“How do you learn who you are? Where do you come from?” - Helen Macdonald, H is for Hawk.
“I don't know what's next, but I look forward to the new challenges and opportunities that await and I know that I carry with me the lessons from my time here and that forever, we shall all share the bond of being Philadelphians." - Jason Kelce
This is a post that I’ve been sitting on. Or rather, it’s been sitting around. I feel like I’ve been sitting around, although I know this is not true. When I seek evidence, I see myself working a lot right now. I see myself recovering from illness. I see myself putting things in order before a long trip. I see myself quite busy.
I’ve been wondering why all that busyness doesn’t feel great.
Things are changing around here. New patterns are emerging and new ways of being. It’s….different.
Overnight, our daughter “teened out.” Much more sass, a lot less hugging, more doors closed. I breathe. I pause (sometimes) when she makes comments that sting or when she does something that irks me. Suddenly there are more of those probably triggered - see above. I remind myself to have faith in all the groundwork we’ve done and to believe in her. To trust her. I breathe.
My husband is in a new phase of his life change. He is working and it is from home. This is new and also requires breathing for no other reason than I have been home alone during the day for years. It’s not that I have a secret life during the day but it is time with myself, in my own rhythms, my own ways. I enjoy the solitude and space. It feels like I have less space.
I am more busy with work than ever before. It feels exhilarating, affirming, and a bit uncomfortable. Hours of the day go by and I am still at my desk. I missed the sun, the breeze. Did it rain? I didn’t notice.
I felt all this intensely the other day so I did the very best thing I can think of to do: I took myself on a walk. It’s been a while since a walk and I always feel better, think clearer, breathe easier once I am moving. It was very green outside and the river is full and strong. The ranchers have let the cows into the meadows where I walk and there are young cows and massive cows speckled across the green hills, chewing. I am listening to an audiobook - H is for Hawk - and the combination of the topic (grief and falconry) and her hypnotic British accent transport me from whatever was on my mind. Now, I’m here. I am walking. It is beautiful.
Anne Lamott spoke here, in our California town, on Friday for International Women’s Day. Despite it being pitch black in the theater, I managed to take notes. There are many things that struck me about her talk but right now, scanning those messy in-the-dark notes, I land on a question: what is my sense of holiness?
I’ve been sitting here now for quite a few minutes. Sitting with this question. I’m sure there are people that find this in public, maybe even religious places. The quick definition in the dictionary (yup…librarian!) offers "dedicated or consecrated to God or a religious purpose; sacred.” Scrolling down though, the word’s etymology strikes me: “Old English hālig, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch and German heilig, also to whole.”
What does it mean to be whole?
This brings me to Jason Kelce.
I can’t tell you much about Jason Kelce as a football player. My husband would tell you that I am a fair weather fan. True. But if you ever ask me who my team is I’ll say the Eagles. Because when you are from Philadelphia, you are from Philadelphia.
Jason Kelce’s retirement speech put wholeness on display. We saw a man feeling deeply. Honoring both himself and those that helped him. We learned how much it - all of it - means to him. Jason Kelce opened his heart wholly (from Middle English: probably already in Old English(see whole-ly). It was brave and vulnerable.
We cried with him.
The Eagle, the hawk, the cows. My messy notes. My changing daughter. My discomfort.
What’s here now?
It’s not always neat. Jason Kelce wrote a beautiful speech and he choked up and cried on national television. It wasn’t neat but it wasn’t messy. It was wonderful. This is always what I love about Anne Lamott. She doesn’t try to be neat - she’s honest and open and brave. It too is wonderful. Green pastures under blue skies that are peppered with cow patties are not neat. Yet, they are wonderful.
So…perhaps a bit less neatness. A bit less expectation. A bit less what’s not and a bit more what is. There is wholeness there.
posted the most marvelous poem by Aldous Huxley last week. I didn’t even know he wrote poetry. And then this poem arrives, as wonderful poems often due. A reminder: lightly.It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig. Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me. When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic. No rhetoric, no tremolos, no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell. And of course, no theology, no metaphysics. Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light. So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling, on tiptoes and no luggage, not even a sponge bag, completely unencumbered.
absolutely beautiful, S. i feel you on so many of these counts... particularly the solitude and the taking myself for a walk... yup.