Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Snowbound


One of my all time favorite memories growing up would have to be when all the meteorologists were predicting a ton of snow in Southern Maine. It was literally 99.999% guaranteed that the city would be shut down. There was a ton of hype and I remember my brother and me were banking on the fact that there would be no school; everybody was. We didn't pull out our homework, stayed up late, and counted on a blessed day off.

Ha! Nope. My mom woke us up the next morning telling us to get ready. With sleepy seeds in our eyes, we looked out the windows and the roads were clear and there was not a flake of snow on the ground. We were so angry. How could they be wrong? We stomped off to school extremely exhausted, incomplete homework in hand, and showed up with every other kid having grumpy faces. I believe even the teachers were a bit upset. We were victims of counting the chickens before they actually hatched.

I laugh now as I sit and write in my nook while a blanket of the white stuff covers the city of Seattle. Schools are closed, I am cuddled up in sweaters and socks, sipping a nice hot cuppa tea, and listening to some coffeehouse music. Some are calling it "Snomageddon," some are attempting to drive, while others are sledding on our street. I walked to the grocery store this morning kicking up the fluff with my L.L. Bean snow boots and came home with red cheeks. There is maybe 3", a typical dusting for someone who lives in snowcountry, but for this city, things come to a halt, which can be a good thing sometimes.

The snow reminds me to stop and enjoy. As the flakes come falling to the ground, we can observe this microcosm of mother nature, her innate ability to make us stop in our tracks, pause, enjoy, and slow down, and rest. Why push it? Why resist? I wouldn't call it being stranded, but I am staying home, working on some projects, and just resting. Not a bad thing at all. When we actually take the time to pause, rest, stop, something incredible happens-we get in touch with our most authentic self. Similar to meditation, it's in these quiet moments where we discover the most raw aspects of ourselves.

When I was little and used to play hours on end in the snow, I would lie on the ground, make a snow angel, and just close my eyes and be in stillness. It felt as though I could feel the earth moving. Where in your life are you making time for rest? For stopping? For the incredible pause between the stimulus-response?

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