Probably one if the most toxic attitudes we can hold. Is it behind our (my?) inability to connect? Is it (at least part of) what keeps us (me) from being able to be curious or engaged with those whom we (I!) disagree?
So much more to be said on this. But today, with the amount of energy I’m feeling, this is the most I can do at the moment.
What a turtle can tell us about life
Imagine an ocean. A big one. Maybe one as big as everything. In the ocean swims a single turtle. This turtle is the only life form in this infinitely-vast ocean. Upon the surface of the ocean floats a wooden ring — just wide enough that the turtle would be able to fit its head through, should the two ever come into contact.
What are the odds of this happening? The turtle surfacing for air, and its head slipping through the ring as it floats on the surface?
Imagine: Infinite ocean. A single turtle. A small wooden ring.
I don’t remember where I first encountered this idea, but it is something like this: the odds of you being here — of being alive — are about the same as this turtle and the ring making contact in an infinite ocean. In other words, they are very slim.
What do we call this?
I call this a miracle.
That is, from where I sit, what all of this is. A miracle.
It’s all too easy to get lost in the specifics of the day — coronavirus, the election, the plunging stock market, the division among us — and to lose sight of what is happening around us. Life is happening around us. This miracle that is almost impossible to fathom, even though it occupies every square inch of our lives every day.
Sure, there are things that we need to fight for and change. There are concerns that need addressing. This is all true. And, it all happens in this field — this wild and fascinating field — of life.
We are, after all, alive.
I tried to be clever and make the below the title. But the program I’m using wouldn’t let me. But that’s okay. The point stands.
It can be easy to get swept up in the current of productivity; of doing, of making things happen, of metrics and measures and proving ones self; the way that we have centered work and economics over the needs — not to mention the beauty and miracle — of being alive makes it possible to go days and days and days without noticing; our breaths, our heart beat, our very selves.
Take a breath.
You are here. We are here. This is enough.
On occasion I write something — a snippet — that feels like it wants to be more. This is one of those things.
Imagine a thought
– say, a worry –
made of the same material
as a tree, a rose,
What might grow from a seed planted? Words can become, well, …
Some thoughts on space
Today a colleague suggested that we take a pause on a project. Not because of anything bad, more simply to allow the client to process. It made me wonder — what is the difference between a pause and space?
Space to digest.
Space to integrate.
Space to breathe.
Can this happen without a pause? Can it happen within what we are doing? Or does what we are doing shift in such a way that allows for space, without losing connection to the work?
Let’s return to pace. At what pace might a year move? If we’re not careful, the pace can be set outside — by work demands, or the energies of politics, world affairs, even family. I’ve been noticing this, but didn’t quite realize it. Until yesterday.
I was listening to Rob Bell’s podcast — the RobCast — where he was speaking with Alexander John Shaia on many topics. At some point, Alexander mentioned that he needed to pull over to the side of the road (metaphorically, of course) in order to devote his energy to creating this year. Basically, he said, he had to come to all but a stop so that he could let the things he wants to — needs to? — create catch up to him.
I almost pulled over myself.
I really struck me: wow, it’s past mid-February and much of what I’d hoped to be connected to in this year is floating somewhere behind me. It needs catching up. I need to slow down.
So that’s a focus I’m bringing into my days right now. Feeling back to that. Slowing down. Finding the pace that this year (and this day, and this blog post, and this moment) is asking for.
Working to meet it.