zen and the art of
I went running yesterday. It’s been a while, my allergies are really kicking my breathing butt these days, so I’ve been laying low in
But it was great to be out there, the leaves are finally visible, blossoms on the pear trees, apple trees, magnolia. The spring that I’ve been hearing about, from all of you out there in slightly warmer climes, is finally showing its lovely, pretty face.
I started thinking about how this happens to me every year, in early spring I can barely run at all, three miles is a struggle, but by August I will be back up to eight. And then I started thinking about the seasons, the cycles my life runs through…the cycles my run lives through.
And then, because I was trying to distract myself from the fact that
I couldn’t breathe, I thought about it a little more… and somehow
it became about laundry.
The way sometimes we are spinning, out of control, can’t stop, can’t get off, can’t see any of the details, just the frenzy.
The way sometimes we are agitated, back and forth, back and forth, not really going anywhere, just swishing around in the same old dirty days.
The way sometimes we let the water wash over us, rinse away the soil and sediment, the dirt and detritus, the very evidence of our humanity.
The way sometimes we are forgotten and sit there growing musty and forlorn, until we pick ourselves up and iron out the wrinkles.
And the way sometimes we are clean and tidy, neat and fresh, calm and fragrant. All stacked up in nicely ordered piles.
Sometimes I am all of the above in a single day.
Sometimes I am one of the above for days on end.
Sometimes it takes months to move on to the next cycle.
But it always happens. One cycle ends. Another begins. It isn’t always the best one, but it is always the next one. And you just have to let it run its course.
Spin through the angst. Wash off the funk. Rinse out the stress.
Fold it all up into neat little packages.
And gently, carefully,
put it away.