A continuing reminder

Remembering what we can choose is a healthy practice

If you’ve been following this Substack for any period of time, you know that I have a deep connection to the natural world around me. I know I am not unique in this way; there are many who love nature, but we do not all embrace it in the same ways. For those who hunt and fish and trap, the appeal is often being outside in the fullness of the world less than the harvest of wildlife. For others it’s a vocational necessity: construction workers, farmers, landscapers all have an awareness of weather because it directly impacts their ability to make a living. Gardeners engage the earth to bring to life luxuriant flowers and heathy vegetables with daily, disciplined care in fertilizing and watering and weeding.

There are many reasons I love the natural world, but perhaps the most meaningful for me is that by observing and experiencing what is happening externally — around me — I gain a better understanding of what is brooding internally — within me. Today is another such day.

The past couple of days have been balmy and Spring-like. The snow of a couple of weeks ago has long since melted, lakes are nearly clear of ice, birds are returning to my small feeder on a frequent basis, there is evidence of green grass pushing through last year’s brown remnants. But today is a different story, once again. The grasp of Winter has not quite left us. The mottled early morning skies cloak the rising sun, the wind is blowing from a different direction and sleet and/or snow is in the forecast for the next several days.

As an observer of the natural world, I am just that, an observer. I cannot control what happens, but I can decide how I will respond to what comes my way. When I was tidying my living room on Saturday, I put my winter coat in the closet, thinking perhaps I would not need to retrieve again for many months, but in a few minutes I will walk to that same closet and pull out my coat, wearing it as I leave my home for the church office. I can’t change the chill in the air, but I can respond to it appropriately.

I awakened this morning filled with angst and apprehension, unsettled and worried. It may have been the very strange dream I had in the night where a large dog had torn into my face (help me sit with that one, Dr. Freud) for no apparent reason. As a dog lover, I awoke with a start, disoriented and perplexed. I was caught in the moment: there wasn’t enough time to go back to sleep, yet it was still too early to get out of bed, so I just lay there, ruminating in shadowed thoughts. Eventually, though, I knew I needed to let all of that go and step into what today promises. I couldn’t change the circumstances of my early morning, startled awakening, but I can act to move into my regular rhythm, a pattern that provides a sense of equilibrium.

Like the Winter weather that won’t quite let go, I’m also recognizing again today that this damnable grief journey clings to me like a tired toddler gripping her mother’s leg in the grocery store, screaming for attention. I am at the stage (a little more than a year now) where I want to exit that pathway and merge onto the freeway where I can drive faster and reach a new destination. But I’m not quite there yet, so I will do my best to drive safely on my current route, embracing what I have rather than resenting what I no longer possess.

That, you see, is the choice I do have.