It’s the season of summer. The streets are empty. The sun has returned after a week of rain. In a way I’m living in a world that feels surreal. A world I can’t get too deeply in bed with because the flux is mind blowing. And for me the secret to surviving is in the stopping, in the taking stock.
There’s a tradition on the interwebs of taking on a word for each new year. A word to focus on. Maybe a word that finds you, a word that focuses on what your life needs. I’ve had words before, although not for a while. Somewhere, somehow, along the way I’ve stopped living year to year. I’ve started to live season to season.
Seasons not defined by dates. Seasons defined by timing, life, often correlating with the seasons of nature. The past season was the one we were quarantined. It was the last of the winter and the beginning of the spring. It was a season of ‘planting’. Bulbs, seeds and us. We planted and we were planted. Literally.
As it does, one season began its drift into another, spring faded, giving way to summer and our freedoms were no longer curtailed. We stepped outside a little more, welcomed the smiles of friends and slowly began a new beginning. It was warm and sunny both perfect ingredients for a beginning.
It opened into a time to taste the pleasures of life. The abundance of fruit, the energy of the sun, the encouragement of the long days to move and the gift of time, quiet time. And for me it’s become a season with its own words, a season to ‘take stock’.
Uncharacteristically, we are home for summer. Trips are googled but never booked. The pull to stay still prevails. Even though last minute trips are off the charts enticing, our ship remains anchored. It’s comforting to follow our instincts. And we’re connecting with home in a completely new way, in a season we don’t normally experience being home.
Memories are being made as we swim the local lake, SUP the canals, skate the empty streets and eat together on holiday time. The teens are investing in friendships with lazy sleepovers and local adventures. And in amongst all this we’re organically sorting ourselves out. The kind of sorting that can only be done by stopping. Stopping at home. Taking stock. Processing. Reflecting. Where have we been? Where are we going? What do we need? What don’t we need?
Summer is unfolding a new season of serendipities. It’s magic and I need to believe in magic, that it exists. My soul survives on magic. Perhaps magic is simply trust. And the magic is flowing in being home, in connecting with our local life, with each other, with ourselves. So here we remain, anchored, yet traveling new waters. Doing new things, doing things differently, taking stock and expecting less, taking less from the world, a world who has nothing to give right now. And giving, it feels like a time to give more, more from the chest. The heart.