Escapism

The past few weeks have contained a bit of self-induced hibernation... a sort of huddled, closed off, hunching against the cold and damp and dark of winter. I burrow - groundhog like - into a warm little reverie of interior fantasies and recollections: biking along the Channel Trail, eating freshly made gelato across from the park, walking lazily down the street at dusk and laughing into the fuzzy sunset of a beautiful day.

It was not until today - tromping through snow and avoiding ice on the stairways as I carefully held my daughter's hand and marveled at her winter-tinged elation - that I realized I had been seeking to escape winter. I was actively avoiding the present in an attempt to race forward to a warmer and theoretically more pleasant time... while simultaneously evading the present moment by reaching back to grasp at an idealized and romanticized past.

"I love winter!" my daughter exclaimed as she jabbed her bright boot into a snow bank half her size.

"I thought you hated winter. You said so the other day." I try to be gentle in my asking, but my true self knows I am seeking some form of camaraderie through the power of mommyness and the tendency of my daughter to seek my vantage point.

"No. I thought I didn't like it. But I do. I love snow."

Mmmm. And there it was. A simple lesson from a small teacher - providing opportunity for insight via her unencumbered and wholly honest interaction with the world at present. No yesterday. No tomorrow. Now, now, now.

Now there is snow. Now there is sunshine. Now there are icicles and slush and bundled up bodies holding swaddled hands because the world has reminded us to help each other on the stairs. The day is inviting us to stomp and scoop and giggle as the ground sparkles like a blanket of stars and the landscape lies altered and special.

My daughter reminds me it is not hard to find joy in life. You just have to live in it. Be there with eyes open and readiness in your heart... and there it is. Forever unfolding and stretching and shifting before you with newness in nearly every second.

I am sure I will still engage in escapism from time to time. I am too used to such actions as a form of self-care, and they rarely (any longer) take a form that is damaging or self-destructive. These are timid forays. Like a sheep straying away from its grazing spot because it forgot what it was supposed to be doing there.

Harvey Steiman is credited with saying, "Everything in moderation—including moderation." In the context of escapism, I think it's safe to acknowledge we all have our outs as a form of psychic and emotional survival sometimes. And sometimes we even go off the deep end... lost in an abyss of our own making... eventually resurfacing and reconnecting with the real world once more.

But perhaps it's helpful to remember such recourse is sometimes more a force of habit than product of necessity. And sometimes the ability to see joy in our present circumstances is as easy as changing our minds and deciding to see the world through fresh eyes.

May you remain mindful within your efforts to escape and return to life with new resolve. May you strive to live in the present with a sense of wonder and joy.

Nature

I was crashing through the underbrush of the internet yesterday when I came upon a video of Ajahn Chah, a Buddhist monk from Thailand who studied in the Forest Tradition. One of the things he spoke of in the video was harmony with nature, which struck me as being especially apropos as we begin to reach the heart of winter here in the Midwest.

As someone who hates cold, wet, icy, and otherwise unpleasant weather conditions... winter can feel a bit difficult sometimes. It tests my patience and tries my mood. It saps my color and ratchets up the tension in my shoulders and neck. This is particularly true now as my body attempts to reacclimate to temperatures a good twenty to thirty degrees below my winter experience of the last four years.

Chah's message about nature led me to thinking about the expectations I place upon myself and the resulting tension, disappointment, and/or anger I feel when I have "fallen short." This week, I noticed this pattern seems to become heightened in the winter... my lethargy increases, and my frustration at myself mounts because I am not doing enough.

But winter is all about slowing down. When we look to nature for a clue as to how to respond to the elements around us, we see increased sleep, a slower pace, and a greater sense of patience as life curls up around itself and calmly waits for the cold to pass.

Rather than fight my tiredness or rage against my body's failure to keep up with the tempo of summer, perhaps it is wiser to listen to the messages of my joints and head: Lie down. Be still. Stop rushing. Let go. Practice acceptance.

Rather than steep myself in guilt and berate the cravings of my stomach, perhaps it would be more useful to listen to the message from my gut: Eat more vegetables. Drink warm fluids. Don't underfeed yourself. Practice mindful eating.

And, rather than labeling myself a "bad mother," "terrible housewife," or "lazy, old good-for-nuthin," maybe I should take a lesson from the life around me: Prioritize the things that really need to get done. Focus on people, not things. Slow down and be patient; this too shall pass.

Mind you, I'm not suggesting I heard Ajahn Chah's message and decided it meant I could be sleepy, fat, and lazy. But I do think there is honesty in all three because each is anchored in a natural reaction to the order of things and the world around me in this moment. Each is an authentic response to life. And so, in moderation and with mindful awareness, each contains the possibility of a true expression of my Buddha nature within the context of winter.

Sleepy. Fat. Lazy.
Restful. Hearty. Calm.

May you embrace the lessons of the season. May you find harmony with the natural world and enjoy peace.

Winter

One of the things I enjoy most about living in Illinois is the change of seasons. Four distinct intervals repeating reliably to create a sense of stability, natural rhythm, and satisfying sway through each three-month cycle.

When I was younger, I remember loving the snow. I reveled in my snow pants, relished each day off from school. I built ice forts and made snowmen... stamped the yard with snow angel patterns and happily ran inside after what felt like hours of play to shed my wet and frigid outerwear. Skin bright pink. Eyes watering. Glasses fogging like crazy.

Hot chocolate. Fires in the fireplace. Warm blankets and the quiet, peaceful hush of a late night snowfall, blanketing the world with a glittering gown. I remember icicled trees lining the roads like glass sculptures and the bright, beautiful clarity of a winter sky way out in the country... stars strewn across the midnight blue like glass beads. The moon so bright the ground was painted with shadows.

Now that I am older, my relationship with winter has changed. Somewhere in my adulthood, the appreciation for nature, love of the season, and joy of play was replaced with grumpy resentment, wind-induced headaches, and hunched-up, frustrated seething amidst shovel/brushing/scraping.

One of the reasons my husband and I were so eager to leave Chicago four years ago was because of the winters. This also was one of the reasons we were so reluctant to return. And yet we came... warily waiting for the first snowfall, the first freezing day, the first taste of icy, blustery cold. Could we do it again?

And so, here we are. Dipping down to zero tonight, wind chills in the negatives, and the world around us covered in white - with chunks of grey and brown. Sludgy, wet, and cold. Colder than I remembered.

But for some reason, I am really enjoying it so far. The winter weather so familiar from my childhood has set off waves of nostalgia carrying forth memories long outdone by my negative mindset and deadlocked clench against the cold.

Lately I am filled with gratitude, warmth, and happiness when hit by these seasonally induced recollections. It has reframed my perspective and allowed a new relationship to form.

I still sometimes notice I am tightened up and gritting my teeth when walking against the wind. My shoulders reach for my ears and my hands clasp tight across my stomach as if I could prevent all my body heat from leaving if I just squeeze hard enough.

But I am also more thankful for the season. The clear demarcation of passing time, the earth's rotation, and my connection to the cycle of life all around. And, even more importantly perhaps, I remember all things pass... remind myself it will change soon enough. My appreciation grows. My frustration ebbs. And I am left to hold hands with winter - creating a new relationship with a beginner's mind.

May you take comfort in the season that surrounds you. May you see with fresh eyes and appreciate with a fresh heart each new moment.