Going Without

I am currently in the middle of a two-week cleanse. Today is the second day of consuming only water and diluted vegetable and fruit juices. Sometimes we do something for one reason only to to find out that there are other discoveries to be made along the way. In this case I set out to reap the benefits for my physical health and well being, and was surprised to uncover the value to be found in the act of going without.

I love good food. Shopping for it, cooking it, sharing it, and of course, eating it. Nothing wrong with that. However, as I am noticing during these days of caloric restriction, I take food, not to mention abundant, healthy, fresh, delicious, and readily accessible food for granted. As I experience a few mild hunger pangs, I am reminded of just how much I don’t like being hungry, and when I am there is an easy fix always at the ready. The refrigerator is full of good food, the pantry stocked, grocery stores and farm stands are within easy reach, and should I find myself on an empty stomach during a day in town, there are restaurants offering delicious take-out.

Hunger is simply not an issue for me.

The hunger games however, are real.

About 1 in 10 people in the world experience chronic hunger. Even before the COVID-19 crisis hit, hunger was a daily reality for millions of our fellow citizens. While the pandemic may limit some of the foods I typically purchase, I will not be among those who, already accustomed to hunger as a way of life, will be even more deeply impacted by food shortages and food deserts. By some estimates, COVID-19 could double world hunger rates. The inequity in pay received for work done is under even brighter light as many workers, now deemed essential, must continue to subsist on less than a living wage. Those without work face an even bleaker picture.

There is enough food produced on the planet to feed 1.5 x the world population. It is a solvable problem. We all have a part to play. Exactly what that part is, I’m not sure. What I do know, in part for having chosen to go without for a very short time, is that being well fed is a privilege. But it shouldn’t be.

Photo by Magda Ehlers from Pexels

The Guy In The Camo-Hat

We are all one family who have forgotten who we are.

~ Rhonda V. Magee - The Inner Work of Racial Justice

He walked into my favorite local farm store just as I was about to check out with my basket full of produce, birdseed, and farm-fresh eggs. Tall and imposing with a long beard fashioned into what is sometimes referred to a Viking beard, the expression on his face was anything but warm and friendly. He was dressed in khaki hunting pants and a short-sleeve t-shirt, a camo hat pulled low over his eyes. And, he was packing a semi-automatic pistol on his hip. Accompanied by a woman wearing a mask, he had a young German Shepard on a leash. The woman with him was small in stature and, to my eye, seemed timid and submissive, as if she had acquiesced any personal power and agency to him.

I was grateful that I was wearing the mask that I diligently use during these strange and scary COVID-19 times. Thankful that I can do even this simple small thing to protect my fellow citizens, yes, but also grateful that he was unable to see the look on my face—a look that would have let him know that I knew his story and was disgusted by it. Everything about this guy in the camo-hat smacked to me of white supremacy, white nationalism, an unflinching commitment to the least restrictive interpretation of Second Amendment rights, and the relegation of women to their place behind men. I could feel my anger rising up as I considered all the ways in which what this man surely stood for are undermining our country and threatening our democracy. How, with people like him on the rise, can we have a shred of hope for ever achieving “liberty and justice for all”?

Climbing back into our car my thoughts continued to unspool about why people feel the need to wear a gun in public, not to mention a semi-automatic one. What felt like low-level adrenaline coursed through my body as I continued to focus on all the things I imagined when encountering the guy in the camo-hat. This went on all afternoon as we went about our bi-weekly essential activities trip into town.

And then it dawned on me.

I knew nothing about the guy in the camo-hat.

Not his name, the cards life had dealt him, or how he has chosen to play them.

Nothing.

In the time it would have taken him to draw his weapon, I had made up a story about him based on my own stereotypes and biases, and then proceeded to believe every imaginary word. It was the kind of story that separates us from our fellow human beings. The fear-based story of Us vs Them. The weaponized story that is undermining our country and threatening our democracy.

What if his story wasn’t anything like the one I had been telling myself since I first laid eyes on him. What if he was an off-duty policeman whose family had been threatened due to an earlier arrest and conviction? What if he was veteran committed to training therapy dogs for military members who were living with trauma-induced PTSD? What if the woman he was with wore a mask because she had a compromised immune system from treatment for cancer? What if she stayed close to his side because he was the love of her life who had seen her through her illness?

What if?

I can remember the exact spot on the road when this new story made it’s way into my closed and biased heart. There was a perceptible change in my body. Everything softened and opened up. My heart made room for this man I didn’t know. Like me, is he afraid for our country, and if so, why? Like me, does he love his family and friends with a love that runs deep and wide? Like me, has he been battered and bruised by painful life experiences? Like me, does he have knee-jerk reactions to others as a way to protect himself from those he fears?

I may never learn his real story.

