Stepping Stones

One of the things connected to this whole getting older thing is wanting to acquire new skills, and even learn about things I never thought I would be interested in.

The trick my mind plays on me is allowing me to believe that I can skip steps. Not because I know what I am doing, but because I am older and think I know what I am doing.

Do you know what I mean?

If I paint something, or even sketch a drawing, it should be ready to hang in a museum instead of just on the refrigerator. Right?

Part of all this has me laughing at myself for thinking this way. But it can also be frustrating at times. I want to start in square four or five. The beginning is for people who don’t know what they are doing.

Sometimes I get like this reading instructions for things that have to be put together.

I can do this.

Wait… there are pieces missing.

Are you hearing me right now?

And then I realize, often a lot later than I should, that even the simple changes in my life have to begin with more quiet. I have to read the first few chapters so I am not lost when I reach chapter six or seven.

It’s a reminder of how easy it is to overlook the ground I am already standing on, hoping my imagination alone can assemble some future version of life that already feels complete.

It’s this feeling that fulfillment exists somewhere “over there.”

Beyond all the steps I still have to stand in before moving to the next.
Beyond the decision that has to come next.
Beyond the finished plan I keep trying to imagine before I’ve made my way through all the chapters.

And yet, if I step back and honestly look at my life, I can see that many of the things I hope for are already in front of me.

None of it is perfect.
It’s not fully assembled yet.
But it’s present.

Life’s rhythms.
The noticing.
The creative things I love to do.
The photographs.
My essays.
And all of the curiosity that keeps pulling me toward the meaningful things in my life.

Even the spaces I’ve created around myself seem to understand this better than I do sometimes.

They don’t have to jump ahead, skip steps, or become something else.

They simply need to be lived in more fully by me.

Used.
Trusted.

If, in a world that measures everything by scale and speed, I have developed a tendency to believe that progress only counts when it is connected to something dramatic, then I may have missed the most important steps along the way.

And if this is truly the case, then I welcome the opportunity to laugh at myself.

And while I am laughing, I should probably pause long enough to remember that the most meaningful lives are often built differently.

For today:

One small adjustment.
One honest realization.
One sincere turn toward effort.
One quiet step following the one before it.

There is no finish line in sight.
Nothing appearing between the trees.
No certainty of perfection waiting for me if I ever arrive.

Just movement.

Movement in the spaces I’ve created.

And perhaps that is enough.

If the path we choose doesn’t reveal itself all at once, then maybe we simply have to trust that it is leading us somewhere worthwhile.

I think there are times when I focus too much on the escape without fully understanding the reason for the search.

Maybe digging a little deeper into the spaces I am already inhabiting is where life has been unfolding beneath my feet all along.

Not someday.
Not after I’ve figured it all out.

Now.

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

Annie Dillard

Talk soon…

G