The Lake at Night
I’ve been going down to the lake after sunset, letting its quiet sloshing against the sandy shores ready me for this next transition. I have always been a dependable person. But glimpse my inner workings a few weeks before any major event (a public reading, a large social gathering, an extended trip) and the threads that are normally woven perfectly tight will appear frayed.
Green Lake on a summer night, with its thousand stars overhead and speckled houselights along the perimeter, seems the perfect place to go for settling. I envy the way it holds the blackness, cradling a deep, dark unknown in its sandy crater. I wonder what that would feel like—to rest easily with life’s mysteries, to practice patience nightly for the coming dawn.
I lost my black belt training routine. I lost my whole foods eating routine. I lost my reading routine. Lost my sleep routine. Lost my meditation routine. All of this in the last two weeks, crumbling. My feet are tangled in the loose ends of these patterns. I lack the motivation to reorganize myself because I’ll be leaving soon…or, because I’m leaving soon, the routines that have worked so well are falling apart before my eyes. In either case, it’s uncomfortable to endure.
Four days to get back on track, whatever track that may be. Four days to say goodbye to northern Michigan. Four days to The Last Frontier.