It is certainly possible that the story I made up has a loud ring of truth to it. Even if it does, I can only hope that my encounter with the guy in the camo-hat will help me remember what so many of us seem to have forgotten. We are family, and we belong to each other. Which is why, tomorrow when I head out on a nearby logging road for a hike, I will be sure and wear my favorite hat to help me remember.

We are family.

We belong to each other.

Emotional Weight Lifting

Whether in actual physical proximity to people I care deeply about, or through a virtual connection that is the lifeline of relationship during this time of shared crisis, I feel untethered from my ability to connect with people. Some of the most basic navigational tools I’ve come to rely on are not available at present. No longer able to share a hug, I’m left to rely on my words. Unable to reach out and touch a shoulder, the tone of my voice must convey nuance. Facial expressions are stand-ins for the holding tight of hands, eye contact takes the place of a kiss, and tears that flow more freely than usual have to suffice for the comfort of a long embrace.

Strangely, the ways in which we have become accustomed to connecting to one another now put us all at risk. If we truly want to care for one another, we are being challenged to find new ways of being in relationship with one another. It often feels like trying to complete an intricate task with one hand tied behind my back, or navigate through the house blindfolded. I know what I’m trying to accomplish and where I want to go, but with only half of my relationship wheelhouse available.

It makes me wonder.

How often do we substitute easy contact for real communication and familiar gestures for genuine connection? Perhaps this time of separation, isolation, and physical distancing is a call to forge even deeper connections, hold each other close even when we are alone, and practice going it together even as we stand apart.

Learning to be in relationship without all of our usual resources is really hard work. It is tiring to the point of exhaustion. In many ways it’s like weight-lifting. The only way to get stronger is through repetition, increased effort, pushing past previous limits, and giving ourselves time to rest and recover.

And then going at it again.

Photo: Leon Martinez on pexels.com

The Sound Of Silence

Silence.

It has been one of the most profound markers of this global pandemic. Not simply the lack of surface noise, but the presence of a deep quiet. It is, as many have noted, as if the Earth is catching her breath. Not gasping for air, but quietly inhaling and exhaling in the way one does when in a deep and restful sleep.

It is as if silence is the container in which creation is meant to reside, and it must have been here all along, as in forever. But it took the absence of manmade sound for it to quietly slip into my awareness. In just 6 short weeks I have come to depend upon the presence of this ancient silence. It has permeated my interior landscape and quieted my inner thoughts, and I never want to lose it again.

This morning, for the first time in many weeks, that deep silence was broken. Shortly after sunrise the sounds of big equipment rang across the valley. Someone, somewhere nearby, was dropping trees and moving dirt, the sound of human voices raised above the mechanical din, and try as I might, I could no longer locate the silence. It has been punctured by the sounds of people engaged in work that must have felt important to them, and yet in that moment I was filled with the kind of sadness that accompanies the loss of someone or something precious.

It was grief, pure and simple. The silence was gone.

It was tempting to place blame on those doing the work, or find fault with the people pushing to lift the restrictions meant to safeguard us too quickly. Doing so would have felt far better than sitting with the sadness. However, as the equipment continued to do what it was doing, I tried to let that sadness do what it was doing. As painful as it is, our sadness always points us toward something we hold dear.

Even as I understand that we must carefully begin to emerge from this time of quarantine and sheltering-in-place, I am deeply afraid of losing what has been gained during this time of mutual sacrifice for the common good. Of forgetting what has been remembered, and of discarding what has been discovered. Silence is one such thing.

Whatever work was being done just beyond the trees surrounding our property came to an end. The sound of heavy equipment and the people operating it stopped, and there it was. The deep silence, that container within which we all reside, was still there. And it always will be. If I lose touch with it again, there is no one to blame but me.

A Molten Moment

Nobody is going to make this easy for us once on the other side of this life-altering time when things will supposedly return to normal. Except they won’t, or at least they don’t have to. Not if normal means how things were before, not the possibility of what they can be in the future

Living under conditions that separate us from one another, we remember that we are all connected, and that our individual survival is hardwired with that of the collective.

As the price of oil plummets, we can almost hear the sound of Earth catching her breath. The absence of noise reminds us to listen the deep quiet beneath it all.

Living as we are, under our own microscopes, everything about us is magnified. On any given day, the best of us might make her presence know, or be completely overshadowed by the worst, Most days it is a dance between the two, and the invitation at our feet is to learn to let the better angels of our nature take the lead.

We are discovering just how little we really need, and how much we don’t.

We are remembering what it means to be neighbors again. As we care for one another the world becomes a safer place, and while tribalism might have kept us alive in the past, it will do nothing but insure our demise in the future.

The powers that be are going to work mightily to persuade us to forget the hard-earned wisdom that we belong to one another and are indeed one another’s keepers including the care for this fragile planet we all call home.

This is a molten moment.

We have the chance to be changed for the greater good, and our calling is to remember what we are learning in the here and now once we step back out into our shared world of the there and then.

No matter what anyone tells us, and I mean anyone, things will not return to normal. At least that is my deepest hope and my most fervent prayer.

