“The principle thing in this life is to keep one’s soul aloft.” (Gustave Flaubert)
Before I get to the meat (or vegetable, for you vegetarians out there) of this blog (since I don’t yet know what it’s about), I wanted to correct a misapprehension that arose from my mention of moving to the North Shore. The move to which I was referring is to the North Shore of Vancouver, specifically Ambleside, in West Vancouver. Ergo the North Shore of English Bay. Not the more famous North Shore of Oahu, but one can dream of such exotic climes while sifting through the slightly less icing-sugar sands of Ambleside beach.
So, having cleared up that misunderstanding, it’s time I justified this break from the mystery boxes that need sorting in the basement. Oh. And for those of you who were alarmed by my episode of wobbly up-chucking (as was I), there are some follow-up tests to be done, but I’m more or less back to normal. I’m grateful to the lot of you for giving me an excuse to frame that unsettling day in the most productive way: an ode to the kindness of strangers.
Now on to blog #50. Yikes. I’m closing in on 52. Who wants me to continue?
Some of you may be familiar with the term “scope-creep”, which basically means that you set out to replace the old oven and before long you’re selling a kidney to pay for a new kitchen. What I have become aware of is a phenomenon I call “stuff-creep”. We had a very talented decorator come and “stage” our home so as to present it’s best face. We were not mired in clutter in the first place. But in two days our abode was reverse-transformed (devolved?) from a home to a house. Stripped of personal effects and redundant pieces of furniture, it feels like somebody else (or nobody) lives here. The decorator/stager explained that one decorates a residence to give it character and personality. When one stages a house, one takes the personality away, in order that prospective buyers can imagine moving into the “gently-used” rooms. The result now being that we can never find anything we need. We dig into the cupboards and drawers where she temporarily placed soap dishes and Q-tips and spoon rests etc. so as to actually function here again. In no time, the carefully curated counters and floor space re-accumulate the minutiae of our everyday lives. If I were to take a time-lapse photograph one could watch the “stuff-creep”, for example, into the front hall. First a couple of pair of runners would make an appearance, and gradually a phalanx of slippers, shoes, sneakers and boots would be lined up against the now bench-less wall, and then the camera might catch one of us wandering around absentmindedly, looking for someplace to sit and don the aforementioned footwear, while pondering where our coat, keys, glasses and hats have gone. Shoot me now.
This slightly over-dramatic reaction calls for a concerted mental-emotional-self-intervention. Perhaps a dip into Pema Chödrön’s Living Through Personal Crisis. Except I find that the latter was actually written by Ann Kaiser Stearns. I’ve never read it and find the title too intimidating. I’m not in personal crisis. I’m just moving from one shore to another, with the prospect of being closer to the beach and ocean that is my second home. Among other benefits. What Chödrön actually wrote is called When Things Fall Apart, but again, things aren’t falling apart. If anything, things are falling into place. (With the possible exception being my body.) We are getting things done at a hare’s pace, though perhaps the tortoise will win the race. The tortoise being the part of me that needs time, as a Buddhist friend suggested, to “Accept. Distill. Rest”. I tried to find out who to credit for that aphorism but Google only offered a host of distilleries. However, distilleries relate to spirits, so aren’t that far off, after all. (And may be what’s really called for in this case).
By this circuitous route I begin to see that, rather than jumping around like a hare pursued by the hounds of second-thoughts and self-doubts — the “stuff-creep” of my mind — I can keep my soul aloft by drawing in my senses as the tortoise draws in its limbs, and sinking beneath the agitated mental waves to a deep, calm meditative place. And simply breathe. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four…
See-you-next-week two, three, four…