In the Garden – Mid July

I’ve found myself wondering (once again) where the time has gone.

It was said when I was a kid that the older I’d get, the faster time would pass…

The busier I’d get, the more responsibilities I’d have, the faster moments would slip through my fingers.

I didn’t believe it, though. Nor did I need to because, at the time, I was busy being present in the moments of childhood.

But now? Now there is so much to do.

So.many.things occupy my days and nights and whole weeks can go by in a blur of activity and stress and completed tasks.

And if you asked me what I had for lunch yesterday, I may struggle to answer because…what was yesterday again? Sunday? Monday?

Hmmm…

And so, at forty, I’m honestly tired of being so tired.

Tired of life seemingly racing past me at warp speed.

I long for slow days and checklists that fulfill me.

I long for less meetings and less assumptions and less fried work culture.

I long for working within the bubble of capacity instead of constantly pushing past it in an effort to accomplish more, do more, be more.

I have been known to chuckle at teenagers in the past when they’ve said things such as

I just want to lay in the grass and watch the clouds go by.

And yet, I long to do that, too.

(Though I know full well that grass and clouds don’t pay the bills.
And there are so.many.bills.)

And I long to bake our own bread again instead of buying it from the bakery and to have the time and capacity to grow an herb garden instead of an organization and to dip my toes in the river instead of pounding the pavement and to sit present with myself instead of killing time on social media because I’m too tired to do anything else at the end of the day.

Checking out is a thing.

Luckily, there’s this garden we’ve planted and tended and are currently watching explode…

And there are ducks tooling about and catching mosquitos.

I watch Moana (our Orphan Duck) try to navigate her way between humans and ducklings while running from Kitty (who can be especially mean) and find her own way, her own path.

I imagine it must be especially lonely.

But s/he’s alive and thriving and still so friendly.

And so s/he asks for worms and runs about, through the corn and behind the compost, around the beans and in and out of the shelter.

And there is so much hope there.

And the breeze dances its way through the stalks of corn and the sunset sweeps across the sky, balancing shadow and light on the tips of the mountains…

And I am reminded that I am (we are) exactly where we are supposed to be.

Learning and growing (literally and figuratively).

And I am reminded that my unrest, this stirring in my heart, is what will keep me moving toward my dreams.

Toward our dreams.

And so I intentionally slow down during chores.

And I let the mosquitos bite me while I peruse the garden.

And I daydream about the days that have yet to come.

Because there is so much that has yet to come.

And even if I have to remind myself of it regularly,

It really is all about the journey.

xoxo,
M