April Ambles: Patience
Reflections of a Philosophical Forager — Day 6
Some days I feel impatience coursing through my body like an unwelcome virus, playing with my peace of mind, running wild like an unruly child. On those days even a walk in the woods is not quite sufficient to chase out the intruder.
I want to have caught up on accounting, to have sent that newsletter, to know how many are coming for dinner next weekend, and whether I can afford to travel to see my daughter this year. I want to know who I can get to work on a plumbing issue, and how to prop up the floor that is caving in under my desk, and when I will ever get time to go through that enormous stack of unopened mail. I want to know whether my garden is safe from frost, who will feed my cats when I am gone next weekend, how to fix unresolved issues with a friend.
Meanwhile one of my sons wants to know where he is going to live next year and how he can earn enough to pay for essentials so that he can do what he loves. My other son wonders why he works so hard every day and when he will ever be able to create time to do what he loves.
I am lucky. I may not have many answers, and I may not know what the next day holds, I may live under a curtain of constant uncertainty, but most days I am at least doing what I love. I write, I cook, I wander, I sing, I welcome guests, I care for those I love. A lot of time is devoted to prep and to clean-up and to gathering the energy to spin out yet another meal, yet another song, to listening to someone else’s story and offering healing if I can.
Today I wander forth to see if the rain followed by sun has brought any morels out of their hiding. I find one after much searching. And then I find a turtle. She is making her way slowly and steadily up the mountain. Leaves and sticks are in her way, and stalks of blue cohosh that is quickly taking over the undergrowth of the forest. She doesn’t stop. She just keeps making her way around one obstacle and then the next. No panting, no complaining, just slow, steady progress.
Does she know where she’s going? Does she have a destination in mind? Or is she simply making a path, wherever it takes her, and whatever happens on that path is her life?
As I circle back to my house on the hill, I’m still grappling with impatience, but the image of the turtle’s slow, steady pace is tucked in my mind. I am not alone. The obstacles may look larger today. They’ll be different tomorrow. And somehow I will find a way around them. I am ever practicing. Practicing patience.
For more amblings from the author, check out Child of the Woods: An Appalachian Odyssey.
