For weeks, I’ve been hankering to go outside to the yard and just sit. But like most of us who are supposedly retired, I had too much to do. I’ll spare you the list. Suffice it to say that everything was unavoidable, important or necessary. Then suddenly, like the early fall rainclouds, my calendar cleared.
I’d been watching the drama of the change of seasons through the window, like a jealous lover married to an unforgiving schedule.
So why, then, when the moment finally arrived to dally in the sunlit garden, did I feel a wave of anxiety wash through me?
Because, old friends. It took just that long to realize that I didn’t have to hurry less I miss a deadline. I wasn’t late for my reservation. I hadn’t absent-mindedly double-booked engagements. What’s more, I could sit there happy or sad, anxious or floating for as long as I wanted and the trees, gentle breeze and soaring birds were regardless occupied with doing themselves, which, of course, is what nature does best.
All of this had just been sitting there all the while, would be there for me however long it took and now that I’m here nobody would be coming to take it away from me.
When it comes right down to it, doing me is what I do best, too. Not the important things that need to be scheduled in advanced. But to be occupied fully with doing myself, whatever that happens to look like, for as long as I can. Today, this is not only my purpose. This is my prayer.
