This and That

Walking on the beach, I was surrounded by this and that. On my left were houses built in a variety of styles, all of which cost more than I could ever afford. On my right was the ocean with waves breaking rhythmically and birds swooping in search of breakfast. Walking with this on my left and that on my right, I realized how often I try to navigate between the two even when far from the beach.

I’ve always had a thing for houses. From the days when I was young enough to build forts, I have always sought the safety and security of spaces. That love has continued, and I have no doubt, like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, it’s tied into my perpetual longing for home. My search has led me to many places and caused me to look for “home” in worldly ways - people, places, and things. If I didn’t know better, I would spend my whole life looking to my left, searching for something to buy to make me feel complete.

But I do know better.

To my right lies all I need to feel complete. It’s there waiting, for free, for me and for all of us. All we need do is turn our attention in its direction, look from the left to the right, open our eyes, ears, and hearts to what’s right beside us. Whether it’s a crashing wave or mountain stream, beckoning sunrise or inspirational sunset, birds singing or friends gathered, we’re given all we could hope for, all we need to feel complete. The trick is looking in the right direction.

Puffing up the Pillows

“For many a dance starts with a trip, and many a song finds its opening through a cough.” Mark Nepo

The place was a mess. He’d lived alone for ages and didn’t care what his apartment looked like. “I should clean up the place,” he thought to himself and walked over an puffed up the pillows on the couch. Unfortunately, he thought his work was over, when, in fact, it was just beginning.

Maybe it’s my stage in life, but it is becoming clear to me that the most important work we can do is to become our true selves. After years of striving to be this or that, to achieve this or that, I realize what matters is finding our true selves. Such a quest is not an invitation for more striving, although it is going to take enormous effort. Such a quest does not mean looking for a new job, although the implications of such a journey may involve changing the outside of our lives. But where it all begins is inside.

Who are you . . . really?

Underneath all the outside and visible, is there a flickering light within you, longing to be seen or given air?

Turning one’s gaze inward is scary. Outward striving is easier. (Afterall, we have years of practice.) Looking inward is new and challenging. It takes time, and the results are illusive . . . but they’re lasting. It’s easier to puff up the pillows than get at the work that’s really needed. I, for one, am tired of puffing up the pillows.

In alcoholics anonymous, they say someone is either moving toward a drink or away. I think the same is true with our journey toward authenticity. In each action we take, each comment we make, we are either moving toward our authentic selves or away.

Only one direction leads to new life. We might stumble as we do this work, but that’s because this path is new. I have no doubt it’s worth it.

Day Hiking

I couldn’t resist. I saw the sign driving into town, and it taunted me all weekend until I gave in. Ever since I first heard of the Appalachian Trail, I was enamored by the idea of a trail that went from Georgia to Maine. At one point in my life, I seriously thought of walking the entire thing, but now I look on and admire those who have.

Sort of like my life of faith.

I climbed out of my car and took a deep breath. Although I wanted to remove my shoes, like Moses, because of the sacredness of the trail, I knew better. I walked an hour in one direction and then back again. For me, there is nothing like hiking to take my mind to places beyond day-to-day logistics. What really matters is clearer when I’m on the trail.

Sort of like my life of faith.

Halfway through, I came across a hiker with a beard, backpack, and stabilizing poles. I asked if he had walked much of the AT, and he informed me he’d walked all of it. He began at Springer Mountain (the trail’s origin) in February and was on his way to Mount Katahdin. “You’re a Through-Hiker!” I said with chills. After he continued on his way, I felt as if I had been in the presence of greatness. Somehow, knowing he was walking the entire trail made me feel better. If I can’t, or won’t, do it, at least there are those who do.

Sort of like my life of faith.

Once I was back at the car, I drove back to my hotel and passed a beautiful church with a sign about Sunday services. Like the AT sign, it stayed with me. I knew I had to return on Sunday. I’ve always loved going to church; it’s a way for me to get back on the trail again, even if for an hour. Maybe I’ll sit beside some “through hikers,” people who live their faith every day. That would give me chills and inspire me to hike just a little bit more.