Lazy, Hazy Days of Summer?

Summer is officially here.  Yesterday was our longest day.  Two days in the last week the heat index flirted with 100 degrees before dropping back to a high in the low 70s yesterday.  I have been staycationing, and I've loved moving at a slower pace.  One day I took a bicycle trip to another town with a friend.  It felt good to move.  I've walked a lot, got some dancing in, and completed my once-a-year read of a novel.  (Fanny Flagg's The All-Girl Filling Station Reunion. It was great fun.) I even spontaneously dropped everything to take in a movie matinee.

Summer reading lists speak to an assumption that in summer we have more time to read.  Maybe there is even the assumption that we have more time.  There is a logic there that seems to follow a natural order of things.  It is too hot to do much other than read or at least in the middle of the day.  When I was young, we did chores in the early morning hours when it was cooler, so that we could be lazier during the hotter part of the day.  When I was doing distance running in my thirties, I would use the other end of the day, planning my long runs to start at the end of the day when the sun had dropped below the horizon and cooler air began to waft in its wake. 

Yet, in reality, except for a vacation week like this last one, the pace of life seems not to  have slowed during the summer for years, certainly since adulthood.  I will work the same long hours next week in the official summer as I did during the long dark days of winter.  A colleague has already texted me before noon on Sunday about work we will do together tomorrow.  A few summers ago a consulting gig had me literally working every waking hour of the summer, often falling asleep on my computer with exhaustion. With the exception of school teachers who are out for the summer, but they are often taking classes and making lesson plans for next school year, is there really anyone for whom summer is lazier?

Sadly, I even note that for children in this area that summer isn't even lazier, just different.  Most of my friends who have children began orchestrating summer activities in the winter and early spring so that a sequence of camps keeps their kids engaged in productive learning experiences all summer.  While I fully understand the need of working parents to have their children engaged in safe activities, I am kind of sad for the kids that they don't have the freedom to explore and create the non-structured fun that marked summers during my childhood.

This last week has been renewing for me.  I've slept better.  I feel better physically from having moved more.  The fiction reading has stimulated my creativity.  My dreams have been more active.  I've certainly felt more in synch with my body's own rhythms.  I noticed when I was tired, and twice I laid down and took an afternoon nap.  (I cannot imagine why it is that kids resist taking naps.) Yet I know that the time has been way too short to really make an impact.  A few hours into my day tomorrow, my down time will seem a distant memory.

Nature has a lot to teach us.  In the fall seeds drop from flowers, fruits, and vegetables.  They embed themselves in the soil, and they rest for months.  The harder casings of the seeds soften as they rot away over the months and make it easier for new life to spring forth.  As days get longer and warmer in the spring, new life springs forth and a season of rapid growth and productivity follows.  Even in biblical times, it was understood that a time for soil to lay fallow was important, a practice that has been born out scientifically.

Why then do we think that we as human beings could not benefit from lazier days in summer?  I remember reading somewhere a few years ago that until the Industrial Revolution the average person worked two hours a day.  There were some very long days at times of planting, harvest, or the hunt, but there were also lazy days by the spring fishing and winter days by the hearth.  I don't want to suggest that those were idyllic times, because I understand that there were harsher realities of those days. However, we seem to be hard-wired to have more down time that we allow ourselves these days.

I can only wonder what it would be like if we all had extended down time to nourish our creativity in the summer, as some European countries do.  Would we be able to find common ground from contentiousness if we had down time to ponder the benefits?  Would we discover easier, better, or more creative ways to work if we relaxed our minds from what is and allowed reflection on what might be? Would we be more compassionate with our co-workers if we didn't feel stretched to our limits all the time?  Would we suffer from fewer stress-related illnesses?  Would we feel better if we had less news being piped to us 24 x 7?

Sadly, I can't see a mass movement for a summer downtime emerging, but I think there would be significant benefit to collective lazy, hazy days of summer.

