On Coming to a Halt

I don't know about you, but I have a hard time doing nothing.  It's taken me years to perfect my skills at multi-tasking, which culminated in 2009 with the end of my real estate career, my 20 year marriage to my first love, and a bankruptcy.  At the time, I was on 5 boards, 2 of which I was president; belonged to 4 other business organizations; was in charge of umpteen committees, and wondered why I didn't feel compelled to write or play with my oil paints.  Since then I have been on a mission to wean myself of "doing" and learn how to do nothing.

When I started this journey, I had no idea it would take 2 years, more actually, to get to nothing;  to get to feeling comfortable with no plans for every minute of every day, no matter what the doing was.  In April of 2009 when I went AWOL from my life, I began my recovery from an addiction to the cell phone, to the calendar, to emails, to voice mails and to "shoulding" on myself.  I gave up the losing battle of worrying about money, lost the sensation of feeling that my value as a person was equal to my paycheck, and started breathing deeply, slowly, like soft slow waves resting on the shores of Lake Superior in the quiet of the morning.  Instead of having to go to a movie to relax by myself I learned how to cuddle up with our doggies on our couch and watch a pick on NetFlix in the middle of the day, eating all the popcorn I want.  Or sit on the front porch and do nothing but read a book for hours and hours.

Last Wednesday I was at the Northland Exposure Art Gallery in Parkville, Missouri where I volunteer a few days a month and have some artwork for sale.  The town is located just a quarter mile or so away from the Missouri River, which is expected to flood soon due to water upriver being released from a damn to the tune of 150,000 cubic feet per second for a month or so.  There were volunteers lined up and down the road waiting in line for their turn to fill and place sandbags to help curb the flood when it came, and hopefully safe the old town from damage.  I sat there on the steps of the gallery, watching, waiting, observing how people come together to build this temporary dike, one bag at a time, to try to stop Mother Nature's power of water.  It reminded me of my journey, of how for years I tried to stop the flow, building up my own dikes, filling my own sandbags full of what I had thought was important, placing them all in a line around myself to keep out what I was really thinking, my ego in control, protecting me all the while.

In the end though, Mother Nature won and my natural flow started seeping in, if even one or two drops at a time.  The drops showed up as doubts about who was actually making my decisions:  me or the me I thought I should be for others, for the greater good, for praise, for love, for attention, for acceptance.  Soon my dike was breached, crested by the pressure called freedom, taking me up in its arms to float somewhere down river with the flow. 

I honestly believe that I died in that flood and my resulting actions to stay afloat.  I believe that I have been resuscitated from that death and have been since coming to a halt so that I can begin to build again.  The current that carries me is strong and deep, and my little boat I've built is rolling gently along with a beam of sunshine and a cool breeze on it.  I believe that I can and do rest in my boat, knowing comfortably that all is good, that I am good, that there is always enough time, always enough of everything, that the world exists because of me and without me at the same time, and that's okay because that means I don't have to be in charge of every thing.

Hmmm.  It's interesting.  The last time the Missouri River flooded like this was in 1993, the year my first husband and I moved here.  In fact, we sat at a restaurant just a few doors down from the very steps I sat on to watch the sandbagging efforts last Wednesday.   I remember asking the waiter why there was a street sign in the middle of the river as we thought that was where the river normally flowed, not realizing it was about 20 feet above flood level.  Maybe, just maybe, that is where the River is supposed to be, up right next to and into the town. Maybe the street signs are in the wrong place and we don't realize it.  Maybe, just maybe, it is us who put ourselves into the flood instead of just letting what happens happen.   After all, that is what boats are for, right?

 

Comments

[anita]

Exactly Tim. We get soooo busy trying to make sure we are doing everything right, as well as everyone else is doing everything right, that we forget why we are doing the thing in the first place:)

[Tim Auclair]

LOVE the story and can totally relate. So often we are trying so hard to control what was never meant to be controlled. Roll with it, let it flow and enjoy the ride!