If your house is anything like my house, getting out the door in the morning is akin to a military exercise.
It takes precision. And accuracy. And split second-timing in order to get my two VERY morning-moody children dressed, fed, and out the door even close to on time without some significant meltdowns. It’s loud. And it’s *busy*.
Before Els was in a school where it didn’t matter what time we showed up, we had some wiggle room. No one CARED if we were 10 minutes late. So if the morning was going to hell fast, I could take a step away, have a long, sensuous sip of my coffee, remind myself that I had children by choice, take a breath, and come back and reengage in the madness with a clearer head.
But now, it’s not just mom’s schedule. It’s SCHOOL’s schedule. A new added layer of external pressure to the already angsty morning routine. Getting myself out the door each day is one thing. Getting out the door with two very willful, playful, “NO COATS!” children is a whole other can of worms.
(When I met my new neighbors this week, I told them that I just assumed that everyone in the neighborhood already knew the names of my children, as I bellowed them at top- volume each morning trying to get them into the car. She looked a little uncomfortable and was like “oh, no no. Not at all…” Definitely lying to me…)
But today! Ha! Today we did it. We executed our morning routine to perfection, and we were all in the car and pointed towards school ON TIME (ok…so coats were in our bags and not our bodies. I couldn’t fight that battle this morning…)
Here we go. On the familiar, 8 (to 20 minute) drive to school. We were hurrying. It was a madhouse in the car. Contained chaos, but chaos nonetheless. And of course, today, the traffic. Sigh. Here we sit. Not moving. I’m growing impatient. Sitting. Waiting. Going nowhere. Going to be late, despite our best efforts. Sigh, again.
That’s when I noticed, up the road about half a mile, a man standing in the middle of a group of trees, about ankle deep in a thick ivy creeping across the ground around him. Even though this was a park, this is not a place you would expect to see someone standing. There’s fresh-cut grass and park benches just a few steps away. Why was he standing in the trees and the weeds?
His back was to me. But he wasn’t moving. Standing completely still, in the middle of the woods. What the hell?
Ah, of course. He must have found a spot where his phone wasn’t dead. He was reading something on his phone. Yes yes. It’s the only reason why a random man could be standing in the middle of the weeds, not moving, while a traffic jam was parked literally next to him. Of course. Must be it.
By the time I had slowly inched up to where I could see his face, I had written this man’s whole life story in my imagination several different ways.
He’d been in one of the cars, frustrated he wasn’t moving, and had gotten out and found signal for calling into the office to them he’d be late.
Or…
He was the reason we weren’t moving—he’d been in a fender bender and had stepped out of his car to call his insurance company.
I spent probably 10 minutes trying to figure this out. When I pulled even with him, I looked over, desperate to figure out what this strange man was doing, standing so quietly in the woods.
He was meditating.
His eyes were closed. His palms out in front of him, turned up towards the sun. He was breathing deeply. He had found the perfect spot, right there within the shade of the trees, to take solace. To find peace. Even with a traffic jam mere feet from him. He was unaffected by the din.
I immediately started trying to come up with excuses for this possible state. He was old. He was lost. He’d just had some bad news and needed to walk outside and think for a minute. Dementia. Obviously.
I caught myself in the excuse cycle that people always make…that *I* always make for silence. There had to be a REASON why he was there, right? He couldn’t just be there, resting?
And then I wondered why meditating hadn’t occurred to me. The thought of someone intentionally taking a break—of slowing down. Of breathing. Of taking in nature, wherever that might be. Of being by yourself. Of giving thanks. Of connecting.
Of just being still.
None of those things had ever even crossed my mind in my fictionalized story of this man’s life.
Looking at him made me smile and reflect deeply.
With our move and all of the massive life changes we are going through as a family right now, I have been unplugged more than normal. I haven’t wanted to talk to people on the phone or chat. Haven’t felt like reaching out or posting on social media. I’ve neglected a lot of relationships outside of the four walls of my home. And have felt the constant need to apologize for that.
And it’s not like I’m not thinking about people. I just haven’t had the energy to talk. I’ve been finding a million busy work tasks to fill the day—many of them legitimate, but most just to keep moving. I’ve been planning and analyzing and over-analyzing again pretty much everything that’s popped into my head. And I’ve definitely put together my list of excuses if anyone were to ask why I haven’t called.
But if I’m being honest, the truth is, I just don’t want to right now. I don’t have the energy because my head is busy. I’ve been silent, but my mind has been anything but quiet. I was able to draw that distinction this morning.
As I drove past my mystery man in the park this morning, I found myself saying out loud “Good for you, sir.”
I feel like I’ve been missing the point of the self-imposed quiet. I need to quiet my mind, not just my voice. And once I concentrate on the bigger picture of the quiet mind, I feel like everything else is going to come along just fine.
