Wednesday, March 20, 2013

All I Needed to Know

If there were moments when we could actually step back, step out, and view what's around us, then there would be increased opportunities to truly see, yes?  I don't know any one who doesn't get so caught up in the action of it all that there is little time for the thinking--all doing and no time for deciding if the doing is actually leading us where we want.  And I don't know anyone who doesn't feel the need to apologize when they take a much-needed moment to simply be quiet and still.

I was moving through some more "choose your own adventure" sagas in my mind this past week--where I realized I had turned to pages I didn't want to be on.  The scariest realization for me was that I continue to do so...even with all of the lived experience and the cues I've become aware of.  The cues most often are made apparent when I move without grace, when my words and actions don't reflect who I truly am.  I can make excuses:  I've been in constant motion for months; I've had too many transitions and too few days off...and on and on.  But these are just excuses in the moment.  When I look closely at myself and sit with the truth beyond the moment-to-moment, that's when I can see that some combination of a swift kick in the ass (metaphorical) and compassion for self must come into play.  And I can see that, once again, I'm one fallible human.  And I see that I need to step back and stop the motion to see clearly.  And I want to be able to do this without feeling like I need to justify my pause.  I want us all to be able to.

Do you remember that book All I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten?  [I feel like it was a late 80s early 90s text]...I accompanied a colleague on her journey to drop her son at his kindergarten classroom this week, and I was fully struck by the supremely logical trajectory of his morning:  We entered the classroom, chose a text, invited a few people to read with us, and read a good story; this was followed by a run around the track and a snack.  Seriously.  That is a beautiful morning routine.  I am pretty sure we could take our cues from small, graceful kindergartners.  Read, think, move about, eat food with your friends.  Tell people when you're tired and you need a break.  Ask for help when you need it.  I can't go back and change where I've landed, but I can sure as hell shift my routines to move with a little more grace.  Without apology.

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