Watch Tower

We lie together on the bed
Looking out of the second-floor window.

Maple leaves flutter.

A blackbird with a yellow beak
Pecks at the grass in the front yard.

From this vantage point
The lawn looks like a spotted
Toad with yellow markings
Covering its body.

I open the window and he
Lifts his head, sniffs the air.
Who’s coming?
What does he smell?

We both jerk our heads to see
The walker who strolls by
Buoyantly chatting with someone
On the other end of the line.

I see why he spends hours here
In the “watch tower.”
Bits of life happen all day long.

I lay my head on a pillow
And listen. It’s all I can muster
After an hour of weeding
And pruning the huge hair bun
On the grape vine.

My old self has faded;
The one who squeezed in laundry,
Making dinner, walking the dogs,
Weeding and pruning in between
Teaching, writing newsletters,
Calling people back and posting
On Facebook.

It’s been three months
On this new journey.

I’ve unraveled.
Unfurled.
Dissolved.

I’m happy now if the laundry
Gets done in three days.
If I pull weeds once a week.
If I have food in my refrigerator.

I’m most happy sitting
Among the plants, watching
Them grow. Listening 
To birds chirp.
Watching my dogs lounge in their beds
Observing what’s right in front of them.

I’m an Addict

I’ve been an addict my whole life. 
I just haven’t known it.
I’m addicted to doing.
I’m addicted to writing my list and checking it off.
Addicted to getting shit done.

I’ll even tell you my little secret. 
I ADD things back ONTO my list if I did something that wasn’t noted, just so I can check it off to feel more accomplished.

 Seriously? 
But….

It makes me feel good.
It feels like I’m “accomplishing” something.
Whatever that “thing” is, I don’t know.
It’s kept me on a hamster wheel most of my life.

And yet, I can feel the prideful purr within me when people say, 
“Oh. My. God. How do you get so much done?”
“That’s right,” I semi-consciously think, “I get shit done.”
I can feel the smirk-full smile subtly spread across my lips.
“Oh, it’s just how I roll.” I casually say. 

The truth is, it’s an addiction. 
I’ve gotten high off of getting things done, only to fall into bed exhausted. 
My experience of life is that there’s not enough time. To get it all done.

Isn’t this an illusion?

I’m in the midst of a big wake-up call. Right now, as I write this.

I’m what they call a CoVID long hauler. My CoVID symptoms have lingered. They’ve slowed me way down. My lungs have required me to stop most activity. Especially talking. 

I can no longer bust through my list.
In fact, as I lie in bed at 8 or 9 in the morning these days, and watch Springtime bloom on the maple, I’ve been reflecting on how I live and how I’ve structured my days. 

It exhausts me just thinking about it.

Despite being a reflective person, most days I’m running to do more.

And now that life is opening up and the world is getting vaccinated, travel is becoming accessible, people are gathering, I see the desire within me to go out and play, connect, gather. 

Right now, I’m being strong-armed by the virus to sit tight.
Go nowhere.
Keep reflecting.
Pause.
Breathe.

I’m being asked to respond and take response-ability for how I reenter this new world order that is in the making. I can feel how it would be easy to run full force back into the whirl of activity (if only my body would allow).

We are on the brink of a new paradigm. Each of us invited to ponder what’s important for us. How do I choose to live the precious moments of my life? This is my question right now.

I need more time to watch leaves unfurl.
Time to stand patiently with my dog who’s sniffing the bushes.
Time to talk with my 93-year-old mom.

Time.
To do nothing.