Not Avoiding Forests, Though They Have All Those Trees
I sometimes (daily?) get overwhelmed by the minutiae of life. I often feel amazed at what others seem to accomplish while I feel like I’m drowning in dishes, dirty clothes, to-do lists, e-mail, and piles of papers. I’ve even been known to turn down a vacation because getting organized for all that just sounds like too much work.
This is particularly relevant for me this year as I take a year or more off from parish ministry to focus on caring for our baby. When I imagine going back to work as a full-time parish minister someday, somewhere, and continuing to care for our child, family, and household, I quickly find myself turning to either hysterical laughter, droll sarcasm, or the all-too-present devil, comparison. The conversation in my head or between me and a confidant usually goes something like: “So-and-So manages to do this, that, and those 3 other things.” “How does So-and-So do all that?” “I have absolutely no idea, but it makes me tired even trying to imagine it.” And also: “You mean people who have one child and know what it’s like go on…to have…another one?!”
Now I’m well aware there are a half dozen articles, blog posts, books, columns and probably cartoon strips as well circulating about how women juggle their professions and parenting, and I’m not particularly interested in stepping into that muddy swamp at the moment (who has the time?). I’m more interested in my own mind. I’m curious to understand how my own mind works to keep me from doing things because I seriously think “that’s just not possible.” Is there a way to embrace the minutiae and just be okay with it, so as to get to experience the living that is working, parenting, and playing?
I am someone who has dealt with the demands of parenting an infant by “dialing in,” eliminating any extra responsibilities or commitments as much as I am able, and focusing on finding a sleep-eat-nap routine that worked for our kid. I am fully aware that we as a family are blessed and privileged to have been able to do this—we have lots of extended family support, amazing local friends, and we had some savings to enable me to not work this year. We’ve also chosen to live in a small apartment to keep our housing costs down. My taking a break from working enables us to not have to wrestle with daycare costs and not working has been a blessing for me…and a time of discernment.
For the six years I served as a parish minister in Central Oregon, serving that congregation was my primary focus. As I told them in my departing sermon, “Let It Be A Dance: Some Lessons Learned in Six Years of Service”, that congregation was “my baby,” the commitment and responsibility to which I gave my all for those years. It’s hard for me to imagine serving a congregation as fully while also caring for a family. And yet, more balance in our lives and leadership is something we all need and crave.
I’ve been thinking lately about how the minutiae of any task can keep us from enjoying the beauty of the work, whether it’s ministry, parenting, personal relationships, gardening, even tending to our homes. It is too easy to let the inevitable “dirty work” of any job or task distract us from its overall value. We say “he can’t see the forest for the trees” when we mean “he’s lost in the weeds, he can’t see the big picture.” I don’t want to live my life avoiding tasks or work altogether in some effort to avoid weeds. When it’s literally a garden we’re talking about, I know that weeds come along with the beauty of the harvest; there’s a balance that I accept and even embrace. As I weed, I know I’m creating space for the beets and lettuces to grow and flourish.
photo by Jenna Starr
I’m honestly not sure how to orient my mind in such a way as to get less frustrated or disheartened by all the minutiae. Dishes, laundry, e-mail, meetings, tasks, housecleaning, babies crying, bills, disgruntled congregants, disagreements that need to be sorted out, to-do lists, and did I mention dishes?: these are all realities of living. Living less won’t mean fewer tasks, it won’t mean that there are suddenly more spacious days on the beach soaking in the sun and reading novels. To get to the beach takes work. To have a happy, healthy, thriving child takes work. To serve a congregation and watch it flourish takes a lot of work, meetings, conversations, and a lot of e-mail. To grow vegetables requires weeding. To be in the forest, to see the trees, requires setting aside the time, packing a bag, figuring out the directions, dealing with D.C. drivers, paying the bills, and so on. This is life, all of it: the minutiae and the magnificence, the crying and the curious smiles, the incredulous grin on our little girl’s face and the worn-out face covered with dried pureed yams that desperately needs a clean washcloth and a bath.
Today, on our way home from a quick lunchtime outing, our Little Bean feel asleep against her Mama C and slept through getting on the Metro, the noisy jarring sounds of the subway, walking home, street noise and the banging of our building’s front door. I said to Cathy in amazement: “Well. This is one of those occurrences I’ve seen in the movies, and on Other Parents, and thought, ‘wow.’ How do they do that?” Our kid fell asleep on 11th Street NW, near Pennsylvania Avenue, and made it all the way home on a warm sunny busy Friday afternoon in the city without waking up. That’s magnificent. And it’s the sweetest bit of minutiae in our day so far. It’s both, and it’s beautiful.
A Balancing Act
Happy Spring Equinox! (Unless you happen to live in the Southern Hemisphere, in which case I’d like to wish you a delightful Fall Equinox.) The equinox, of course, is the moment of the year when the light and the dark are in perfect balance, with equal parts day and night. Legend has it that on the moment of the spring equinox it is possible to balance an egg on its end. Science would point out that there’s no reason to believe the truth of this legend—it’s not as if gravity is somehow arranged differently on the equinox, but still…the equinox is a time for relating to the whole idea of balance.
Which, Lord knows, we could all use. Most of us are struggling to find the balance between our work life and our home life, the balance between our children’s needs and our own, the balance between activism and acceptance, between being here now and working for a better tomorrow. And those struggles are never going to go away. The only way to find balance is through a constant series of adjustments, tipping the egg ever so slightly this way and that in the vain hope of finding the balance point where everything is right.
