I’ve learned more in the past five years than any other time in my life – except the first five years.
That’s what lately I find myself telling nearly everyone with whom I have an in-depth conversation. About how much I’ve learned since the summer of 2008 when I quit teaching after 23 years.
Apparently it was time for me to be a learner again.
How to put into words all that I’ve learned in these five years? It feels overwhelming. That’s why I haven’t written in quite a while. I feel this growth, this realignment, this shift, this coming together . . . but I don’t feel I can adequately express it.
But here’s a brief try. For now.
I’ve learned that my quest for safety and security was a prison of my own making. That when I try to force things to happen, nothing really good comes to me. And then I learned that the best – the most miraculous – does come when I let go and follow the flow.
When my brain is trying to figure everything out, to think of all of the possibilities and anticipate them and prepare for all of the possible obstacles, I cut off the flow.
And then that flow somehow continues – in spite of my trying to control it.
I’ve learned that the best I can do is get out there and be with people and share and pay attention and try to be present and receptive – and to come home and rest and reflect and recreate. To let go to busy, energetic times and to slow, quiet times – as they come to me. Not to resist either one.
To respond to what my heart is drawn to – because that’s when what is seeking me can find me.
The last couple of months, I’ve been very blessed with lots of quality time with all sorts of quality people. They have each brought me gifts – and that’s a lot of what I’m trying to absorb.
It feels like too much sometimes.
It feels as if the last couple of months have been a microcosm of the macrocosm of the last five years.
What is all of that saying to me?
That my vision isn’t expansive enough. That there’s something bigger and brighter than my limited human vision can see. That life is miraculous and sad and joyful – all at once.
That all I have to do is keep taking one step at a time. To trust my intuition. Every now and then to look up at the horizon, but mostly just follow the path right in front of me.
. . . and the strawberry is so red and sweet.