It’s once again that time of year when sitting in front of my computer is excruciating. There is so much going on outside and it smells so much better out there than indoor air ever could (except when there’s some good cooking going on). My feet are restless, legs twitchy, attention scattered. This month’s weekends are devoted to being outside, digging in the dirt and planting and planning.
Especially planning. Not just the garden, but life. Our daughter is graduating from college (college!!) on May 14. She’s already been accepted into graduate school to continue her studies in the human resources field. Our son is starting graduate school to pursue his love of making art combined with his aptitude for teaching it. Our granddaughter is turning six and finishing up kindergarten. Our daughter-in-law has just finished a master’s degree in education.
All this accomplishment, this movement swirling around us makes me both proud of my family and so, so wistful. As I dig in our garden, clutch dirt between my fingers, I think about what kind of life I’ve grown for myself, what seeds have taken off. There is poetry, of course, and the opportunities I’ve taken to send out my own and publish that of others. There are collaborations, past and present, with other writers and artists. There is this family that I’ve been part of, children I’ve helped raise, dreams I’ve helped nurture, dreams yet to come to light.
And yet there is a sadness that time is careening along at such a rapid clip. It’s like being on a high-speed train, scenery racing by beyond the window, outlines of everything blurred. Sometimes, I can slow it all down by going outside and moving around in the garden, on a hiking trail, anywhere where there is no cell service. My restless feet are not restless for the desire to hurry up; they are restless for experience that is sharply in focus, experience into which I can simply sink.
May is for waking up to the newness that is still out there for all of us: the next job, the next bit of school, the next project. That, unlike our bodies, never gets old.
images courtesy of Pixabay.com