a lil ebb, a lil flow
Is anybody else feeling the pressure to perform? Maybe this is a silly question. Maybe this is a question with the most obvious answer of all of 2020.
Of course. Of course you are feeling the pressure to practice some kind of normalcy in perhaps the most abnormal year many of us have experienced.
I have the great privilege of having a full-time job, a very comfortable home, and a quick-approaching winter break. Yes, I’m slightly embarrassed to mention that I have three weeks of “vacation” coming my way (a vacation that will take place on my couch and in my yard, the very same locations I’ve inhabited almost exclusively for the past 9 months). It’s slightly embarrassing because, as I whine and countdown, I know so many people have no such luxury. It’s a gift, for sure.
But also, why does it have to be so rare? I read a quote today about how all living organisms take seasons to regenerate. Time to hibernate. Time for rest and time for growth.
For me, the winter break and summer breaks (really all the breaks—yes, yes I know it’s not fair) always come at the exact moment I, and so many colleagues and students, need. It’s as if the pressure has risen so high that just as the balloon is about to pop, we get the exhale. The break. It’s necessary.
But I realize that that high-pressure cooker is also a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s imposed. We know the clock’s a-ticking, that it’s almost break, almost the end of a semester or school year, so we all work like wild bees, trying to cram more than should be humanly possible (tasks, projects, reflections, experiences, information, grading) in too short a time.
So I wonder, what if we valued slowness? What if we appreciated the crawl of the slug as an aspiration? What if we didn’t intensify until we almost burst? What if we admitted that valuable thought, important learning, useful experiences, happen in the in-between? What if we were happy with the ebb, not just the flow?
This week I’m giving myself room to be slow, patience and grace to be still at times. I’m remembering that the breath and the waves and the wind all come in, and then go back out. The sun rises, and then it sets. The rain comes, and then it goes. And I hope you can take some of that truth into your week, too.
prompt #20
Imagine you are an element, or creature, in nature (no humans, though. Let’s step outside of this species at least). What does the world feel like for you? How do you exist in space? What are your interests, values, worries, concerns? What is life to you?
Let yourself explore this thing or being, so outside of human-you. Let yourself get weird and strange in this experiment. Take on a voice that is uncomfortable, perhaps.
I suggest playing around with this exercise for five minutes, to begin. Maybe at that point you will be off to the races. Or maybe you will be ready to move in a different direction. Maybe a nugget of truth will pull you into its orbit. Have fun. See where you go.
And, if you’d like, send it my way afterwards.
ashley’s piece, the wind
I do not think. I do.
I do not ponder. I feel.
I am slow, I laze.
I am wild, I screech.
When I need, I rest.
When I want, I roam.
No regret, no worry, no future, no past.
I cry sometimes.
I whisper, too.
Might caress the hairs on your arm.
Or whistle a song.
I’ll crush your home, uproot your trees.
I can.
I must.