Goodbye, summer, I won’t miss you.
Your endless days, crabby-inducing heat, neighborhood noise and increased crime rate do nothing to warm the fall-loving cockles of my heart. But I do appreciate a few lessons learned and relearned over the course of a season.
What did you learn over the past three months? Maybe something simple, like making a frittata with tomatoes from your garden. Or maybe it was something more intense, like your feelings fluctuated, even for your life passions, whether they be a sentient beloved or your cross-stitching hobby.
This summer I relearned some things the hard way.
Coffee is a body wrecker: At least for me, and maybe for you too if you get honest with yourself. About a decade ago, I had an endoscopy because my belly was in so much pain. I feared my guts were eating each other. Nope. I eventually accepted it was the full-throttle caffeinated bean brew that was doing so much harm.
After begrudgingly letting it go, it was a miracle how much better I felt. Foolishly, this summer I threw caution into a steep gully and drank two cups one morning. My body was demolished for two days as she worked to process the devil liquid. Lesson learned.
Paying attention is prayer: I take no credit for this idea. I read it somewhere and swallowed it down my gullet and into my bones. I’m not religious, but I love the idea of prayer. However, one can love an idea and never quite bring it to fruition. My prayers come in waves and phases, and sometimes I feel fraught and guilty I don’t have a more consistent practice. But I can pay attention like nobody’s business — to people, animals, nature, poetry, the silent whispers of my body, the rhythms of my life.
These are my new prayers and they’re done on the daily.
Question what you believe about yourself: I just told you I’m not a religious person. But what if I am a religious person? Do I have to practice the specifics of a certain religion to be religious? What if I want to believe in the intentions behind Bible stories? What if I want to sit in a church and listen to the music and immerse myself in the energy of the gathering and the structure of the building?
Here’s another belief I’ve always held: I’m not the marrying kind. But what if I am or could be? I’m about 98.98% sure I’m not, but I also never say never.
We need to dig into the beliefs we hold in our clenched fists. We’re ever-changing and ever-growing creatures who are not meant to stagnate. Be willing to look at what might not be a fit anymore, and then work on opening your fists to set it free.
It takes as long as it takes: I want stuff as quickly as you do. I want a particular relationship to blossom and flourish already. I started teaching writing this year and I wish I resembled Robin Williams’ inspirational English teacher in “Dead Poets Society” right away. I want to be a person who never offers unsolicited advice (which begs the question: Am I doing that now?).
But none of these wishes is true, at least not yet, and maybe never. Everything has its own speed, energy and flow. We can’t force anything. There’s no forcing a relationship. I can’t force students to love me and stand on chairs when the man comes for my job.
I can work to curtail my tendency to be overly helpful, but sometimes I’ll forget. I have to believe everything will unfold in its own perfect way in the perfect amount of time. And sometimes it will never unfold and that’s OK, too.
Don’t be afraid of heartbreak and grief: My brother recently had a vet appointment to say goodbye to his dog. He planned to go solo so his wife and their 11- and 12-year-old kids wouldn’t be traumatized, he said.
That plan was scrapped when a round of antibiotics revived their old girl. But before she rallied, I sent him a pleading text to have a mobile vet come to the house so his sweet girl could feel safe and comfortable in her home versus the cold, strange and scary office. And I suggested (unsolicited advice, I know) he allow his kids to have the beautiful experience of hugging, kissing and saying goodbye to their beloved pet as she left.
Death is part of life. So are heartbreak and grief, and there’s no avoiding either.
I guess you could try, but that doesn’t seem like a richly lived life. Don’t you want all the ups and downs of the human experience?
I told my brother I’d always wished I’d had the opportunity to say goodbye to our childhood dog. I came home from school one day and my mom told me sweet Bernie was gone. I remember my confusion at the sudden disappearance of our family member.
I’m not a mother, but I don’t believe in stripping kids or adults of experiences. Heartbreak and grief make us more empathic, compassionate and resilient creatures.
Contact the writer: 636-0270
Your Privacy Choices