[2021-04-23] Being
Erin Hanson wrote a lovely poem about a girl who is a "human doing" more than a "human being."
Let me tell the tale
Of a girl who didn't stop,
Who climbed up every mountain
Without a pause upon the top.
She'd dance until each blade of grass
Was clothed in drops of dew,
And the sun knew her by name
But the silver moon did too.
For a fear had settled in her bones;
A fear of sitting still,
That if you're not moving forward
It must mean you never will.
So in time her dance got slower
And she looked at all she'd seen,
But found gaps inside the places
That she'd never fully been,
For she was a human doing
Human moving, human seeing,
But she'd never taken time
To simply be a human being.
This could be my tale: a girl who didn't stop, who worked while the sun shone and the silver moon too, who feared sitting still.
But when cancer appeared and called a new tune, I was forced to not only slow my dance but pick a new dance altogether. As I did so, I began to look at places and people and positions that perhaps I hadn't seen as fully before. Family and friends became more important; my career, less so. Finding meaning in the midst of such a stark reality seemed like the right place to channel my energy.
Still, I continue to be more of a human doing than a human being. I'm always doing something: puttering about the house, baking, walking, reading, writing, watching TV, playing a game on my phone.
I rarely cease all activity. Even when I walk, I'm listening to a book or podcast or comedy routine.
Today, however, I took 10 minutes to meditate, something I do infrequently.
The timing was right. I felt a little more off than usual, perhaps because of my vaccine a few days ago or just some cumulative fatigue. I didn't feel that I had much energy to write, and I wasn't sure what to write about.
So I took a page from writer Anaïs Nin, who would sit quietly for a few minutes before starting to write in her diary to ensure that she focused on what was most important to her.
I set a timer for 5 minutes using the app Insight Timer. I got comfortable in an armchair, closed my eyes and simply breathed. After 5 minutes—a period punctuated by questions from my husband, who didn't realize I was trying to meditate—I decided to set my timer for another 5 minutes. This time, I added music: something soothing with ocean waves in the background. As I breathed, my mind wandered to how rarely I stop all pursuits. I remembered Erin Hanson's poem.
When the chime I had selected went off 5 minutes later, I didn't want it to end. I felt relaxed, calm, peaceful.
Once I had finished meditating, I started writing this post. It came naturally and easily. Bonus!
