It’s been a bit.
I’ve been missing you but the truth is, I’ve been torporing. Not sure if you can conjugate torpor into a verb but I’m rolling with it. I’m really diggin’ this new concept though and even more, how it seems to spot ON define what I’ve been up to (or, more accurately, not been up to) lately:
Hmmmm, “a state of mental and motor inactivity”? Yes. Exactly. I’ve been impatiently learning that sometimes life has plans that don’t include a lot of verbs. All the “doing” escaped right out my back door starting mid December. I found myself surrendering to a weird phase, one big gnarly unknown. The unknown arrived at my doorstep with a basket of goodies (all things I didn’t really want): directives on being still, an invitation to feel and sense stuff that I did not want to feel and sense, and of course–it came with a motto: chop wood, carry water. It’s been awkward. It’s been necessary.
This fallow, hibernation like period made me ponder how even with Covid shutting down so much of “out there” life, we can still be prone to a litany of inner distractions, inner pressures and the many demands we put on ourselves. Until the body says, “Oh hell NO” and torpors you.
Along the way, another gift arrived too, what I call a sister notion to the concept of torpor: Wintering. I’m grateful for Liv, my dear friend since we were 13 years old, who always seems to intuit exactly what I need, exactly when I need it. She forwarded me the Krista Tippet interview with Katherine May, who wrote the genius book titled, Wintering. This book saved me in many ways. It carved out space for me to wonder, “If nothing is really wrong with me and if I stop judging myself and this weird phase and if I stop googling symptoms and if I stop making up stories that something very very bad is going on or going to happen…well then, what if I’m just…’Wintering’?” The resonance in my body when I fully allowed in this notion pointed right at my north star.
As good fortune would have it, my dear friend Liv also mailed me the actual book “Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times” and I read it and was soothed. I felt my nervous system settling down and all the jumpy, zingy inner energy that had been demanding ALL my attention began to willingly loosen its grip. I was being lulled and sung into a new tune, a new page of life, a new songbook.
And then one day (cutting to the chase here) I started to feel a rumbling. My eyes opened wider. I felt some energy turning my gaze toward the orange orb in the sky. There was a little pep in my step! Just a little! It’s not even (officially) Spring yet! (I’m being cautious.) And there is no rushing getting back to life. There is no rushing the snake out of her skin. There is no rushing the bird pecking open the shell and crawling out. There is no rush getting the lotus buffed to velvety white.
I am starting to feel more “Spring-ish” and with that, I’ve noticed that my mind and heart can be like wily race horses. A few days ago, I found myself reading through a bunch of my old blogs and I ravenously started editing and cleaning them up. That felt good.
And while I’m mostly on the quiet inside these days, I do see you out there and I’m waving back at ya. I see those daffy’s out there too, poking their heads out as if to say, “Look at me, look at me!” Yea…I’m not quite that bold yet. I’m still nursing that precious inner space and also feel pure delight that I can witness and cheer on the little purple, pink, yellow and orange buds poking their glorious heads through the hard crusty ground.
Spring is coming. (Pipe in Game of Thrones music set to a happier vibe.)