I like to write early in the morning, while my household is still asleep. While silence still lays over the landscape like a gentle fog.
My studio is a small renovated room that used to be the utilities room off the garage. Now it is my haven. With a rose painted on the door to welcome me, rain or snow or freezing weather, I trudge to and fro from the house with hot tea, sometimes extra blankets, and always a bright heart, for the day’s journey has begun!
In my studio is a large — ok, huge — picture window that looks out over what I call My Secret Garden. It’s secret because it’s a large walled space on three sides, and I have a blue goat shed that sits at the top of the garden that blocks the view from the road. It’s quiet and secluded and nestled at the way-back of my property. And my roses grow right outside my big picture window in the summer.
This morning was no different. I woke up, and… Oh. My husband is already at the door saying, Come quick! Twinkle is hurt!”
Twinkle is one of our goats, a little Nigerian Dwarf, who somehow hurt herself this morning in the barn and is now missing part of her hoof. So we treated it as best we could, and off my husband went to work.
The moment he was gone, I looked down and saw that her hoof had bled through the bandaging. So my son and I spent the morning on the phone with vets and tending her, which meant I had to run across town to the far-away farm store because they’re the only one’s who have x, y, and z. And by the time we got her treated all over again, the morning was gone.
Rrrgghh! What about my writing projects? What about homeschooling? What about breakfast, for heaven’s sake!
Washing up at the sink in my house, I stopped and looked around — really looked around — and my heart sank. So much needed tending: the living room was a wreck, the dishes needed washing, the bathroom needed scrubbing… and I had a few long moments of internal temper tantruming that once again, my day was about to be diverted.
It happens this fast, doesn’t it — falling out of the flow of life. Assuming that this day should look a certain way or unfold the same way that it did yesterday.
It happens this fast, doesn’t it — that stress claims the mind and seizes the body. In the snap of a finger, I have disconnected from the reality of What Is, and started arguing with Life about what should be, and now I’m upset and inwardly shaking a fist at the sky because I have been interrupted from “what’s really important.”
One step back and I am laughing at myself. What a silly thing to do! What a waste of energy and inward momentum for what needs doing right now in front of me! What a backward thought, that every morning must look alike!
And what’s worse, if I wasn’t paying attention, I could very easily have spent a day, week, month, year, lifetime arguing inside myself about what should be instead of looking practically and compassionately at the reality of what is, and joining with the flow of Life.