path Archives %- – Rock The Wrinkle

There’s an area not too many miles from where I live with a path that winds around some ballfields and a small manmade lake. The path is paved and goes through some trees so it is a nice respite from the nearby busy street and noise of modern life. The path is named for someone and, along the way, there are benches and signs with verses from the Bible.

I do not know the person for whom it was named, but apparently she was only 35 when she departed this world. Now I walk the path with my dog and sometimes wonder about her.

Did she get to do the things that mattered most to her before she departed this world so young? Did she have advance notice that her time was to be short, and if so, did she continue with her everyday routine, or did she decide to throw caution to the wind and take more risks? Did she feel her life was fully lived, or did she shake her fist at the heavens and implore why she had so little time?

What would I do if given such news…would I take a completely different path…I wonder.

When I walk a labyrinth, I’m struck by how you walk the outer edges, then just as it seems you will enter the middle you are again taken to the outside…as though to revisit and relearn something again and again. Maybe it’s that whole “wherever you go, there are you” thing. Or maybe it’s just a lesson from the universe of “not so fast…you have more ground to cover before you get the answers.”

It’s strangely calming.

Walk a mountain trail and you often find yourself concentrating hard on the way up (or down) as you begin, carefully taking steps over rocky terrain, wanting to cover ground before you begin to tire, thinking about how much time you have before you have to be back, will you have enough water, will the weather hold, etc. You notice the scenery around you, but it’s almost a backdrop to all the noise in your head that takes a while to quiet. You’re on a mission; you have a trail to complete.

But when you turn back, you feel yourself exhale, and with it, often goes much of the need to control the experience. You’re now walking more loosely, you’re noticing how the sunlight bounces off the leaves, how majestic the boulders are, how beautifully blue the sky is. It’s as though it’s a completely different trail, and yet it’s the same one that brought you there.

Because now you’re a bit older, a little wiser and more sure of yourself. Your eyes are more open. You’re reminded how you are part of the trail, and not the other way around.

The trail didn’t change. You did.

The labyrinth has always been there. You just never really took the time to walk it.

The path that is your life was always waiting, you didn’t even realize you were already on it.

You can step off of it. You can turn around. You can linger at a particularly wonderful spot. You won’t get lost, because the path will there. But like all walks in the woods, keep an eye on the time.

Because it goes so fast.

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” Marcel Proust

“The problem is that you think you have time.” Jack Kornfield

The “Low Tire Warning” light came on my car a few days ago. Because I was across town from where I live, I had to keep driving. Nothing felt odd; when I stopped I could not see a problem. So I went on. And later, I ran another errand.

Then I actually sat down and read the owner’s manual, which of course shook its finger at me and said you idiot, you shouldn’t be driving on these tires until they are checked for a nail, slow leak, or the beak of a mynah bird embedded in the treads.

I made the appointment at the tire center, and one morning, I drove my car there. Luckily I only had to go about two miles. But now armed with new caution, I drove more slowly than I normally would.

Translation: I actually went the speed limit.

And the reaction of other drivers was really interesting. Here I am, in the slow lane, going the speed limit. Here they are, puling up behind me so fast they look like they’ve been shot out of a cannon, slamming on their breaks and barely missing me as they pull into the fast lane and hit the gas.

Now if this was rush hour, or we were on a busy expressway, I would get it. But we are on a quiet residential road, and there wasn’t any traffic. Yet my going the (gasp!) speed limit was clearly an offensive act.

I confess I usually am a bit over the speed limit myself. But I do not tailgate people in the slow lane. I’m not real happy about being behind slow people in the “fast” lane, but I still don’t tailgate. I can’t afford it.

I couldn’t help but wonder where these people were going that fast. What was happening to their blood pressure as they sped past me? What kind of mood did their own aggressive act put them in for the rest of the day?

What is that important?

I’m at a point in my boomer life where I’m looking at the highway stretched before me, and the distance to the end is getting shorter. There aren’t as many exit ramps or scenic overlooks. I worry that I’m missing things.

That I won’t realize when I should go off-road and take a break.

Or see the sights.

Or just get out and stretch.

Because literally, I won’t be passing this way again on the road of life, at least not in this form.

Sometimes those feelings make me go faster. Sometimes they make me slow down. Days go by so fast. Seasons are a blur. In my mind, there’s still all this “time” to do so many things. Yet I’m realizing that’s not really true. If I want to do something, go somewhere, try something new I had better do it now.

It can be very daunting, can’t it? Which path do I take. Which broken relationship do I repair, and which is better left alone. Which new road is worth my time and energy to explore. Like Yoga Berra said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

So which lane do we get in? And what about the other “warning” lights?

“Caution: you just passed up a potential new love.”

“Danger: put down the candy bar and go to the gym.”

“Beware: your hair may suddenly make a u-turn.”

Maybe, like my car, we just make stops when we need to, refuel, repair, and keep going. Because like my very inconsistent GPS, we never really know where the road is leading. There could be a detour just ahead. But one thing we do know: it sure feels good to keep going.