Surrendering to Partnership

Yesterday my friend and I were on a multi-event outing.  These outings are usually comprised of a number of events or activities; yesterday a visit to special exhibit at the National Gallery, dinner, a walk, gelato, and a concert on the Mall.  More than that, they are an opportunity to talk and explore thoughts. 

At one point in the conversation, we were talking about the winning couple in this week's finals on Dancing with the Stars (DWTS).  She is not a dancer, and I am, so I attempted to explain what I thought allowed the couple to win.  The professional and leader is a long-time DWTS professional.  He is an extraordinary dancer, who has made it to the finals or semi-finals several times over the years, but just never quite put together the championship.  I felt that what had cost him in the past was his arrogance: the dance had always about him in the past.  He was truly obnoxious to everyone--the judges, the audience, and not least, whoever his current partner was.

This time, I said, it seemed to me that he surrendered to the partnership.  Rather than being all about him this time, the goal had been what they created together.  AND, what they created together was truly remarkable.  Granted, he had an extraordinary partner, but I still don't think it would have happened if he hadn't allowed the partnership be the most important.

Today I meditated on opening my heart.  I do so frequently, but I seem to do so more often in the spring.  This year spring has come late, and this has been one of our first really springy weekends.  I long to have someone to share it with, and yet as I pondered on opening my heart today, I questioned whether I even know how.  Then it occurred to me that being in partnership with someone was about surrendering to the partnership.

I recalled a country song popular more than a decade ago in which the female vocalist sings that she doesn't know why they call it "falling" in love because she experiences it more like rockets in the sky.  Hmmm!  Then I felt myself in a meditative free fall.  What would it be like to jump off a cliff and be in a free fall, and then suddenly I felt like I was shooting high in the sky.  I had almost forgotten that sensation.  Yet, I think that is what it is like to surrender to a partnership.  Giving myself to something that is greater.

My problem in the past has been that I have given up myself and then found myself struggling to maintain who I am. I've felt like, if I let go of who I thought I was when I was alone, it would be stolen by the other.  Rather, I think when it works in love, after the free fall of letting go to the limitations of my ego comes the rockets.  Magic is created much as America watched magic on their television screens in the DWTS final this week. Only by letting go of the ego are we able to ascend to something much greater.
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Romantic partnerships aren't the only places that we must surrender to partnership can make magic happen.  I think of a work team on which I serve now, which is full of egos, struggling to dominate.  A lot of talent on that team would create an awesome team if we would all decide the partnership was more important than our individual egos, but sadly, I don't see it happening. Another work team that I am on has done the surrender to the partnership.  We truly are creating wonderful work with no one's name on it: that work reflects the building of partnership.

Today, as I reflected on surrendering to partnership, I couldn't help but think about the partnership I could have with God, if,  as the trite expression goes, I would just let go and let God.  The fallacy in that expression is that it implies either God or me are driving; I don't think that is how partnership with God works.  Our combined intention to the partnership is what allows magic.  I know I have been there, often for long periods--most often when I write. Like my partnerships of love with real human partners that have contracted into my ego, so has my partnership of love with God.  I start trying to figure out what I need to do and forget to just listen.

Can I remember how to allow myself to be in free fall, not knowing what is next or what the outcome will be?  Could I allow myself to just know that the partnership is what is really important?  What would it take for me to know that what is less important than why because the why is fostering love on earth? Why wouldn't I want to surrender myself to that?

I am a dancer who has often written about the relationship with God being like a good dance partnership.  God leads, and we follow. But, the follower has to know his/her part.  The part I've left out is to surrender to the partnership while doing so.

What Holds Me Back?

Yesterday I wrote about my understanding of "intention" as an inner compass imprinted on the back of our hearts. It keeps us on track for what we are supposed to do in this life.  Kind of like a "purpose" but bigger than a "job," our heart's intention includes things like gifts and talents we have to develop and spiritual lessons that we are to learn in this life.

