[gallery columns="1"] It is now Day Three of my re-entry back into my "normal" life Post-Squam, and I am still getting things back in order, unpacking, doing laundry, downloading photos, etc. The week has felt easy and slow, with naps and movies on the couch, a feat that doesn't come easily to me no matter how tired I am. My tendency is always to push farther, to say to myself, "I'll just do this one more thing and then I'll take a break," only to find a handful of other "one more things" waiting in the wings for my attention. Like those annoying drivers who cut in line when lanes merge, these little tasks usually push themselves forward and win out, causing the time I thought I'd have on the couch with my magazine or crossword puzzle to evaporate without my realizing it.
But this week I am committed to shifting this intensity down a notch. The summer was an exercise in movement and discipline, when I got so much done in three months I felt slightly inhuman. I became one of those people who was "super super busy", which isn't a crime against humanity, but isn't who I want to be on a full-time basis. So this week is my week to set a different intention, and to let the mile long list of ideas and inspirations in my head do something I don't usually let them do: Sit there. And do nothing.
At least for a little while.
I woke up this morning when it was still dark, and when I looked at the clock it said 5:48am. My first thought was, "Great! I'll get a head start on the day!" but then remembered my intention and crawled back into bed. These are the kind of moments I am having this week, where I am consciously pulling away from the mindset I was in until the morning I left for Squam. I am trying to unlearn the habits that ruled my life from June to September, reminding myself over and over again that I don't have to get everything done today, and if some of my ideas remain ideas and nothing more the world won't collapse. My intention is to create a softer flow in my life - to find the gentlest current, slip in quietly, and let it carry me like a leaf beneath the trees of Big Sur.
“You and I can turn and look at the silent river and wait. We know the current is there, hidden; and there are comings and goings from miles away that hold the stillness exactly before us. What the river says, that is what I say.”