Long Hollow

This morning the sun's red-orange fingertips barely touched the horizon when I stepped out onto the road for my walk. Belle and Max, prancing in the pre-dawn darkness just beyond the French doors, had convinced me not to wait until daylight.

A rowdy wind whipped down the road, whistling through the trees and playing with my hair. A cold front was passing through – well, "cold" by Texas standards, anyway – and despite my sweat pants and hoodie, I shivered. 

Autumn's no longer hinting around, I thought, it's moving on in. Then I remembered the rhythm of the seasons; the transition from one to the next is never overnight, a "honey I'm home!", but more of a flirtation, a dance… up two, back one, up two, back one… although the ultimate marriage is pretty one-sided.

That started me thinking about rhythms and transitions…

You grab the chains and walk backwards as far as you can. With a little hop, you plop your bottom onto the seat, lean back and extend your legs. Thus begins the back and forth, pull with the arms, pull with the legs rhythm until finally, finally you're soaring up, up, up above the trees, into the clouds… and back down again… then up, up, up… gliding with hardly any effort at all…

You grip the oar, lean forward and dip it into the water. You dig deep and pull, pull back toward you, past you, then lift it free, resting it on your lap as you glide smoothly forward with no effort. Then you lean forward and dip it into the water again…

For four minutes I jog, easy does it… then as soon as I enter the fifth minute, I push the little button to speed up my treadmill, kicking and stretching to keep up with the pace. I run as fast as I can for one solid minute, then back it back down to an easy pace for four more. Then I push the button…

With each there is exertion and rest, exertion and rest… a steady movement that inches you farther or further along in your goal.

It hit me I'm in such a transition right now. I have been for some time, but I just lose my momentum every now and then and have to get that push, pull thing going again.

Work, rest, work, rest.

What a great lesson. I need to remember this one, if I ever hope to soar.

Work and leisure are complementary parts of the same process. They cannot be separated without destroying the joy of work and the bliss of leisure.

E.F. Schumacher