Day 8/10 #embodiment first
#schooldelay. I don’t panic. It’s truly handy to have a background as an educator. 120 minutes? No prob. I can structure that for a three-year-old with my eyes shut. We start the day and I make it clear there’s “big work” to do. We load up for the post office (6 copies of my novel mailed hither and yon). We make a list for the pharmacy. We discuss coupons. We bundle up, turn the car on, and let it idle for 25 minutes (!) in this morning’s 12 degree temps while—at River’s insistence—we bushwhack.
Shouldering through icicle-laden rhodis and snow-dusted laurels, I’m so proud of my son. No whimpering! We follow deer tracks through the woods to the power cut, conjecturing about where they might have gone next. Milkweed pods toss their hope into the breeze, seeds cartwheeling across the duff. Songbirds fight toward the warming light, those lucky to have survived the night, that is. (@davidgeorgehaskell taught me the realities of their winter struggles.)
The morning unfolds, errands done. A little #toddlerresistance here and there; nothing we can’t glide through. The moment I drop River at Montessori, habit threatens: “You’re really behind now! Better get to work!” and “Your inbox is going to be helacious!” At the traffic light below the school, I can turn left to work at the coffee shop, or right to go to Riverside Park.
I turn right.
Along the North Toe River, it’s easy to #breakthehabit of rushing and bust the myth that time is linear. TIME ISN’T LINEAR ( #thebigleap ). “Running out” of time is a farce. The only thing that makes time linear is if I engage with it as such.
Today I choose to let time bend and breathe. Today I let the expansiveness of a riverside stroll supercede the ticking of the clock. If the milkweed believes in the distant, warming temps of spring on a morning as frigid as this…I can believe in the pointlessness of scarcity. I can believe there’s always enough time. I can turn right instead of left.
After all, the left turn is still waiting for me. @foxandthefig is still there, too. I settle in with ginger tumeric tea and look out the window. Sunlight spills across the day, contagious, uplifting. I’ve got all the time in the world.