Elder + Connector + Writer
Some days I listen in to The Next Right Thing Podcast with Emily P. Freeman. She introduces it the same way every Tuesday by reminding her listeners that while it is a podcast about making decisions, it is also a podcast about making a life.
Those few words inspire me every time, and are a reminder that the decisions we make create the life we have.
We’ve been without internet service at home for three days and counting. Not just for us, but for the entire valley. I’m writing this from a coffee shop after coming into town to handle some important emails, and while a bit annoying and somewhat of an inconvenience, it’s also been refreshing.
Kind of a forced internet sabbath, it is shining a light on not only our dependence on our devices, but also our addiction to them. Life without a constant source of information at our fingertips creates space for deeper thought and more meaningful conversations. While doing the dishes, my thoughts and wonderings keep me company rather than a host of characters from my latest binge worthy series. Instead of quickly finding ready answers, we are slowly ponder possible ones.
When service is eventually restored, I hope to remember these few days without it, and adjust my usage habits accordingly.
It happened so fast.
Driving home last night in the dark on a road where every turn is familiar, out of the corner of my eye a deer flashed into view on my side of the car. In that split second, with barely enough time to hit the brakes, what we have talked about so many times and that I have worked hard to internalize, came to my rescue.
Don’t swerve!
Gripping the wheel firmly I steered the car straight ahead, while simultaneously braking in hopes that the deer might make it across in time. Sadly it didn’t, and thankfully, the car hit with enough force that the deer didn’t linger in pain.
Because we live in a rural area where we share our little valley with a host of other creatures, it is wise to prepare for the entirely possible scenarios that might require our rapid and right response. A deer jumping out into the road is one such scenario, and so we educated ourselves on how to best handle what we hoped would never happen. Most serious accidents involving the sudden appearance of an animal in the road occur when drivers swerve in an attempt to avoid the animal, often resulting in the vehicle careening out of control, rolling over, and seriously injuring the passengers, or worse.
We never know when something is going to jump into our well worn path, requiring a rapid and right response.
We never know when we are going to need to call upon a course of action we’ve planned for but hope to never use.
We never know when we are going to have but a split second to grip the wheel tightly and choose to steer straight ahead, rather than swerve off course.
While we hope to never have to put into practice what we’ve prepared for, if we do, we will always be glad that we were prepared.
Walking into the house I could hear a noise in the back room.
What’s that? I asked.
Oh, that’s just Mary (as in Poppins) our new robotic vacuum, my daughter answered. She’s mapping the house right now so that she knows where to go when I give her a command.
A little later I noticed the house was quiet.
What’s Mary doing? I asked.
She’s recharging, my daughter answered.
Mary knows…in order to do what we have to do, we have to take time to recharge.
noun: hibernation:
The condition or period of an animal or plant spending the winter in a dormant state.
We only have the capacity for so much. Once at our limit, there are times when we have to choose to put something, or even, someone on hold. Not because of unimportance, but because other things or other people are requiring all that we have to give. The best thing to do in those situations is to find the honest and loving language to share where we are, and why perhaps for a season, we can’t be what we’ve been in the past, and hope to be again in the future.
Hibernation isn’t the end. It is a time of dormancy so that life can emerge once again on the other side.
There is no secret. Keep going.
(Words on an Oiselle coffee mug)
We took the dogs and headed out to the Conboy Wildlife Refuge. It was cold, and sunny, and the contrast of the brilliant yellow-gold tamarack trees with their nearby neighbors, the lodgepole and ponderosa pines could not be more stark.
Once on the three-mile loop trail, we talked about things big and small as the dogs raced ahead, always coming back to check on us. From the viewing platform at the half-way point, it was obvious that fall was giving way to the coming winter, which in turn could only mean the eventual coming of spring and the appearance of new growth. New growth that is only made possible by the death and dropping away of this year’s growth.
