Late Summer Musings

Most people review the year that’s gone by and make resolutions for the future in late December, preparing for a new calendar year. Not me. I’ve always considered September the beginning of the new year. As a kid, a new school year was the epitome of new, of a chance for a do-over; the next grade, new challenges, new opportunities. It meant the smell of new books, the bindings crackling as I opened them up and inhaled deep that sense of all things exciting that lay within. It meant new pens and sharp pencils; a shiny binder with new organizing tabs; a new schedule, new possibilities. It always seemed to me as if walking into a new classroom erased what had gone before, and opened up a newer, shinier, better world.

It’s such an ingrained perspective, I’ve never outgrown it, even now in my seventh decade of life. September remains a time of new opportunity, but obviously in a different way. Much as September is filled with the energy of the “new”, August for me is the month of withering, of apathy - or as the monks called it, of acedia. Hot lazy days, heavy with humidity; a month where my energy seems to dissipate into the ether. I find myself at odds, at loose ends, unable to gather the strength or motivation to do most things - even those things I love. Dinners are simple affairs of burgers, sandwiches, grilled fish and salads. Days when my work is done lead to late afternoons in the Adirondack chair under the tree, or the deck that has succumbed to shade, content to simply read; or to beach sitting, ocean gazing, or perhaps even a slow biking around the neighborhood, soaking in the scenery of ocean and marsh and field. Evenings are spent on the screened-in porch, lazily sipping seltzer or wine, trying to muster the energy to get ready for bed and begin the next day.

This is due, in part, to the heat of August. I just don’t do well in the heat. But also - it’s because August, in my “end-of-year” shadows, is a time when I do much of my musing on what’s gone before in the past year. Much as most folks ponder the prior year in December, I reflect on that time gone by in August, naturally tending to introspection, reflection, a time of self-survey about what’s gone before, and what lies ahead. August is lazy, but not meaningless; there is much work to be done. Personally, I think August is the perfect time for such ruminations, its lazy sun-filled days and star-filled nights the perfect foil for considering the next 12 months.

And that is why, dear friends, I’ve gone radio-silent in these past few weeks. The energy required to do the inner-work of honest self-reflection is great. with not much energy left for the writing of a blog. It is no small task, this internal review —and not for the faint of heart. And these weeks have born fruit, having once again highlighted for me how to adjust my rhythms in the coming year; to change habit, perspective, practice. What to keep, what to shed.

In the spirit of sharing some hard-won perspectives, I’ll set down some of of my late summer musings in the hope that some small seed of inspiration will take hold, perhaps provoking you toward a little bit of introspection yourself, which is always good for the soul.

Meditation: A few months ago I came across a phrase attributed to St. John of the Cross: God’s first language is silence. That has really impacted me - this sense that my prayer doesn’t need words; it simply needs my presence so God can speak to me in His first language. And so, picking up (again) on a meditative practice I’d learned many years ago - Centering Prayer - I’ve returned this meditation to my daily routine. Each morning, a time of meditation and reflection. It’s not easy; some days it’s downright difficult, but I’ve persevered. And I cannot fully express just how much it has already impacted my everyday life. There is a deep centeredness that has entered my life, a peaceful surety that - regardless of the craziness that surrounds me in this world, and perhaps, in spite of it, all is right and good with the cosmos. God is in His universe, and nothing surprises Him still. He’s got this.

Work: As much as I’d like to retire from my professional work, I know I cannot retire from “work” altogether. Work of all kinds, even the mundane work of scrubbing toilets and weeding the garden is good - and not only good, but holy. Work fulfills something within us that is necessary for our physical, mental and spiritual health. Work that accomplishes, or beautifies, or satisfies, or blesses another - all that is good. And though someday I hope to walk away from my “day job” as a nurse-attorney, I will never walk away from work itself. I’m learning that work is a vital and necessary part of being whole, of preserving and sharing the divine in my humanity. That is an important reaffirmation at this stage in my life, to be sure.

And flowing from my reflections on work has come one thing I know to be reaffirmed: writing is a work as well as calling. And as many times as I find I want to walk away and abandon the hard work of writing what I believe I must, I always hear God nudging me forward, encouraging me to keep at this often difficult task of writing what’s on my heart. It’s work, yes; it’s risky to bare the heart, yes. But when one feels the calling to stand firm for principles; to “keep the post” as watcher and sentinel - then, write I must. It’s not always easy, but the reward is great.

Learning: To seek after knowledge is good. I have been a life-long lover of learning; of seeking new truths and acquiring knowledge, and yet I’ve come to realize in the last year that although learning is very good, there is a balance I need to seek. I want to learn, yes; but I also cannot be distracted by every new idea, every new theory, every new perspective put forth by yet one more writer, one more philosopher, one more cooking guru, one more quilting teacher. After spending a couple of years indiscriminately absorbing all manner of knowledge in a wide variety of topics (quilting, knitting, cooking, faith, religion, philosophy), I’ve come to appreciate that sometimes, less is more. I am learning to choose with discrimination that which I’ll study more deeply and let the rest go. I am learning that not all new recipes are better; sometimes, it’s the tried and true classics that shine. I am learning that sometimes, the old ways of thinking are narrow and anemic, and that new thoughts and theories invigorate and expand my heart, but hopefully in ways that compliment the old. It’s a beautiful balancing act, and I intend to continue to seek the new, while not necessarily discarding the old, finding ways to synthesize and build upon what came before. I think that leads to true wisdom.

Journey: In thinking back over the many facets of my life in the past 60+ years, I’ve come to appreciate that life is journey; it has nothing to do with where we are, or what we’ve achieved - but it has everything to do with how we got here. In Exodus, the Jewish slaves were merely an 11-day walk from the Promised Land when they escaped from Egypt, but God led them around in circles in the dessert for 40 years to transform them into the nation they needed to be in order to conquer the land. Much like them, I’ve looked back on the times of my life that were heartbreaking or difficult or confusing or downright horrible - and see now just how God was leading me in circles sometimes, transforming me, reshaping me into who I am now. It may not have been comfortable or fun, but I now see it was necessary. I believe that is true for all of us; a good dose of honest retrospection does wonders to give us the clarity of understanding how we got here - and hopefully, what the road will look like tomorrow.

And so. No resolutions per se, but the fruit of summer musings: what blossomed forth in the desert of this hot and dry summer. Not all the fruit, mind you - but some that you might find helpful, that might uplift and encourage and bless you on your own journey.