Photo: USGS

Come To The #wakeupappreciaterepeat Party.

This is a repeat of an earlier post. Given the ongoing COVID-19 crisis, I’m sharing it again in the hope of transforming this post into a shared practice.

If you want to join the #wakeupappreciaterepeat party, you are invited to post your three appreciations for the day on Instagram along with the hashtag, and invite any and everyone to join in.

Gratitude and appreciation matter more than ever.

Let’s get this party started!

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How we start any given day sets in motion our eventual arrival at the end.

I’ve done this particular practice on a hit or miss basis in the past. Not any longer. All hit, no miss.

It’s a simple practice and one that didn’t originate with me.

The very first thing, or no later than my first cup of coffee, I identify three things that I appreciate. To be honest, some days it is harder than others to come up with one, much less three. Thankfully, Sleepy Monk Coffee is an automatic go-to, because no matter how bleak or bright the day, I am always grateful for that first sip, which means I’m already a third of the way to my goal. One down, two to go.

To stay on track, I text my three things to the daughter who shared this practice with me in the first place, and she texts her three back, along with the practice hashtag.

Sleepy Monk Coffee

My husband Tom

Connection - Virtual or otherwise

#wakeupappreciaterepeat

Not a bad way to start the day.

(With gratitude to Lo for sharing this life-giving practice.)

Sabbath

When we consecrate a time to listen to the still, small voices, we remember the root of inner wisdom that makes work fruitful. We remember from where we are most deeply nourished, and see more clearly the shape and texture of the people and things before us.” 

~ Wayne Muller, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives

For the last 575 days I have written something to share here with my readers. Most of those days the daily practice of writing has been life giving, and, on the ones when it wasn’t, it still fed me in meaningful and fruitful ways.

Today, I find myself in need of rest. A kind of sabbath of sorts from the sifting and sorting through the questions that intrigue me, the ideas that captivate me, and putting those thoughts into words that I hope will resonate with others. I will never stop sifting and sorting and working to put those thoughts into the world. That, it seems, is part of what I am here to do.

For now, however, I will share my thoughts here as I feel inspired, but I am also consecrating a time to listen, and to find nourishment that will bear fruit in my life, the world around me, and on the page.

Thank you for every step you’ve walked with me till now. I can’t wait to meet again further down the trail.

Photo: Tom Pierson

The Roundabout

Roundabouts, also known as traffic circles, allow traffic to flow in one direction around a central island. There are usually several exits that let drivers continue on down the road. More than once I’ve found myself going around a traffic circle several times, somehow having missed my exit. Eventually I would get out of the circle and continue on my way.

Sometimes processing an emotional issue feels a lot like getting caught in a roundabout. We need to keep motoring around the matter in question until finally, we are ready to exit the circle, and continue on our way.

Photo by Tuur Tisseghem from Pexels

Cancelled

There are a lot of things being cancelled right now due to the uncertainty and panic surrounding the Coronavirus. Airline flights, conferences, meetings, conventions, sports team practices, long planned vacations and birthday parties, just to name a few, are getting axed. Eventually, especially if well-informed and calmer heads prevail, we will find our way out of this mess, but until we do, cancellation will continue to be a major buzz word.

Recently, for reasons far less significant and serious than a possible pandemic, a few events and obligations on my calendar have been scrubbed. My response every time was an immediate “Yes!” followed by a sigh of relief. Now, the things being cancelled were things I was committed to and even looking forward to.

However.

The fact that my first reaction was relief and not disappointment told me something. My response suggested that perhaps I needed a little more open space on my calendar and more generous margins around my days. I’ve taken these cancellations as a reminder to take a beat before adding something to my calendar.

The next time something on your calendar is cancelled, notice your response, and then, respond accordingly.

Photo by Jonas Kakaroto from Pexels

Front-Loading

I’m not a professional project manager by any standard, unless planning and pulling off a few exceptional weddings and an epic 70th birthday party count. But one thing I know for sure is that any project goes better when it is front-loaded.

The concept is often associated with large-scale industrial projects. During the front-end phase important milestones are set, and changes can be incorporated early on, which while requiring an investment in time, money, and effort in the beginning, pale in comparison to the cost to make changes and fix mistakes later on.

What is true of large-scale industrial projects is true of small personal ones as well. Anything from planting a garden, preparing for a new baby, organizing a garage, finding a new job, starting a side-gig, training for a challenging backpacking trip, to planning a bucket-list vacation will benefit from front-loading. Not only does putting in the time early on to plan for what you hope for in the end help bring your vision to life, what it saves in emotional energy is almost impossible to quantify.

The free-floating anxiety that can overwhelm us when we haven’t taken the time to get it out of our heads and down “on paper” can drown our enthusiasm for even the most exciting project faster than you can say “Gantt Chart”. Front-loading will keep us afloat.

Photo: Startup Stock Photo on Pexels.com