Winter flowers

Paradise

I awakened this morning to blue sky and sunshine. By the time I had eaten breakfast and finished my coffee, the Adirondack chairs on my deck were steaming and the puddles left from two weeks of welcome rain had started to recede.

After exercise class I read my morning email then walked to a farm-to-table restaurant a mile from home.  The salad was large and crisp;  the fish lemony and moist, accompanied by tender roasted Brussels sprouts and caramelized onions.  I ate slowly, washing the meal down with a signature Bloody Mary and a glass of water. It was a quiet lunchtime, and I was warm and cozy in the window nook.  Before I returned home I began reading a new novel about early settlers in Kansas.  After I reached my house I settled into one of the now-dry wooden chairs and returned to my book. Kismet sat beside me, nudging my elbow from time to time to remind me she was there. I stroked her soft fur, enjoyed her soft kisses. Before long the vodka and the sunshine did their job, and I fell asleep.

Woolgathering

When I awakened, the mail had arrived, so I sorted through it, perused the photos in my high school reunion memory book, set aside the W-2 and 1099 forms, thumbed through the first seed catalog of the season. I closed my eyes, imagined brightly colored flowers in my back garden, the spring fully here.  Imagined riding my bike in the sunshine along the levee and the coast road.  Thought about the characters in the novel I was reading, wondered how the author would develop them.  Stroked Kismet’s ears.  Feeling a mild surge of energy, I wondered if I should take advantage of the break in the rain, and spend some time weeding my flower bed and preparing it for planting.  Decided against it.  Picked up my book again.

Why am I telling you this?  Because today is a microcosm of my life.  A wonderful life, I might add.  Before I retired, such inactivity would have been impossible.  Even if the day had dawned stunningly, even if I had an unscheduled morning, the to-do-list in my head would have kept me from enjoying such indolence.  I still have a to-do list in retirement, but I have a different relationship to it than I did when I was raising a family and working. I have absolutely no scruples about scrapping it for the day and rebuilding it the next day.  (As long as it doesn’t let anyone else down who is counting on me.)   And I now spend a significant amount of every week in peaceful contemplation.

Woolgathering, my mother called it.  Daydreaming; imagining; being lost in thought.  I did plenty of it when I was a child, but if she caught me, Mom would always redirect me to do something productive.  In time, I learned to redirect myself, and for fifty years I maintained a focused and productive life. I’m not downplaying the importance of that, especially when I was the only wage earner and raising a family. But I also ended those years with a sleep deficit, an immune system disorder (RA), and an extra 30 pounds.

Learning to Live in the Moment

What I have learned is that after a time being quiet with myself and the lovely world I have around me, I am actually more focused and productive than ever.  I also sleep better, and think more clearly.  I suspect that lots of people already knew this, but somehow it escaped me until I finally got off the treadmill and moved to the Adirondack chairs.  I wish I had learned it sooner.  I would have balanced my work life better.  However,  I am immensely grateful that I did eventually learn the effectiveness of being quiet and reflective.  My mother may have called it woolgathering, but others have called this practice contemplation, rumination, introspection, meditation, prayer.

I hope you have some of this practice in your life.  If you don’t, consider putting it into your to-do list.  It will make such a difference in the way you see the world.  If you already have a regular practice of being alone and quiet, I would love to hear about how and when you fit it into your life.