My Nonblog Blog
I failed myself these past five weeks. No real writing. Few Daily Woodland Zen Walks. Tied no flies for the upcoming fishing season…
To say I was busy last month would be a massive understatement. In fact, I was busier than a one-legged man at an ass-kicking convention. Or perhaps it was the universe ass-kicking me - with my permission, of course, as I can’t blame anyone but myself. Really.
Lately, my weeks have been full of obligations: many fun, many not so fun, but all allowed by me. I gave up most of my humanness - those creative and contemplative aspects of humankind that separate us from almost every other species. Instead, I became like a squirrel burying nuts and avoiding traffic most days - in short, I was a utilitarian task machine.
I, like many others, have the proverbial Bucket List of all the things I want to do - spend more time on the trails; experience the seasons with activities like listening to the spring peepers at night; watch the ever magical full moon rise in the dark sky; engage myself in the writings of Emily Dickinson, Seamus Heany, and Edward Abbey to name a few.
I have another list, too. It’s my F#$K It List, of all the things I claim I won’t do anymore: mow lawns, take on other’s personal projects as if they were my own, allow myself to become a commodity (like copper pipe, tires, toilet paper) for the profit of some stockholders.
And herein lies the issue: These past five weeks I had sold my birthright of humanness to a series of stockholders. I became someone else’s commodity for their profit. It all seemed so innocent at the time, too, agreeing to this, to that, and to the other thing while neglecting myself.
I should have invoked the sacred phrase: “No! I’m not doing that.”
I should have gone on the Daily Woodland Zen Walks. I should have read more. I should have tied those fishing flies and relished the promise to myself of soon standing knee-deep in my favorite local river, casting for trout in the dusk-shadowed riffles. I should have written a blog on time for this newsletter. (This nonblog is a confession, not a blog.)
And so, here I am, a week into April, the month of rebirth - at least in this part of the universe. The pussy willows are blooming, the trees are starting to bud-out, painted turtles have finished their winter brumation and are sunning themselves in the marshes. The ephemeral fairy shrimp are gracefully swimming back and forth in the vernal pools. They are all doing what they do without overthinking it - they are just being themselves. No stockholders involved.
It’s time to silence my phone, ignore my emails, and instead lace up my hiking boots and wander once again through the forest.
What stockholders will you tell to bugger-off today?
