A Pot of Tea Kinda Day
The last few months have left me feeling quietly restrained. A lot of different testing, a lot of discovery, and the kind of rhythm that has felt more like a circle than a straightforward path to whatever is next.
The resolve hasn’t felt dramatic, but it has been connected to the kind of steadiness that asks for more patience than I sometimes feel I’m capable of.
Somewhere in the middle of all of this challenging terrain, something shifted. The corral that seemed to be surrounding me disappeared and was replaced by an open field. No gates to swing open, and no declarations of what I would like to come next.
In its place, a wide open space that provided me with some clarity. A clarity that signals healing, not in a fix-it sense, but a presence that has me appreciating how good it feels to just be here.
It feels like an aliveness with a pulse that doesn’t feel urgent.
The kind of snowstorm approaching seems fitting with its timing. Snow never asks for permission; it just shows up with a list of things for all of us to do. It literally rearranges our world, doesn’t it?
Slower roads, errands moved up to the day before it arrives, and then a day or two that sets the tempo for the season. I wouldn’t call it a threat; it’s actually more instructional, right? A reminder that winter, as well as life, comes with elements we just can’t control.
Maybe I should look at this kind of adapting as a gift. A quiet one at that.
Here on the South Coast, storms don’t shout too much. They settle in with a kind of working-class seriousness. Roof lines soften into rounded edges, the docks creak and complain as if negotiating with the wind, and a hush takes over the neighborhoods so we can hear the snow meeting the ground. Even the seagulls circle less — perched now, watching patiently for another quick meal.
Indeed, today is a pot of tea kinda day. I won’t be measuring time, only doing my best to remain steeped in it. The loft will provide warmth and comfort, the windows a reflective brightness not visible on just a gray day, and the world outside will get busy creating small changes, challenging me to take notice.
And when it’s all over, there won’t be any grand conclusions. No new resolutions. Only a presence with what is here. And sometimes, this is the strongest medicine we can ask for.
“Live in each season as it passes.”
- Henry David Thoreau
A good storm has a way of returning us to ourselves.
Talk soon…
G