“The mind,
once expanded to the dimensions of larger ideas,
never returns to its original size.”
– Oliver Wendell Holmes
Once upon a time in a land not so far from here, I was someone else.
I’m not sure when I became this new version of myself. It snuck up on me. I have no clearly delinineated border that says, here, here is where it all began.
But now that I am like this, I can no longer imagine ever returning to the previous state.
I’m talking about my former prediliction for snappiness, zippyness, ambitiousness, can-do-edness and other ‘ness’-ednesses.
I used to take pride in my ability to respond to every email, every text message, every single blessed thing with hardly a second to spare. I swear that in one day I could meet up with a friend for coffee, deal with all the email correspondence, fire off a few queries, write an article, write a blog post, have a dinner party and pack for a trip.
And now? It takes me most of a week to do what I used to do in one day.
I’m not saying I’m easily overwhelmed, but let’s just say that I’d never book a doctor appointment and a hair cut on the same day.
Actually, overwhelmed is the wrong word. Let me try again. It’s like I am finding it more and more necessary to have space around each thing I do.
I want time to write, reflect, to sit, to read, to think.
It seems the urgency has gone.
I move more slowly through a day and, no surprise, the days feel fuller and less rushed. A day stretches and expands into a large malleable thing with less sharply-defined corners and more roundness.
It’s funny how completely different it is. Now, if I return an email on the same day, it’s almost akin to a loaves-and-fishes moment.
It seems that once a day has been stretched to take a week, well…like a big fat genie, there will be no stuffing it back in the bottle.
I’ve just arrived at that state only now through sheer exhaustion. Temporarily enjoying the nothingness more or less as of this morning. When I pick up the pace it will be very very slowly. I tend to forget how old I am. That’s good and bad.
I know what you mean Joan, about forgetting about aging, being both good and bad. I think I first hit these places of non-doing during the whole grieving process and now shreds of it still cling to me but in sort of a beneficial way. Not sure if that makes any sense to anyone besides me 🙂
Still, I wonder if it’s a combination of all these things; aging, tiredness, thrown in with perhaps (dare we say so??) something akin to wisdom. You are such a lover of gardens and art and beauty Joan. Perhaps these are the times to watch the roses. XO
So enjoyable..these words. Words that aren’t needed by me as they were so well expressed you all. Thank you. They are giving me permission.. a gift of lovely freedom.<3 to you all, but mostly to the one who forwarded this on to me. A new day..a new way.
Hello Babs. Welcome. I feel so blessed to be surrounded by so many articulate readers/writers. We are a pretty cool (and increasingly chill) tribe.
It’s so lovely to know that you are granting yourself permission too.
Colleen, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you how much I enjoy reading your blog posts. You always leave me with something to “mull over”. Thanks for that.
Thank you so much for taking the time to tell me that Dorothy. You’ve given me a smile that has spread right down to my toes.
I so agree. I love the space around things, and boy, I thought I would have our deck painted along with the inside of the house. Sounded like a reasonable summer goal. Haven’t even bought the paint. But time is full and absolutely beautiful. Thanks for that. I am so with you.
Way to go Mary! I love that you haven’t even bought the paint. That’s so perfect. I know you’ve had an incredible summer (that, surprisingly!) didn’t include painting. Sounds like too large of a project anyway. Glad you chose to kayak and bicycle and make saltwater angels and generally enjoy your life.
Like you, I enjoy the satisfaction of finishing a project like that, but I like that you let it go and chose more fun stuff instead. Nicely played…
Oh Colleen, how I long to be where you are. I am still in the snappy, zippy, have-to-respond-to-every-email-right-now place… and, to be honest, I’m kind of zonked. I am trying to create a morning routine that allows me to connect with that self that you have created — I know she’s in there, dying to get her hands on my iPhone and chuck it in the nearest river. I look forward to getting to know that girl one day soon.
Enjoy your space, my friend. You deserve it. Hell, we all deserve it. Who decided we didn’t?
Hey Gwen, here’s an Anna Quindlen quote I recently found that speaks to your question. It reads, “I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.”
Years ago, when I was a volunteer at a transition house for battered women, a woman arrived in a taxi. She came in with two beautiful blonde children. They all looked so wholesome and perfect, like they could pose for a dairy poster. But the woman had bruises all over her body, but never where it would show.
She told me that she had gone to her mother and told her about the abuse. Her mother’s advice? Make nicer dinners. So then she went to the pastor of the church they attended, where her husband was a Sunday School teacher, and the pastor told her that wives needed to submit to their husbands and what exactly was she doing to make him so upset?
The abuse continued. Finally, one day she realized that nobody was going to come knocking on her door to give her permission. She was the only one who would ever be able to give herself permission. That was the day she knew she had the strength to take her kids and leave.
I know that this is a dramatic example, but her story never left me. For years, I have returned to my chance encounter with that woman and her conclusion. She’s the story I tell myself whenever I think someone else will come and tell me what to do or give me permission to take care of myself. Then I think of her, that woman who had such incredible strength and whose name I’ve forgotten, and I remind myself, it’s up to me. It’s always been up to me.
You sound tired Gwen. It sounds like it’s time. Give yourself permission. <3
Love your comments…made me smile, chuckle and feel really good. I still get the odd flash of panic after sitting down to read in the middle of the day…WHAT…? there must be something else that needs to be done, like right away, before I forget about it…..you make me feel a lot better.
I’m so glad to have offered a little company in my newfound sluggish or, depending on one’s viewpoint, enlightened approach to life. I prefer to run with the concept of this as my awakening enlightenment rather than becoming a lay-about (which my mother could say with a perfectly-nuanced disdainful tone).
U r so right! Difficult to achieve when u have been programmed to excel at everything u do; since childhood! It is a hard pattern to break!
It’s a funny thing Ruby, it’s like it kind of fell away. I still get things done each day, but it’s way more reasonable and there’s tons of ‘not-doing-stuff’ time too.
Maybe you are coming into mindfulness. I find that I need more and more quiet time coupled with more time just being outdoors – soaking it all inward.
I like your view Bonnie. I am becoming more and more appreciative of downtime. Maybe this is part of aging too? Whatever it is…I like it.