Walking the refuge loop trail is always a reminder that life is a series of new beginnings, leading to eventual endings, only to come upon new beginnings once again. It is also a reminder of the need we have as human beings to find refuge from our personal storms with a select few sacred souls. Those who will walk with us as what has been drops away in order to make way for what can be.
There are many things I’ve learned from my good friend Mark Christensen, the mastermind behind and founder of the Learning Point Group, a full-service consulting firm that focuses on leadership and supervisory development, as well as workforce learning.
One of the simplest and most useful things I’ve learned from Mark is the practice of setting a time limit on something that needs to be done. Over our years together there have been times when we’ve had to complete a project, solve a problem or come to a decision. In those situations he would often say something to the effect of, “We’ve got twenty minutes to think this through and come to a decision.” Or, “We can commit the next four hours to this, and then we’ll need to move on.” It wasn’t an effort to cut corners, but rather an understanding of the value of time, and a belief in our ability to accomplish something good in the time allotted.
It is easy to let something take more time than it needs to. Or to put something off because we can’t commit as much time as we would like to our effort.
Today I had the chance to put this good practice to good use. I’m on the hook, in the best possible way, to give a reflection (aka: sermon) at our church in a couple of weeks. There are not a lot of days with much open space between now and then, so I decided to channel my good friend. I sat down at the computer and said, out loud in my best Mark impression to make it official, “You have two hours to pull a solid draft of your message together.”, and then proceeded to get it done.
When something is looming large on your mental horizon, consider channeling Mark. Set a time limit and get to work. You'll be amazed at what you can accomplish!
Our yearly supply of firewood just got delivered. Two-and-a-half cords of beautiful dry wood landed on our driveway, ready to be stacked under cover for use in the coming winter months. One of my favorite chores every year is to work together with Tom to stack the wood. Piece by piece the pile that sits in chaotic disorder turns into neatly stacked rows, and we are ready for winter once again. While we are not dependent on it to heat our home, it is an integral part of how we live, and we count on it to fuel life under our roof.
This delivery and stacking of the firewood is an annual occurrence, and turning that jumbled pile into orderly rows is a reminder that our lives unfold in much the same way. Something gets dumped into our lives, and suddenly we find ourselves in disarray. Like the firewood, it is ours to figure out how to put into order what has landed on our doorstep.
As hard as it is to have the unexpected show up, if we treat it like a load of firewood, and piece by piece put it into order, It can become an integral part of who we are, and fuel the lives we are here to live.
“I have fifteen minutes, and I’d love to spend them with you.” The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a close friend who was in the midst of his own busy day, and yet was able to find a small window of time for us to connect. A small window was all I needed.
What I was searching for in those fifteen precious minutes was a safe space to say exactly what I wanted to say, unfiltered. I was in need of a place to be heard and seen, and to be able to feel exactly what I was feeling with no attempt made to fix, mollify, or find a silver lining. In that moment there was none to find.
For fifteen minutes he listened, and listened, and listened some more. Safely within the emotional equivalent of a soundproof, padded room, I was able to hear myself speak, and express deep emotions that needed to come out. Those fifteen minutes made it possible to handle the next fifteen. And the next and the next and the next.
We are all in need of safe spaces in which we can show up live and uncensored. Places where we can say what is true in that moment even when what is true is messy, ugly, and broken. It is from there that that we can find our way forward to deal with the mess, discover beauty in our ability to handle what we’ve been handed, and catch a glimpse of how we might put our broken selves back together again. Not put back together as before, but in new ways. Better ways. Stronger, more authentic, and courageous ways. Ways that begin with the gift of fifteen minutes with someone who’d love to spend them with us.
MOLLY DAVIS is the founder of Trailhead Coaching & Consulting. She writes about lessons and adventures from the trail, and knows from firsthand experience that sometimes the only way to discover where you want to be, is to get lost where you don't. If you enjoyed this post, please feel free to pass it along.
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