Sunday, January 23, 2011
A tribute to the present
Blogging is a really good test for me in my issue of perfectionism. It bugs me when I haven't posted for several weeks, and then when good stories, trips, and pictures pile up I feel like I have to blog about it all before my life can feel settled. Okay, maybe that's a little extreme. But I know many of you know what I'm talking about. A need--albeit somewhat neurotic--to have it all together, in real life...and online. So before I blog about the highlights of our winter break, I am going to stop and pay tribute to the present (i.e. mindfulness...a big topic for another blogging escapade...).This weekend I came face to face with Arizona's quiet beauty. Quiet, because we were literally out in the middle of nowhere. Brandon's mom and stepdad have a cabin up in northern Arizona that is off the grid and tucked away in a juniper field on a bumpy dirt road. You don't hear or see a soul while you're up there. It is an eerie silence--one that makes you feel isolated, alone, lost, and then at peace. And while you're wondering just why anyone would want to hang out in such a desolate place, you suddenly notice the way the sun hits the weeds around you and makes them glow a warm yellow. You feel the crunch of rocks and dirt underneath your feet and feel a sense of grounding. You feel the chilling wind blow across your face and thank God for the fire burning inside. And then the sky is suddenly ablaze with brushstrokes of pink, orange, purple, and red. A glorious masterpiece is created right before your eyes and you feel as though you've won something you didn't deserve.The desolate wilderness was a gift to me this weekend. I had just finished up my first week of this new semester and my heart was already racing with thoughts of future papers, readings, and clinical hours. Without any bit of my conscious effort, Arizona's quiet beauty reminded me of the present. Because, see, I can experience that same subtle desert beauty here in Phoenix, each and every day. I don't have to wait for the cabin escape...I just have to follow the sun's rays, feel the earth beneath me, listen for the wind, and keep my eyes open.