(un)subscribing
I was holding down the corner of the coffee bar area with my Miss when in walked another Mom and daughter duo. “Woooowwww…!” the girl said as she took in the landscape of offerings. It looked like her first time there judging by her inventorying of the space. Of course, I maybe recognized the feeling from when I first discovered this gem on Main. It’s since become a staple, a treat of spot for catch up time with the kids, or the perfect place for coffee or lunch with a good friend.
To see one’s first sight of the surroundings within made my heart happy, made me remember the first time my girl spied all the goods in the case, and has left me thinking since on when we lose or how we hold fast to the taken with feeling of people, places, experiences, moments.
My usual walking partner needed to reschedule one morning last week so I instead warmed up with one more cup of coffee before bundling up for a walk. I opened the door—head down—getting my gear on, and when I looked up I was smacked with total fog beauty. It was an audible taking in of the neighborhood blanketed in the early morning. How can something so dense and seemingly heavy be so lovely? I was giddy with the chance to start my day like this… just me and the quiet cocoon of earth’s winter morning hibernation.
One of the best somethings I’ve added to this new year is the click of ‘unsubscribe’ from the volume of email that comes through my various accounts. Once-upon-a-time places, outlets, and interests that no longer fit with what I’m seeking. I’m finding that’s limited not only to an email inbox, but to a greater net of life when we take into account the cast and hopeful catch.
I shelve the ‘what if’s, the ‘maybe’s, the ‘might’s, and instead focus on the core of what I wish to greet—people who genuinely wish to share in an exchange, things and places that spark, moments that are my now.
The week before last I headed out for a long leg stretch despite the bitter cold. All the weather predictions were pointing me to treadmill-ville for the foreseeable, so I needed the fix of fresh air before hunkering down for the weekend with the family. As I walked I thought about my love for this time of year.
Even in its overcast chill, it’s a haven of renewal that fuels me. I looked at many of the trimmed back branches and thought, “If only it were that easy…” If only we could cut off the pieces that no longer sustain. If only we could trim back whatever’s overgrown. If only we could have a clean-cut fresh start on whatever grew sour or wayward.
And I think we can.
By unsubscribing.
By inventorying.
By focusing on self’s presence in the world and how we extend any glimmer of good, of hope, of kindness to another.
By smiling, hearing, showing up, and simply ‘being with’ more.
By tending to our own gardens so our fruits might feed another come next season.
One of Miss's ‘chores’ last week was being our neighbor’s helper. When she came in from tucking newspapers on the side porch that foggy morning she was all smiles. “Mom! I got to walk in the clouds!”
And there it was… that first, that feeling, that catch in her breath something.
