Archive for June, 2021
Taking Stock @ 60
0In our first 20 years, we're training.
In our second 20 years, we're aiming.
In our third 20 years, we're claiming, then
In our fourth 20 years, we're naming.
So, taking stock here @ 60, here's what I see
when I take a closer look at the one who is becoming me.
I'm a writer-downer, a recorder,
a summarizer and reporter.
A gap-filler, a needs-meeter,
On my best days, a finisher-upper.
Not a leader, really, not a future-seer,
nor a risk-taker or a way-maker.
More of a sag-wagon driver,
or a street sweeper.
But don't mistake me for a late-sleeper.
I'm a puzzle-doer, program coordinator,
A lost-finder, a good looker,
Avid practicer, not perfecter
I'm a ducker, mostly not a hitter.
More of a guest than a hoster,
A preparer, not a roaster,
I'm a greeter. Really, a welcomer,
Sketcher, chalker, and avid walker.
I'm a waiter and a seer
A fan and a cheerleader,
supporter, and attender
Challenger and contender.
Call on me as cleaner-upper,
A problem solver, a self-starter.
Yes, a spell checker and self-editor.
Explainer and a moderator.
Investigator, question-asker.
A tender and sharer, an appreciator.
Both doer and undoer.
A go-er and come to-er.
On Sunday I'm a pew-sitter,
an enthusiastic hymn singer.
Both practitioner and preacher,
an unfolder and a teacher.
Call me thinker, ponderer? you bet
A poet-er, yes, a poetess,
Also, a poet-mess
But I dare not be poemless.
I'm just a scribe, really a scribbler.
Get it all down before I forgit 'er
A builder, not a demolisher
scratcher of surfaces, dedicated looker under-er.
I'm a gatherer, not a hunter,
A convener, rarely a punter.
A playmaker, deal-breaker,
a truth-teller, reader and discover-er.
Def an un-waster, collector and keeper.
A news consumer and a news creator.
Only occasionally am I a spectator.
What I will be, we will see
Glad I'm still growin' at sixty.
In Our Element: when work is play
0As I plunged into the cool blue water for the first swim of this pool season, I caught myself smiling through sealed lips and thinking… Ha, if this doesn’t prove we humans emerged from a primordial soup, I don’t know what does. I was in my element. Gliding along effortlessly, or so it felt, churning the water and propelling myself along stroke by stroke.
These strokes, long-practiced in childhood, are something I will never forget. Because I don’t think about them; I just know them, as if handed down from generations past. They come naturally in the wonderfully watery environment which always makes me feel at home, as if its been waiting its whole life for me to come. It welcomes me as one of its own. My friend. My comfort zone. My Zen. My element.
{This, of course, is not so of folks who did not get an early introduction to the water. They are likely less than enthusiastic about jumping in. Primordial soup, I guarantee you, never crosses their minds. Their element is elsewhere.}
But very soon, okay on my second lap, when my arms grow heavy, my breathing becomes labored and my feet start to cramp up from kicking, I begin to wonder about this element. This venue I used to own. What used to be second nature to me is now an effort to sustain. How out of shape I am. How long it has been. How I have let myself go.
And this gives me pause. Mind you, I’m not beating myself up about this, but it does get the attention of my responsible self which realizes that those in-your-element moments don’t happen by themselves. One prepares for them. While there is perhaps a hint of DNA-delivered know-how, for the most part they are a product of a lot of practice. After all…
- The chef learns the chemistry of cooking, the blending of tastes and flavors, and the enhancements of spices, before his creation of a culinary masterpiece puts him in his element.
- The lawyer studies the law in careful detail, does her research, prepares her briefs, and tries many cases before she is in her element standing before the jury for closing argument.
- The golfer only hits it straight and true after many hours of doing otherwise. On rare days when she is in her element, she hardly feels the club strike the ball when she launches it on target.
- The teacher must master his field and the management of his classroom before he can supply description and explanation which has his students nodding in understanding when he is in his element.
We learn, we practice and we sharpen the tools of our trade for that elemental moment when it feels like no effort at all. Yet it is full: full of preparation, trial-and-error, draft and re-draft, all hidden yet on display.
Could it be that this is what our earthly lifetime is for? to seek and to experience precious in-our-element moments. That through our work, we achieve play.
Children are so good at this because they don’t yet bear the burdens of age: expectation, peer pressure, performance-anxiety, patterned behaviors and responses, worn-out joints and inflexibilities. They bring childhood exuberance and endless energy, rubbery joints and not far to fall. Lacking the experience of “that won’t work,” they give everything a try. They are as delighted with knocking things down as building things up. They do for the sake of doing. It’s not about product, it’s about process.
What a gift it is that as adults we can re-discover this in our elemental times. When our prepped minds and bodies allow our spirits to take over and we can release ourselves into the work prepared for us to do; work that feels nothing at all like work. And very much like play.
It is not effortless but rather on purpose. We initiate it and then let it loose. We don’t push it. Don’t try to better it. Don’t compete it. Don’t compare it. It’s not a sprint to the finish, rather, more like the flip turn our body somehow knows how to do. We … duck/twist/tumble/slap/push/glide/stroke/stroke/breathe….
And time falls away. This is me, surely, but also something else entirely. A glimpse. Of thee, in me, and me in thee.
How delightful life would be if every day we gifted ourselves just a moment of this.
Beauty under the foliage
2Some people are just showy. They strut their stuff and it’s good. No matter what they wear, it draws attention. And whatever they do, it’s news. They are the trend-setters. All eyes are on them. And they revel in the limelight. The good gaze of an adoring and appreciative audience.
My beautiful hydrangea is one of these. Watering can in hand, I marveled as I approached the plant to give it a drink. How glorious its blooms shone in the rise of the morning sun. The lavender luster of the largest stole the show.
As I drew closer, a smaller, pinker display invited me to look. Not yet fully bloomed, this pink one had potential. The water droplets on its delicate petals winked at me. Just wait, they seemed to say, we’re gonna be gorgeous.
As I drew nearer to give the stems a drink, I noticed a burgeoning floral bundle I had nearly missed. Its bushy lavender petals were mostly hidden from view by the lush greenery. Only when I pulled them aside could I appreciate its beauty. It wasn’t hiding; it was just happy to be beautiful under the foliage. Away from the bright sun. As if it had chosen not to compete with its showier siblings.
It was in full bloom. Stunning in its beauty, yet happy, right where it was. Doing its right thing.
Oh, to be satisfied with that.