Sometimes I wish that I could be born in ten different places in ten different eras, to collect the knowledge of those experiences into my consciousness, and then put it places. Like onto the page I’m writing on now. And into the conversations with every person I encounter. And into the thoughts I think while I’m leaning on the big trees of the world. I wish that I could lean on every big tree in the world, just for a moment, to get a feel for the planet’s arboreal weight and glory. I wish that I could have a conversation with every person on earth who’s in their eighties, not to talk about anything in particular, just to say hello and how are you.
Sometimes that’s the gravity of presence that I want to bring into my days, my movements, my relationships, my process of becoming.
Other times I don’t feel like going out of my way to engage the world. Sometimes I walk the trail with my head down. With my thoughts crowded and heart heavy. I find a cave, or make one, and be alone in it until the stuff that matters in the world quiets and I’m able to hear again the voice underneath the world’s hoarse insistence.
Being honest about the way that the energy of enthusiasm ebbs and flows is an important part of stewarding a purposeful life. I try to let curiosity drive me when it does. But I’m learning to also let weariness play its role. Tending to weariness is crucial to the commitment of living with compassion. It’s a vital part of trusting in the possibility of renewal.