“I tell jokes and cut capers about the place and make the monks laugh.
They all say I’m possessed by the devil and insult me. But I say to
myself: It can’t be true; God must like fun and laughter.”
-Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek
I gave myself permission, this Summer, to savor the Hell out of it ... Like, really squeeze every last drop of joy out of, even (especially?), the most ordinary moments. At the time I was so benevolently bestowing the privilege upon myself, I couldn't foresee quite how necessary it was going to be. I just knew that my nervous system deserved it, and of all the hits I've taken in the last handful of years, I knew I'd still managed to hang onto my senses of appreciation, and play, and I think that actually leaves a person with quite a lot of room on which to build something good.
Once more, it was a whole season of hurry up & wait ... But really, I should be getting slightly more used to that by now. In this life, it seems rarer, and rarer for any of us to truly be living completely on a timeline of our own creation, or liking - there's always something to answer to, or for that pushes us at least a little off path, but that doesn't mean we have to lose the spring in our step, or stop dancing to our own beat entirely ... Instead, we can let a whole new song emerge.
The early bird gets the woyim!
For me, this Summer has been filled with birdsong start to finish. I remember right around the Spring thaw, the birds outside my bedroom window were absolutely losing it in the pre-dawn hours, like, to the point where I'd go out bundled up in my extremely Muppet-esque bathrobe to make sure a stray cat wasn't hunting them. No predators, just birds. Hopping around, picking through the long grass in the yard next door, singing their little fine feathered asses off. The sight of them enjoying the moment was so precious, and innocent, and free I wanted to cry ... And then they started earlier ... And earlier ... And by the time the opening act was firing up in the 3 o'clock hour, I was like c'mon guys ... Chill! But that's exactly what they were doing. Birds only sing when they know they're safe, and by experiencing their calls, a cascade of healing effects can be triggered within our own systems, quite literally making birdsong natural medicine. Aside from all of the things there are to say on the topic, how marvelous is it that The Universe uses music to remind us that we, too, are safe?
As I type this now, it's Late Summer (I mean, like THE very last minutes of it) and for weeks the young songbirds have been practicing their melodies. I knew things had started to sound a bit different, but I only recently learned that around this time of year, juvenile birds quietly rehearse imperfect versions of adult songs, much like children learning a new language, and I think my heart nearly melted completely out of my chest. Like, of course they do! Why wouldn't they?? But, I'd just never thought about it before. I never thought of baby birds having to sound-it-out like the rest of us, and I don't know why, but it touched me, and gave me the reassurance I needed to keep going, keep practicing, keep making my own kind of music - creating my own kind of life that feels right, and healthiest for ME. I started this year with so much focus on goal-setting, and learning new methods for achieving what it is I'm trying to do, and it has all been important. I don't regret any of that, or feel like its been a waste of time, but I do think it's important to also not let yourself get swallowed up entirely by someone else's ideas ... You can learn new tricks, and still hang onto your most valuable instincts at the same time, and end up creating something that celebrates you in a way that cramming yourself into the proverbial "box" never could.
"Sometimes night owls are early birds in disguise"
-Bryan Johnson (yes, him)
Sometimes we think we know things about ourselves, we think we're hard-wired a certain way, or that we'll do whatever it takes to get the results, or it's too late, or whatever, but I think it's valuable to leave room to surprise yourself. I've recently uncovered that I'm genetically predisposed to higher evening activity, and delayed sleep onset. I KNEW IT! I've been painfully aware of this my entire life, like, from the cradle (I wish I was kidding). I know with kids and school schedules and all, there has to be some sort of law & order around bedtimes, but it was rough being a kid and having to rot in bed during the only hours in a day / night that you felt most alive, vibrant, and healthy. While this information couldn't have done much for me then, the validation now is nice, I suppose. Beyond that, the interesting part (to me anyway) is how in recent years I've been able to give up my night owlish ways, and lean into my extreme early bird, and I have to admit I almost like it better??? I NEVER thought I'd get here. I am not a morning person, like, by any measure, or metric, but I've found that if I make it to bed before my evening "second wind" kicks in to keep me wired all night, I can simply wake up for those glorious, dark, silent, luxurious morning hours that in the past I had to stay up to experience at the end of my night. It's been nice to find out that I don't have to skid over the finish line of my day on three flat tires, a dragging muffler, and blown transmission just to experience my favorite part of the day, plus realizing that I also actually am a morning person for MY kind of mornings, and how those hours have become legitimately restorative by moving them to the start of my day, rather than ending with them. Additionally, finding the joy in a thing that never felt natural to me is a big deal in my world, and discovering little work-arounds that make the seemingly impossible become possible is always something I'm into. I know, I know you must be shaking your head right now ...
This heifer totally thinks she invented early to bed / early to rise, and it's blowing her mind!
I mean, maybe a little bit, there was more that went into it than that, but I won't be offended if you have a laugh at my expense. Trust me, I know how stupid it sounds, I guess what I'm gobsmacked by, and happiest about, is how I've been able to turn something completely around, and it doesn't feel forced, or like a sacrifice ... I don't need a cheat day, and it doesn't feel unnatural - which I think is what a lot of changes can feel like for people, especially when it comes to our routines, or lack thereof, and why I think it's important to go the extra mile to work out what's going to make something fit into your life seamlessly.
Along the way on this little quest, I've also been reminded of my grandfather ... When we'd go for visits, the joke always was, don't get up to go to the bathroom before 3:30 AM, or you'd run smack into your buck-ass granddad drinking tea in the darkened family room ... First of all, this man's skin was so white, I swear he could glow in the dark anyway. Can you even imagine? You're at your grandparents' house, it's pitch black inside, you're tip-toeing around bleary-eyed, and come upon this glimmering apparition, but it's just your pappy living his best life in the buff, putting the kettle on? I never found out if it was true, or if it was just something someone made up to keep all of us kids in bed all night, because I will tell you, even I was never curious enough to verify the lore, but now? All of these years later? I really do wanna know if it was all true because, WHAT?! But also? I kinda get it, even though my slow, dark mornings are spent fully clothed.
Anyway, this is sort of the brainstorming space I've been inhabiting this season. I've felt a little bit untethered, but unafraid - it's been a time of discovery, but not the kind that comes from being lost. I've been nostalgic for a me I've probably never fully been, and I've been allowing my most "me" parts to rise to the surface of all aspects of my life. And you know, not everyone likes to see that, not everyone wants to experience that with you, not everyone is happy for your evolution. Some people will only see your freedom from one trap as an opportunity to stick you in the cage they've been making ready behind your back, and when you don't drop everything to hop right in, feathers can end up getting a little ruffled. So there's been a distinct alone-ness to it all for me this year, with a dash of grief after learning who in my life only appreciates me when I stick to the rigid script of their own imagination (enmeshment is a helluva drug!).
But the beat tweet goes on ...
... And I can either collapse and quit singing altogether, or take a deep breath and belt out a tune that heals my wounds, and creates the safety no one else has ever provided for me; one that honors the person I most deeply am, and creates space for the one I'm meant to become. No, I do not have a Bluebird in my heart. I've got an entire avian choir in my garden helping me sing the life of my dreams into existence, and one massive Blue Heron that squawks at me from the tops of the cedars, and hemlocks that sway in time on the breeze ... And sometimes, in spite of everything, and everyone else -- just being allowed to pause and witness it -- feels absolutely divine.
For me this Summer could be summed up most succinctly by our beloved Sacred Lady of the Holler, Mrs. Dolly Rebecca Parton Dean:
Find out who you are, and do it on purpose.
xoxo
