“…you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.” – Mary Oliver

Ease feels a thing of the past, my past but perhaps our cultural past, too. I feel it fleetingly – moments or even an hour when life passes effortlessly. I am content and humming – a gentle hum at the cellular level – in a way that goes unnoticed because it just is. I’m in the zone. I’m there. I’m here. I’m now. No need to take note of any particular discomfort or joy – only to be with the present.

But then I am driving to a practice and picking up from a play date. I am trying to wrap my brain around a meeting time, a dentist appointment, a teaching commitment. So much to hold in my mind. So much to go to, get to, leave from. This part never feels easy.

We count the summertime in ways that we never count the wintertime. Do you ever say, “The winter is going so fast…” in a wistful tone? Do you ever long for the two weeks of February that just floated past?  But here we are rounding up on 4th of July, that high crested wave of summer vacation, and though I’ve yet to taste a ripe peach or local sweet corn, I am achingly aware of the berries passing, the irises long gone.

Out of my necessity to work, the kids are scheduled. They went to DC with their grandma and then camp and now more camps. July 6, we leave for our own trip on the eastern seaboard. All of it is good stuff – memorable and “enriching.” And yet as I watched my daughter do laps at swim practice yesterday morning under the same blue sky and canopy of oak trees where I swam back and forth, back and forth at her age, I wish we were here all summer, lazily going through our paces. No where to go. Nothing to do. Just humming in the moment of our summer selves.


5 thoughts on “ease”

  1. I had one of those summer ease moments today, after getting out of the pool with my daughter (the same one I swam in as a kid) and instead of hustling home for dinner, we spent a few minutes “sun-drying” which we had never done. After a minute or so, she said, “Mama, what are you doing?” and I said, “Lying here.”

    There’s something about lying down in the sun that lets me savor that moment in the cosmos of busyness.

    Thanks for posting!

  2. its hard to just let it go, hey? youre right, we’re in the hold of winter here, in the southern hemisphere. we celebrated the Solstice last week with a ‘come on baby, show us your light!’ not a ‘oh stay, stay so we can wear these longjohns for longer or anything… dark and rich and full of the mystery as it is, this time.

    when that peach comes, taste it, beautiful, just hold it and savour it and let the sun of it into you, if you can! be with the swimming, the driving even… ease into your own being, where you can, if possible.

    we had a moment of waking up here, recently, when a much loved [radio] presenter – Allan Saunders died, a week and a bit ago. only in his fifties. He was here one day, making his show, and died from pneumonia the next day. His work mates took him to hospital, and stayed, were with him when he died the next day… Still hard to believe he’s gone. Its been so sad for his listeners, and those close to him. Such a beautiful guy, incredibly generous with his sharing of ideas and stories. Wonderful interpreter of complex stuff. He’d worked with Radio national for 25 years or so, did shows on philosophy and design, and over a thousand people have sent tributes to his site. An amazing outpouring of love and gratitude for this person whom few of us had ever met!

    we truly do not know how long we have, sometimes it seems an eternity, but it is just a few minutes. so short. embrace what needed. throw out the rest!

    1. I love this Rosie – love being reminded that when it’s sweltering here, it’s cold elsewhere. That we only have a moment – even when it seems like eterntity.

      Thank you.

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