A Small Return to Rhythm

As January turns to February, the rough seas of my consistently overextended caregiving life seem to have calmed. I could feel spring in the air as I walked today, even as little mounds of snow still cluttered the roadside. The earth does not doubt that the ice will melt.

We, on the other hand, are less certain.

After writing recently about responsibility and diminishment, and noticing how a life can narrow, I’m grateful to turn my attention to something quieter. The warm sun on my shoulders. The goldfinches eagerly dining at the thistle seed I hung in a hopeful attempt to hurry spring along. My little yellow friends obliged.

When we are in the midst of uncertainty and strain, it’s difficult to imagine that things might change. That the earth will continue its steady turning whether we trust it or not. Instead, our focus narrows. Our bodies clench. We hunker down and grit our teeth, waiting for relief we aren’t sure will come.

Catching a few unguarded moments as I walk the familiar streets of my neighborhood brings me back to rhythm — to my body, eager to find its familiar pattern of movement, the fluidity that still exists when given a chance.

As I climb the first hill, I drop into my legs and feel my muscles begin to work. I know the stiffness in my joints will ease in time. At first I am tight and hesitant, but by the second corner, when the road levels out, I am carried by the motion of a body that knows the way.

Walking without purpose, with only a desire to regain balance, is enough.

It is enough to greet another day.