or perhaps, remembered, how little is under our control, and we don’t like that. We’d rather have our hands firmly at the helm thank you, and when we can’t, we get scared, grab for control wherever we can get it, and pick battles that don’t matter with the people that do. .

We want what we want, and we want it now. But there is little joy in such victories, and while we may get what we want, rarely do we get what we need.

Mox Nix can help with that.

A Picnic In The Storm

My ninth-birthday plans included skipping school to go to The Portland Zoo with my best friend, followed by my favorite dinner—broiled flank steak, baked potatoes, birthday cake and ice cream. Perfect plans for my birthday docket.

Then The Columbus Day Storm of 1962 hit the Pacific Northwest. It was the most powerful extratropical cyclone recored in the U.S. in the 20th century. 46 people died, and hundreds were injured. If your home wasn’t damaged, you were the exception. The cost of damages in Oregon alone were estimated to be more than 200 million in 1962 dollars. Few if any escaped this storm unscathed in some way.

We were at the zoo when the wind started to blow, wind that would eventually top 100 mph. Running for the car we passed an exhibit where large birds were being tossed into the air like bean bags. Driving home I remember seeing a mop fly in front of our car, and tall trees crashing across the road out our rear window. We made it home just in the nick of time. The power went out, the wind howled, trees toppled in our yard, broken branches blew against the windows, and the huge black walnut tree in our back yard bent nearly in half over our roof. Thankfully it stood strong, or I might not be writing this today.

On that dark and stormy night, my biggest concern as a little nine year old girl wasn’t for the damage being done outside as the winds ravaged cities up and down the West coast, or the safety of those caught in the cross-hairs of the storm. It was, of course, for my birthday plans that had been blown to smithereens.

Now I loved the zoo. But what I really loved was flank steak. Prepared just the way my mom made it, there was nothing better. Marinate it for several hours, spread Dijon mustard on it, put it under the broiler, and don’t, under any circumstances, overcook it. (If it turns out anything but rare, you might as well throw it out and start over.) Slice it thin and serve it up with baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No electricity? No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter? No birthday dinner.

No birthday dinner? No birthday.

Mom saw it a little differently..

No power to broil the steak or bake the potatoes? No problem. Out came an old-school hibachi, hot dogs, and potatoes chips. We ate my birthday dinner by candlelight, sitting on a checkered table cloth on the floor in front of the fire.

That was the night I first remember watching my mom do one of the things she did best. She made a picnic in the storm, literally. Time and again, she brought us together, made something good out of something bad, and created beauty in the midst of almost any mess, leaving a legacy that every one of us can live into today.

The gale force winds of 2020 show little sign of abating. There have been over a quarter of a million deaths, and 12.5 million cases in the United States, and it isn’t over yet. The economic fallout is hard to fathom, and few if any will come out of this year unscathed. If ever we needed to learn to make a picnic in a pandemic storm, it is now, and this holiday season, as difficult, devastating, and disappointing as it might be, is a place to start.

Whether it means huddling together outdoors around a fire pit, setting a place for one or two using our best china, cooking treasured family recipes and making extra to pass across the fence to our neighbor, supporting our local restaurants by ordering takeout, or lifting a glass around our separate tables over Zoom, anytime we can find the will to make a picnic in this storm, we are smoothing the way through a rough patch in our shared history.

The year before my ninth birthday and The Columbus Day Storm

I know, I was already a fashion icon.

Words To Hang Our 2020 Hats On

Yesterday as I wrote about 2020, my first thought was to come up with ONE word for the year. One word that would capture my vision, hopes, and thoughts for the year ahead. One word that would help me make choices in line with the person I want to be, and the difference I hope to make.

That’s a tall order for a single word.

The more I tried to come up with one word, and one word only, the more restrictive it felt, kind of like when you can’t catch your breath. That is when the idea of a collection of words took hold, and as the list of words appeared on the page I began to breathe a little easier.

As I look at the word cloud created from my list, and now displayed nearby for quick reference, it is clear that I will need every one of them. I already know that there will be days when I won’t be able to muster a speck of fierce if my life depended on it, and on those days will be grateful that grace is there at the ready. Some days I will embody those words, and on others only aspire to them. Keeping them close at hand might just help me embody more and aspire less.

We human beings are complex creatures, and the lives we live are equally complex. Every day we make choices that, when cobbled together, create the life we have, and it is hard to imagine summing up a life in a single word.

Going Deeper

If you want to take a deeper dive into today’s post…

Find a bit of time and space to create your own collection of words on which to hang your 2020 hat.

Create your own word cloud. (I used Word Clouds (simple, free, fun).

Hang it nearby, refer to it often, and see what happens.

Putting It Into Words

It feels good for 2019 to be in the rearview mirror. At least it does to me, and so it seems, to most of the people I know. Yes, there were many moments of joy, causes for celebration, and plenty of love and grace to go around, but there was just something about last year that called upon us to dig deeper than we sometimes thought we could.

It was a year that left us ready to begin again.

There is no doubt that this new year will once again call upon us to dig deep, to endure, and to show up, again, and again, and again. Rather than a list of things to do better, I find myself searching for the words with which to travel through this year.

Words that will serve as touchstones for my choices big and small, day in and day out.

Words that describe who I want to be and how I want to show up in the world.

Words like this…

Time-Frame

A recurring thought as I look ahead to a new year is that it not get away from me before it even starts. It is so very easy to allow my days to be in charge of me rather than me of them. There is a distinct difference between being in charge of, and being in control of. In charge implies that I’ve built a framework within which life can organically play out, making room for both the planned and the unexpected. Control on the other hand, suggests attempting to desperately hold on to all the moving parts. Of which there are too many to count.

Having had the unexpected privilege of building a custom home, I was able to observe first hand the process of framing the house. This wooden framework is later hidden behind the walls within which we live and work and play, but it is what makes all that living and working and playing possible. It creates the shelter within which we live. It defines the different rooms and areas we inhabit, and creates a kind of order within even the most chaotic of days can occur.

Our time can be likened to a kind of home as well. It is the shelter within which we live, and to hold up to all that life brings our way, it too is in need of a solid framework. One that creates and defines distinct spaces for who and what we care about. A structure that both protects us from taking on too much, and enables us to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach. Which, I believe, is why any of us are on the planet in the first place.

Putting such a framework in place doesn’t happen by chance. First and foremost, it requires our intention. How do we intend to spend our days? What gifts do we intend to offer to the world? What and who matter to us, and based on that, what impact do we intend to make and how will we do that?

Along with intention, creating our framework requires our attention, not only to details, but to the bigger picture as well. How can we bring our attention to who and what are right before us, and yet not lose sight of the larger view? How can we commit ourselves to what is ours to do, and refrain from jumping in to what is not?

As Annie Dillard reminds us, How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. The timeframe of our lives is unknown to us, which is all the more reason to build a solid framework within which to live whatever time we have.