It’s never easy, and sometimes it’s heartbreaking. I am thinking of my friend Lisa, who is struggling with finding the balance of when or whether to have her dog put down. Euthanizing a pet is almost always a heart-wrenching decision, and in this case the dog is young, sweet, and seemingly healthy. But the medications which have controlled the dog’s seizures for some time have stopped working, and so at any moment this lovely animal can go from running or playing or snuggling on the couch to cluster seizures that leave her traumatized and cause progressive brain damage. My friend has been diligent in trying to find a solution, and two different vets have agreed that there is none, that the seizures will return, and that they will be fatal, although not for some time down the road. And so Lisa is trying to balance her love for the dog against the burden of 24/7 care for an animal who may be stricken at any time. She is trying to balance the enjoyment the dog gets from every walk, every ride in the car, every scratch behind the ear against the fear and confusion and suffering of seizures that can come at any time. And there isn’t a perfect balance point. There isn’t any way of knowing what exactly is the right thing to do, when exactly is the right time to let go.
Any more than there is a way to know when or whether it is the right time to leave the father of your children, or when or whether it is the right time to tell your young adult child that they have to leave your home, or when or whether to put your frail and fading mother in a nursing home. There is no way to know the right answer, but there is also no way to avoid the decision, since inaction is as much of a choice as action. Doing the right thing, the perfect thing, is as much of a fantasy as balancing an egg.
Which, it turns out, you can do. Any day, not just on the equinox. It takes some patience, and a delicate touch, but it can be done. You start with the determination to balance what seems impossible to balance, and you find a steady base for your balancing act: I don’t want my pet to suffer. My child needs to learn independence. My mother needs care that I can’t give her. And then you lean the egg just the tiniest bit left and right, searching for a sweet spot that will hold: I can give my dog one more perfect day. I can pay for my adult child’s health insurance, and a security deposit on an apartment. I can make sure that mom’s favorite pictures go with her to the home, which will be close enough for me to visit regularly. Never the perfect answer, or at least never an answer that comes with the guarantee that nothing more or better could be done. But an answer, a choice, a balancing place.
The equinox doesn’t offer us the perfect resting spot where we can be assured that all is right. It offers us spring and growth and change. It reminds us that the perfect resolution for an egg is not to balance on its end, but rather to crack open entirely, so that the chick inside can emerge.
Imperfect Being, Seeking Balance
For several weeks now, I have been walking around my garden first thing each morning, ignoring its beautiful blooms, walking by the vine ready vegetables and herbs, with one thing on my mind. Murder.
Yes, it’s those Japanese beetles that have me seeing with such tunnel vision. I walk around with a bucket of soapy water in my left hand, a plastic lid from a quart of yogurt in my right hand, and seek to knock the little bugs into the soapy water. When I’m lucky, three or four of them are cavorting on one leaf and I can get them all in at once. Most days I end up with around 20 or 30 of them writhing in the suds.
It is a little scary to find this ruthless side of myself, taking delight in the death of other beings. Well, not delight exactly…but, yeh, joy. I want them dead. I want them gone. Every last one of them. I WANT THEM OFF MY GREEN BEANS!
Someone told me—erroneously, as far as I can see, that the stench from the dead bugs, if they are left sitting in the yard, discourages more of these beetles from coming into the garden. So not only am I constantly murdering these little bugs, I am then leaving them to make a kind of dead bug sun tea, sitting on my little meditation bench right by my three foot garden statue of Kwan Yin, the Buddhist Boddhisatva of compassion. I imagine that Kwan Yin is not delighted with my behavior, but suspect she has seen much worse.
It’s funny how we all –well, most of us anyway–make peace with the violence in our lives. For the most part, I eat meat that’s local, organic and where the animal had a good quality of life…does that make the violence any less when the animals’ lives are taken? I use all kinds of leather products without a bit of guilt, but would never consider a fur coat or hat.
And, aside from the damage of those chewed up leaves, and the stench of that sun tea, my garden is a place of joy, beauty, and sustenance, not only for me but for many neighbors who walk or drive by just to savor it. After I’ve done my murder detail, I relax and weed, harvest, and take delight in the color, texture, and life that makes a garden.
In the garden, in my house, in my car, I have no illusions that all of my contributions to the planet bring peace and love for all. With my behavior towards the Japanese beetles, I can’t say this keeps me up at night (though I do wish the beetles had a different name. A name which is also a human nationality makes me think of people who are Japanese, and I hope that I am not somehow participating in hurtful behavior towards them by using the name Japanese beetle, but it’s the only name I know!)
I’m keeping a quiet tally in pretty much every area of my life—I drive a hybrid car so I can feel good about using less gas (as I drive pretty much anywhere I feel like going, whenever I feel like going). I have central air conditioning, but I only use it when it’s going to be over 90. I mostly shop at thrift stores (for whatever on earth I feel like consumingI) I am constantly balancing. Bargaining, balancing, tallying, and always wondering what the score really is that measures what I am contributing to the planet.
I remember a New Yorker cartoon from some years ago. Two men are in a very fancy restaurant, in suits. One says, “I do a lot of pro bono work to make up for all of the anti bono work that I do.” And for some reason, I feel better when I remember the movie made a few years ago about Al Gore, back when he was traveling around warning all of us about global climate change. As compelling as his talks were, as frightening as his predictions were, there he was boarding plane after plane, being driven around in giant cars, guzzling up the world’s resources to tell us. There he was.
And here we are! As I make my way, seeking to find balance in an imbalanced world, I am grateful for friends who accept me just as I am, and who remind me to have a sense of humor about myself. Yes, I only bank at a local credit union with great politics, but I never turn down a Diet Coke. Sure, I try to live from a place of love, but I can be right there for whining or for gossip. And while spiritual community means the world to me, don’t take away my computer solitaire!
Good luck to you, my fellow earthlings seeking balance. May our care and respect for one another, even in our deep inconsistency and imperfection, keep us ever seeking the path where we can find more life together as a people on this beautiful and fragile planet!