I’m grateful for this man in the weeds this morning… And for showing me that maybe I am the one in the weeds way more than he is.
Before Els was in a school where it didn’t matter what time we showed up, we had some wiggle room. No one CARED if we were 10 minutes late. So if the morning was going to hell fast, I could take a step away, have a long, sensuous sip of my coffee, remind myself that I had children by choice, take a breath, and come back and reengage in the madness with a clearer head.
But now, it’s not just mom’s schedule. It’s SCHOOL’s schedule. A new added layer of external pressure to the already angsty morning routine. Getting myself out the door each day is one thing. Getting out the door with two very willful, playful, “NO COATS!” children is a whole other can of worms.
(When I met my new neighbors this week, I told them that I just assumed that everyone in the neighborhood already knew the names of my children, as I bellowed them at top- volume each morning trying to get them into the car. She looked a little uncomfortable and was like “oh, no no. Not at all…” Definitely lying to me…)
But today! Ha! Today we did it. We executed our morning routine to perfection, and we were all in the car and pointed towards school ON TIME (ok…so coats were in our bags and not our bodies. I couldn’t fight that battle this morning…)
Here we go. On the familiar, 8 (to 20 minute) drive to school. We were hurrying. It was a madhouse in the car. Contained chaos, but chaos nonetheless. And of course, today, the traffic. Sigh. Here we sit. Not moving. I’m growing impatient. Sitting. Waiting. Going nowhere. Going to be late, despite our best efforts. Sigh, again.
That’s when I noticed, up the road about half a mile, a man standing in the middle of a group of trees, about ankle deep in a thick ivy creeping across the ground around him. Even though this was a park, this is not a place you would expect to see someone standing. There’s fresh-cut grass and park benches just a few steps away. Why was he standing in the trees and the weeds?
His back was to me. But he wasn’t moving. Standing completely still, in the middle of the woods. What the hell?
Ah, of course. He must have found a spot where his phone wasn’t dead. He was reading something on his phone. Yes yes. It’s the only reason why a random man could be standing in the middle of the weeds, not moving, while a traffic jam was parked literally next to him. Of course. Must be it.
By the time I had slowly inched up to where I could see his face, I had written this man’s whole life story in my imagination several different ways.
He’d been in one of the cars, frustrated he wasn’t moving, and had gotten out and found signal for calling into the office to them he’d be late.
Or…
He was the reason we weren’t moving—he’d been in a fender bender and had stepped out of his car to call his insurance company.
I spent probably 10 minutes trying to figure this out. When I pulled even with him, I looked over, desperate to figure out what this strange man was doing, standing so quietly in the woods.
He was meditating.
His eyes were closed. His palms out in front of him, turned up towards the sun. He was breathing deeply. He had found the perfect spot, right there within the shade of the trees, to take solace. To find peace. Even with a traffic jam mere feet from him. He was unaffected by the din.
I immediately started trying to come up with excuses for this possible state. He was old. He was lost. He’d just had some bad news and needed to walk outside and think for a minute. Dementia. Obviously.
I caught myself in the excuse cycle that people always make…that *I* always make for silence. There had to be a REASON why he was there, right? He couldn’t just be there, resting?
And then I wondered why meditating hadn’t occurred to me. The thought of someone intentionally taking a break—of slowing down. Of breathing. Of taking in nature, wherever that might be. Of being by yourself. Of giving thanks. Of connecting.
Of just being still.
None of those things had ever even crossed my mind in my fictionalized story of this man’s life.
Looking at him made me smile and reflect deeply.
With our move and all of the massive life changes we are going through as a family right now, I have been unplugged more than normal. I haven’t wanted to talk to people on the phone or chat. Haven’t felt like reaching out or posting on social media. I’ve neglected a lot of relationships outside of the four walls of my home. And have felt the constant need to apologize for that.
And it’s not like I’m not thinking about people. I just haven’t had the energy to talk. I’ve been finding a million busy work tasks to fill the day—many of them legitimate, but most just to keep moving. I’ve been planning and analyzing and over-analyzing again pretty much everything that’s popped into my head. And I’ve definitely put together my list of excuses if anyone were to ask why I haven’t called.
But if I’m being honest, the truth is, I just don’t want to right now. I don’t have the energy because my head is busy. I’ve been silent, but my mind has been anything but quiet. I was able to draw that distinction this morning.
As I drove past my mystery man in the park this morning, I found myself saying out loud “Good for you, sir.”
I feel like I’ve been missing the point of the self-imposed quiet. I need to quiet my mind, not just my voice. And once I concentrate on the bigger picture of the quiet mind, I feel like everything else is going to come along just fine.
I’m grateful for this man in the weeds this morning… And for showing me that maybe I am the one in the weeds way more than he is.
