“Tug on anything at all,” naturalist John Muir once wrote, “and you’ll find it connected to everything else in the universe.”
I sit alone at my kitchen table on this April Monday morning, waiting for the sun to slide up and into full view. I watch a pair of chickadees trading places at the feeder. And then I type these five words — “tug on anything at all” — and wonder, is it really that simple, is everything really connected to everything else? Am I but a single strand of thread, inextricably woven into some billowing cosmic fabric?
It is hard, given the pace of our lives, the needs of our loved ones, the demands on our days, to give ourselves the time it takes to sit still and go deep. Carving out even a few moments of such quiet time means attending to our thirst for contemplation, creativity, and solitude — a thirst that is all too easy to ignore when there seem to be so many other more urgent hungers and priorities competing for our time. I’m always amazed at how long it takes me to transform my own mundane, everyday experience into some kind of narrative that makes sense enough for other eyes to read. And not a week goes by that I don’t question the validity of what I do. Is this particular reflection worth sharing with anyone? Why bother? And, really, who cares?
More often than not, when the choice comes down to writing or attending to some necessary, concrete task on my list, I choose to do what seems truly “productive”: pay the bill, vacuum the floor, clean the fridge, check up on a sick friend. But I am learning to heed the quixotic call of quiet. Without much of an agenda or plan (oh, I’d much rather have a plan!), I allow my fingers to begin typing, just to see what I have to say.
Writing, staring out the window, writing some more, as the hours roll by and the dishes sit on the counter and the weeds multiply in the garden. Writing because it is the best, the only, way I know to investigate myself, to figure out what I think and how I feel and what matters right now. Writing because I do need to connect with some inner “me” and, even more, because I also need to reach out a hand and tug at something ineffable, something “out there” beyond my own orbit of thoughts and feelings and perceptions. Writing in order to remember that I’m part of something mysterious and vast and eternal. Writing to remind myself that, yes, I am connected to everything else in the universe.
You and I may not have met face to face, we might not even recognize one another on the street. And yet, I’m convinced that in certain ways that truly matter, we know one another. Our lives are indeed intertwined, our journeys shared, thanks in part to the power of the written word and the wonders of our wired age. Somewhere out there, you sit before your own screen — at a desk in a crowded office, perhaps; or on the sofa while a baby naps nearby; or in an attic room above the fray of family life; or hunched over a table in a coffee shop, waiting till your latte is cool enough to drink; or propped up on bed pillows for a stolen moment before sleep — and you read a few paragraphs on a blog written by a stranger who somehow feels like a friend. You are reminded now, as I am, that we’re all in this together, come what may. And that, much as the details of our everyday lives may differ, when it comes right down to what resides in our hearts, we have so much more in common than not. “We read,” to paraphrase, C. S. Lewis, “to know that we are not alone.” I think I write for exactly the same reason.
This week over a hundred of you answered the question “How do you simplify your life?” Your responses are creative, surprising, moving, and immensely practical. Check out the comments section for inspiration.
Here, just a sampling:
*Make simpler meals
*Adopt a less-is-more attitude
*Listen more
*Say “no” to the things that don’t nourish us
* Say “yes” to opportunities for togetherness
*Walk more and drive less
*Pick your battles and don’t sweat the small stuff
*Mark off calendar time just for family togetherness
*Turn off the TV
*Get rid of smart phones
*Read out loud
*Let the dishes wait
*De-clutter daily
*Savor ordinary moments
*Limit activities to one per child
*Ease up on expectations
I will notify the two winners of the book give-away tomorrow. In the meantime, thank you all for your heartfelt notes, for sharing your lives with me, and for a wealth of wonderful suggestions and insights. As Kelly wrote: “My lesson learned is to embrace the moment and let the little voice inside you guide you. Trust that you really have the answers.” Couldn’t have said it better.
Mother’s Day is May 8. Need a gift for a special mom in your life? I am signing Mitten Strings for God and The Gift of an Ordinary Day for Mother’s Day. Click here to order your personalized, gift-wrapped copies.
Oh, I’m so glad that you: “Without much of an agenda or plan (oh, I’d much rather have a plan!), I allow my fingers to begin typing, just to see what I have to say.”
And I’m doubly glad that you press send after your fingers have stopped typing.
You could start and then stop. You could press delete and throw it away. You could file it somewhere that you won’t look into again for ten years.
Yes, you question the validity and worth of your writing (show me a writer who doesn’t!), but you continue because you value the connection you’re creating.
You find your Why. When I feel givey-uppy (a wonderful word I just learned from Amy Oscar), I’ve learned to ask: Why I am doing this?
When I get clear about my why, when I take the time to think about who will be affected by my work, resistance melts away. Because then it’s no longer about me — it’s about getting my work into the hands of those who need it.
Marianne Williamson said it well,
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us…And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Thanks so much, Katrina, for your willingness to do the hard work and shine a BIG light!
And when you reach out and find that connection it is truly an incredible feeling.
The quixotic call of quiet – perfect.
And in a further small piece of evidence that we are all a part of some great, thrumming stream, I leafed through my old quote books last night and dog-eared the page with that very CS Lewis quote on it. It gives me goosebumps to read it here today, having so recently revisited the words I know by heart.
Thank you, again and again and again.
xox
This was just lovely… made my day! Katrina, you have a beautiful way of putting your thoughts into words, and your words into meaning… thanks for sharing!
I write for many of the same reasons you mentioned here, Katrina. I write to find out what I didn’t already know (but thought I did). These past few weeks my daughter has slept very little, and I’ve floated through the days in a zombie-like haze. I haven’t had the energy to function, nevertheless write. And it’s left me feeling really unmoored and untethered from things. She slept 13 hours last night, and I hope we’re on the road to turning things around so that I can get back to feeling connected once again.
