A weary, yet beautiful wisdom

Wake-Up Call #13

Yesterday morning.

Sitting on the couch, draped in a plush navy blanket. An old ceramic mug, drunk with decaf, teeters in the crook of my lap. It’s quiet. Hints of the dawn sun slow roll their way across the floor, beckoning toward morning.

I’m finishing Paul Kalanithi’s book, When Breath Becomes Air. Hardcover, paper. Second time through. Leveled with each read. Snot sobbing. In the best of ways.

I want to highlight every line. More than that, I just want to be with the words, rather than memorialize them.

So, I sit. And, read. And, cry.

For the loss of this stunning human, the depth of his observations, and the beauty of his words.

I’ve been deepening into a season of life that has me asking bigger questions. On love, work, connection, and contribution. Feeling the trappings of my age, maybe sometimes more than the blessings. Paul’s life, his words, bring me back to the simplest of awakenings.

I am here. I am loved. I get to love. I am blessed.

At one point, he writes:

There is a moment, a cusp, when the sum of gathered experience is worn down by the details of living. We are never so wise as when we live in this moment.

What he’s describing, at least to me, such a delicate, yet sacred space. I feel connected to it. Having dipped in and out for years. Fleetingly, mostly. Yearning to explore, linger longer. And, yet, it cannot be willed, only welcomed. Lived into existence. Surrendered to.

The work isn’t so much to get there. God-willing, I will. You will. Most will. Given time. Which, of course, is never promised.

The work is to notice when the flickers of this tender, time-worn wisdom arrive. And, when they do, listen. With every fiber of our being. Because, just as quickly, they’ll be on their way.

Be present to not just the quest, and the learning, but the space, and the unlearning.

The road to becoming is littered with those who’ve missed the grace in being.

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Wake-Up Call #13

This week’s wake-up call is a bit different.

It’s been a tough week, in a lot of ways, for a lot of people.

My invitation. Be. Love those you love. Starting with yourself.

Find five-minutes to not do anything. Just breathe. Close your eyes. Bring someone you love, without condition, into your heart. Feel their arms wrap around yours, and yours around them.

If they’re present, find them, make the hug real. If not near, or no longer here, simply sit in this space, see them, feel them with you, and you with them. Know you’re okay. You will be okay. Send them love, and breathe it back from them into your heart.

Then, if you’re inclined, write a bit about what that feels like.