Over and over again this year, a line has been running in my head and it goes like this:
I want to live a life observed.
I know where this thought originated. I'm ashamed to admit it.
It came because I was throwing food down my throat without thinking or tasting or knowing. Or I'd skim through books and think I had reached the essence. It came because I told myself "If only I can be a little more efficient in this area of life, then I can truly rest in another area." Only the rest never came.
This thought of living a life observed originated when I put life on auto-pilot and treadmill mode, never going anywhere, just doing life. Keeping up. Filling out forms. Pushing paper. Rearranging schedules. Always planning for life but never really allowing myself to enjoy it.
But when I push the efficiency aside, when I shush my expectations and just let my soul speak up a little, I realize that it won't take too much to live a little differently.
Instead of showing up to work early, I can use 15, maybe 30 minutes to read or pray or draw or walk.
Instead of beleaguering a math problem with my 7-year old, I can stop and play a game. Reset our brains.
Instead of taking a walk by looking at caloric numbers accruing, I can take deep lungs-full of air and look at the sky.
An odd thing happens when I push the pause button on life... Somehow I am more energetic and focused and present. I've connected with a deeper part of myself.
I'm doing the slow work of saying "no" a whole lot to a bunch of beautiful invitations because my family needs breathing space. Adding margin to our schedule.
I'm marveling at people who tell slow, beautiful stories. Our society is so bullet-point oriented. In the past few years, I've altered the way I've spoken to people and not for the better. I tell them how many points I have to make and then I rattle them off. I didn't realize how much I spoke this way until I was in a parent-teacher conference with Eve's teacher and the teacher laughed saying that Eve numbered her points before speaking. I managed a smile, but my heart sank a little.
I have a few red flags which tell me when we're running low on time or time to think:
When I buy a lot of office supplies or organizational knick-knacks, that tells me I'm feeling stressed.
When I nosh on carbs.
When I bark at my children or say negative, brash things.
When I forget if I took my vitamins.
Or when someone lovely, like my daughter Morgan, looks me directly in my eyes and talks to me and I have to catch myself to listen to her.
I don't want to live a big, busy, soul-less life.
So when I make my way to the kitchen in the morning and see the pile of greasy dishes we neglected to clean the night before, I roll up my sleeves. I pour warm water and too-much dish soap in the sink and watch the suds climb up, up, up. I immerse a few dishes to soak. I look out the window and marvel at four fat chickadees and sparrows bouncing around my patio, eating seed that fell from the feeder. I start some coffee. I drink it slowly while sitting. I don't let myself stand until I have had a few minutes to enjoy the morning. The clatter of the morning will start soon enough.
Morgan is at a great age for sharing hilarious, loud and dramatic stories. So at 6:30 in the morning, I try to listen. Dan is laughing and Eve is just getting out of bed, her hair knotted in the back.
I take a dozen papers off my kitchen desk. Note to self: Make desk a happy place. This thing is a pile of responsibilities. Noted.
I push aside thoughts of the desk and push flash cards in the direction of Eve while finishing the last of my coffee. She is bouncing on a chair, waving her hands in the air while she answers correctly. After ten or fifteen minutes, she is beyond done answering what 3 + 8 is. So we play a game, her choice.
She bossily tells me how I must play and how I must act and I obey everything that she says. We laugh and enjoy these few moments before she goes to school.
She has lost her shoes again. And a library book. It seems like this happens every morning. I am tempted to run to my computer for answers to these stressors, but it won't matter, not in these minutes. I help her get out the door.
I write a few thoughts on my blog and start the day.
Not efficient. Not perfect. Just observed.
My soul is happy.