Add to your list ( of those of us reading your blog) “reading on a smart phone, in the last hour of a 10 day, 4400 mile trip, trying to stay sane just a bit longer….”! I also write to discover myself. Great pondering words. Driving long distances fuels my ideas….cant wait to find writing time tomorrow! Thanks for the sanity helper today.
On a cursory glance I have nothing in common with you. I come from Pakistan,happen to be in US as I was lucky enough to be selected as a Fulbright scholar, per chance came across your book and felt that I must read you. And here I am reading your blog wondering how across geography, beyond culture and whole different set of values I find you giving words to my inner turmoil and silent victories which is unknown to people I spend my life with. Your words have revived hope that I am not alone in my longings and aspiratons. I am so grate ful to you, for helping me discover what is truly a treasure. Stay blessed!
Thank you. I went out to exercise tonight, before I’d read your post and found I had to step off the running path and curl up into child’s pose. Your words remind me of the Irish Fisherman’s Prayer, “Dear Lord be good to me. The sea is so wide and my boat is so small.” Life is big and busy and hard and yet, all is as it should be. It always is.
Your beautiful words move me to beautiful tears and I thank you for sharing your words!
Thank you for bothering to write every week. I care and ALWAYS find wisdom in each blogpost. You are incredibly generous to share your personal investigations with us all, but they somehow have a universal relevance. I feel like a greedy taker–sitting back and savoring what you’ve worked hard to create so thank you. You’re inspiring me to pay it forward with my own gifts in a way that can be generous and meaningful to others
I needed this today…I’ve not given myself enough quiet for me. The demands have been great, and I’m succumbed to their call. Now I’m doing something about it. Thanks, Katrina! xo
I wanted to let you know how much I love reading what you have to say. My family recently moved to a small island in the Indian Ocean and TGOTOD is the only book that I had with me for about a month. I have read and marked and read and underlined and read it again. It has so much truth about life, family, simplicity and change that I often think you have written exactly my thoughts down on paper. I thank you for every word, because it got me through many a hard day. God bless you.
“Be still and know” How simple but how difficult- but always worth the effort!
Thank you from my heart for your weekly glimpse in to life.
I relate to everything you write. I am the mother of two sons who are both growing up so fast. One son is off to college in the big city next year, and my other son is finishing out his freshman year in high school at a boarding school because things got too tough for him in our local, very competitive high school, in an affluent community, in the suburbs of a big city. I read your book The Gift of An Ordiary Day a few months ago when both my boys were going through their own struggles, as was I dealing with their teenage issues. In your words i found great comfort and I look forward to your blog. It feels like our lives are in somewhat thevsame place. You are not a stranger, but a friend that I look forward to hearing from often. Keep writing!
Thank you for sharing your words with us, rendering us all connected..
jeejee
Your words are particularly resonant to me, today… all in it together, myself feeling as if you have said what I so often feel—and it makes me calm, content, ready to go watch the Lakers with my family… and yet to feel that we are indeed one lovely fabric, undulating in a cosmic wind.
Thank you so much for choosing to write, to share yourself with us. You have become a dear friend to me and have helped me in times of real need. You have no idea what you have come to mean to me. I wish someday to do half as much for you.
I recently finished your book, The Gift of an Ordinary Day. To say that you inspired me would be the understatement of a century. You’ve kindled the already smoking, sputtering desire that was within me, to write, to share, to express, both for myself and for others. Each time I read your words it brings to mind some sweet moment worth witnessing, and puting into words.
THANK YOU, for sharing your story/stories/life.
Delurking to offer a tug (and a hug!) from Thailand. It’s been a week of ticking off tasks, no writing, so thank you for this heartfelt reminder of why we put pen to paper, fingers to keyboards, thoughts and feelings to words!
Just last month, on my blog, I responded to the same C.S.Lewis quote. For me as well, it is the act of writing that allows for this much needed feeling of connection.
John Muir’s quote is among my favorites as well. To me, it is of great reassurance to feel this larger connection.
My father passed away on Monday after a 6 month fight with cancer. Although devastated or grief stricken fail to fully describe my current mindset, the response to his passing and the connections that it has inspired, make it a bit more bearable. In fact, my dad was a connection-maker in life and now, in death, many more connections have been forged. So many people sharing their stories of my father, becoming my closest companions, and allowing me to not only connect at this very difficult time where isolation could easily become the norm, but also stay connected to my father through story.
In my dad’s final days and now, just 4 days into this grieving process, I find myself comforted by Rabindranath Tagore’s words in “Stream Of Life.” I believe that solace is contained in these words because they imply the deeper connection that I seek. “The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow. I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.”
I’m so glad to have “met” you. I’ve been reading ‘A Gift of an Ordinary Day’ and find my eyes tearing up and going back and forth from your picture to the paragraph I’m reading at the moment, as in who is this woman giving my soul a voice?
We are in fact connected, we haven’t even met, we’re oceans apart, years apart, languages apart and yet you’re speaking the words I feel swimming in my heart.
Thank your for being you.
My friend. I know I haven’t been commenting as much as lately but I have been thinking of you and I do read and feel that connection. Another friend of mine was talking about a recent journey to Kripalu and I wondered how many real life connections our virtual life friends have.
You know what Socrates said: the life not written about is not worth living. Ok, he may have exaggerated a little but cooking simpler meals and easing up on expectations may well come about in part BECAUSE you took the time, had the courage, the bravery, to write about them. In my life, too, not just in yours.
(valuable post! Thanks very much)