this is not me2.jpg

This is not me. Not today.

Today, I am in several places at once but none of which are my porch, none of which are taking in the view and a cuddle with Sophie. Instead, I’m frantically attempting to restock Thrifty Goodness, organize my work space to make room for an impending arrival, and keep my sanity all in one desperate gasp for oxygen. Deadlines loom and the sunlight fades and panic is my new best friend forever. Or, at least until I’m finished with this madness that, yes, I’ve brought on myself.

Recently I was asked what it means to be “productive, but not busy.” While I’ve been thinking about that theme for some time I don’t have an answer, at least not today. My hunch is that it has something to do with going about your day in a way where you still see the beauty around you. Something to do with flowing seamlessly from one task to the next with the intention of being present, not rushed; being focused on the other, not your “to-do” list. Something to do with walking, not running. Something that does not look like what I’ve been doing today.

Rush, rush, rush. The list of things I’ve done keeps growing. I’m not certain this is an accomplishment, for each task is quickly replaced by two more. Nor do I aspire to large lists of tasks completed. I suppose there are times in our lives where we cannot manage the deliberate pace of contemplation. There are moments when life hands you a list and expects you to accomplish—this strikes me as a way to survive, not necessarily as a way to really LIVE! I don’t think it’s healthy nor wise to exist at this pace; completing one task only to rush on to the next. Hording my accomplishments as if they were of value. Fortunately, it will be short lived in my case.

Yet, there is something to be said for still being aware, even in the rush to do. The rush to accomplish. Surely, there is more beauty in the world waiting just past this humongous list of things I’ve accomplished today? Perhaps if I stop, for just this moment, I will see it and it will see me?

Beauty:

Beauty is startling. She wars a gold shawl in the summer and sells seven kins of honey at the flea market. She is young and old at once, my daughter and my grandmother. In school she excelled in mathematics and poetry. Beauty doesn’t anger easily, but she was annoyed with the journalist who kept asking her about her favorites—as if she could have one favorite color or one favorite flower. She does not mind questions though, and she is fond of riddles. Beauty will dance with anyone who is brave enough to ask her. ~ J. Ruth Gendler

I don’t know about you, but I’m hoping to be brave enough to ask for a dance very, very soon.

(A special thank you to Kathleen for the photograph.)