Get Lost In My Back Yard With Me
Another installation on my July theme of “Retreat”
Some people go to Machu Picchu or walk the Camino de Santiago, but I went all the way to my backyard, where I lit the gas fire pit with its ceramic logs, settled into the Adirondack chair and felt it bend to support my weight, and stared out across the vast expanse of my fake lawn.
Not quite “nature.” Not exactly a place designed for formal retreat. Yet if you think about it, if I haven’t even left my house but I still end up going places, I’m definitely on an “inner journey,” right? And my God yes yes yes, I’m finding my self right here where I’ve lived for twenty-three years, awake to who I am, and what I want and don’t, and how I’m going to get it.
Being alone with yourself makes you think.
It’s been a hard season. Not to shove it down your throat but just to bring out the flavor a bit for you: I’m in my mid-to-late-fifties, and until quite recently was sandwiched between caretaking my elderly parent and helping my emerging adult launch. I’m in menopause which somehow makes me both bigger and smaller. I’ve experienced extremely public professional losses and very public personal shame. Then death came, and its homie, grief, who lurks like an intruder just beyond my sliding glass door ready to show me it’s there the minute I seem fine.
So for quite some time I’ve been dealing with some shit. And looking back on it, where I’ve found myself night after night is in my Adirondack chair. No lie. No matter what the day has brought, when it ends, I go there. Sometimes night begins at midnight, like when I get home from a City Council meeting, but sometimes night starts when the sun is still out there, because while the internal clock I obey says you can’t relax until it’s quittin’ time I know it’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere.
Picture me.
My Adirondack chair awaits each night, like a friend who always gets to the bar first. I light the fire, settle into the chair with its weathered grey limbs, back, and feet, and its sturdy cushions of creamy beige support me. I sink in and let the time begin and reach to the small round slatted table on my right, where I’ve put the substances and devices that will allow me to escape I mean find myself again as the flames of the fire pit lick the hungry night.
(What substances and devices would YOU have within arm’s reach of your Adirondack chair?)
Here I’m more or less at rest from the world, enjoying the stillness. And though the wood doesn’t burn and you can’t mow this lawn, I still feel wild out back.
Ten Truths I’ve Come To In the Wilderness of Our Yard:
As Dan and I watch the sand slip through the hourglass, all we want is more time for what we have right now.
I’m a writer. It’s what I do and it brings me joy.
If I could do any work forever I would write about the anguish and pleasure of being a human, and talk with my fellow humans about their journey and support them.
I’m doing too much. And even if I’m good at some of it, if not most of it, it’s too much for ME. Having just one thing to do for six weeks this entire summer - write a new book(!) - I’ve been so happy having so much less to do. Ugh. Not sure I wanted to realize this truth. Now what?
I accidentally mistyped “wilderness” as “wildnerdness” and that just about cracked me up. More Wild Nerd Ness, Please!
Sometimes when I’m grappling for answers I reach for substances and devices. My grief therapist says now’s not the time to try to give up the things I’ve been naturally turning to for support. Whew!
Retreats (whether to Machu Piccu or just your backyard or your journal) can pack a wallop because you can’t distract yourself as easily when you’re not busy.
The more alone you are and the more silent it is, the HARDER it is. Because you have to confront the thoughts in your head.
The habits I don’t want to reveal to you are really getting me through. This is more honest than acting like I’m able to be productive, healthy and good all the time.
________________________________ [Dunno this one yet, I’m still learning!]
Are you on a retreat or have you been on one recently, or were you on one long ago that really changed you? Are you maybe even on retreat or in retreat without being super intentional about it, yet as you read this, stuff is coming up for you? Let’s talk! It’s good for you! I’m having a Zoom call to discuss the meaning and purpose of “Retreat” this Sunday, July 20, at 2pm Pacific. It’s part of the premium content offered to paid subscribers… so if you aren’t one, what are you waiting for! You can take care of that below for the cost of just $5/month, and we can connect together and that would make me happy.
xo
PS/ So far, my other July posts on “Retreat” have included:
A retreat is a recharge; as you said, it's time to be alone with your thoughts and that can be hard. I've had great discussions with myself outside in the woods and on the shore of our cabin (sometimes doing satisfying work and sometimes just sitting). Ever since I was a little girl I have loved the sounds of the outdoors and being by myself to truly listen and watch; my other retreat is my favorite chair and a good book. During my "sandwich" years I did not give myself enough retreat and it harmed me which spilled on to my relationships and while it felt like it could not be helped, I could have done better. No I retreat for me and those around me. Your daily retreat sounds amazingly supportive for you - bravo for taking what you need and doing it how you need at the moment. Retreats morph in their rituals/length/purpose and give back the continued recharge as your gift to yourself. What a great theme to reflect upon this month; thank you.