Almost since I clicked "publish" last night I've been struggling personally with what holds me back.  I don't think the answer is one thing but several (perhaps many?) things. All of those things might boil down to "fear."  Most religions have some concept about what separates us from God is fear, so , given the closeness to God that our intentions are, should we be surprised that it is fear that often keeps us from realizing them?

There is the fear of leaping--doing something big that we've never done before, and we don't really know how to do. Fear of failure is a big one: "What if I leap and fail?" haunts many of us.  I believe even bigger is the fear of success.  "What if I leap and succeed beyond my wildest imaginings, what would I do?"  Most of us might chuckle and think we'd like to have that problem, but when we look in the mirror we know that huge success can intimidate those around us, change relationships, and depending on how different our new world might be, make close friends and family uncomfortable to be around us.

One that I've struggled with often is the fear of success followed by failure.  I did experience incredible success for many years before things crashed.  Failure after success is way worse than being in the same spot before the success.  I didn't really know how it could be until I'd been there. Relatively speaking, being in the same spot is not the same. (I think this may be why some fear success: they'd just rather never know what is on the other side.) Fortunately, I think I've mastered the spiritual lesson of resilience: I keep coming back in different manifestations.

Over the last 12 hours or so of thinking about what holds me back, I find myself repeatedly coming back to places I've been many times.  Spiritual places.  I really want to get this right.  Some spiritual lessons I've repeated over and over again; I don't want to walk away from one without getting it right this time. 

For instance, I'd like to be able to add "check" to the spiritual lesson that is being treated abusively by women who have power over me.  Since my mother first initiated me into that lesson when I was about three, I have had several women (current boss included,) who have had power over me, that were psychologically abusive. The form has been varied from compromising my integrity--I walked away from that one--to threatening me financially. (Not so much on that one.)

Usually I have walked away from those women. What I know about spiritual lessons is that walking away must not be the answer or else the lesson wouldn't keep popping up.  Over the last four years, I've attempted several things.  None have produced satisfactory results, so that also tells me I haven't found the right answer or approach yet.  My experience is that when we learn the spiritual lesson, it melts away almost instantly. So, yes, I am held back from walking away because I really want to dispense with this lesson. Enough already!

There is also what I will call economic reality.  I admit that I was much more spiritually confident when I had a generous investment portfolio than since the dot.com bust wiped it out over a decade ago.  Walking away from my current situation could have severe economic consequences when I have no cushion.  I freely admit this fear. I also wonder if delayed gratification--something I haven't been so good at--could be the lesson.  My experience is that when we get all the intentions aligned--service, lessons, talents--magic happens, so I am a bit skeptical about that as an excuse.

Everything I know intellectually tells me that, before I let go of what I have, I should have something to move toward.  Honestly, I don't have the burning desire to do something different that I've had in the past.  When I knew in my heart something I just had to do, it was easy to move forward.

I feel impatience from my heart--like it has been telegraphing something to me impatiently, and I'm just not getting it.  I almost said to someone yesterday, "Sometimes we just have to close one door before another will open."  I didn't.  It seemed like I needed the advice as much as she did.  But, while I intensely feel the impatience, I don't have any kind of compelling desire or vision for what's next. 

(I remind old readers and inform new ones that I've taken some pretty dramatic leaps before, but I always knew what I wanted out of the transition.  I left rainy Oregon to move to sunny North Carolina where I knew no one and had no economic prospects just because I'd wanted to live there since I was a child and in sunny climes for a decade. I also needed to be alone, so I could find myself, but that complicates the description. That cross-country move was an easy leap for me.)

When I was younger, I tended to get a "wild hair," which I actually think may be a thunderbolt from the back of my heart, and, to paraphrase the ads, I just did it.  Now I am more aware of the spiritual lessons. I may have just answered my question.  If I get a thunderbolt from my heart, doesn't that imply that I can't get it wrong?  I think it does.  I am waiting for the thunderbolt.  Judging from the impatience in my heart, I think it will be here soon.