Stepping past winter
Last week it was cold enough to frost.
Two evenings ago I saw my first blooming tree of the year, as well as a yard full of daffodils.
Spring is quietly slipping through the front door, serenaded by the tiny frogs in the creek behind my house. Within a couple of weeks she’ll have given up on being quiet, and she’ll turn up the volume on the color and warmth of the season.
Change is here.
Last autumn ushered in a very strange season for me. It’s been a bit like riding a roller coaster that dips and turns so quickly that I can’t manage to get my hands on the seat rails. And yet, as I say that I realize that at the same time it’s often felt like nothing is moving. Usually the truth is somewhere in the middle, but this time I think it’s actually exactly like it felt.
I’ve been sitting still at mach 3.
When faced with change we get to make choices about how we’re going to respond. We can attempt to ignore it. We can attempt to fight it. We can attempt to minimize the pain of it.
I haven’t had it in me to do any of those things. It’s as if deep down I knew that when that roller coaster finally spit me out, I’d be standing up in a very different place from where I boarded it. And so I’ve simply ridden it, trying to maintain an awareness of the coexistence of stillness and acceleration.
We think of our journeys as being step-by-step ventures, but the truth is often more complex because humans are complex. Sometimes there’s no stepping; we’re inching forward on our bellies in the mud, trying to keep the dirt out of our mouths. Then there are seasons like this one that seem fast and slow, long and short, all at the same time, and the end result is that we find ourselves moved further and faster than we expected, and we can’t really account for the time passed or distance covered.
In the end it’s all good. Life is happening.
And that’s how it’s supposed to be.