I feel out of balance. I have this tendency to stretch myself thin on time and energy; I want to do it all, and please everyone along the way... but then I inevitably burn myself out. Mind you, I enjoy the feeling of being productive, and I like feeling like I have forward momentum, but it always happens that I run out of energy after that momentum starts rolling down hill and I can't keep up. When this happens, I have a hard time feeling at home, I feel this pacing, anxious feeling in my heart, like a caged animal eager to be let loose.
During these times, I'm filled with this craving to run off to the woods to recharge. Most of my life, I've always kept a place to go to, an outside space that was my haven in the world for when I needed a good dose of medicine that only Mother Nature can provide. I usually seek the company of wise old trees, and though I have such a tree to go seek counsel from, I have yet the time to go visit him. So, to tide me over, I decided to go for a little hike someplace new.
I notice that when I'm at these lower points, my mind will ceaselessly sort through anything negative about where I'm at in life. I start fretting about things like my health, and trying to speculate what's wrong with me. Why am I so tired halfway through the day? Am I sick? Is it my mild anemia? Why am I mildly anemic? Do I have cancer? I can't focus, my mind is all over; do I have ADD? I don't have insurance, what if something happens? Where am I going with my life? How do I get to where I want to be?
And so on.
This tends to happen when I'm at that point of getting to the end of my reserves, and luckily I know this. It's a cycle in my life, and I believe it's just as necessary a cycle as any other my body goes through. At this point, I've learned to not fight it, but to let it run it's course. It can be uncomfortable, sure, but even when I'm out of kilter and I feel like I'm wobbling on this strange tight rope, I know where to go, and when to go there. The only true concern I ever have is someone else not understanding.
That's why I'm sharing this. During these moments, I go into what I've dubbed as my "hermit mode" and I withdraw. I refuse company, and sometimes, when I don't tend to my own needs in a timely enough manner, I isolate. My last isolation left me in the high deserts of eastern Oregon for a couple of days. No phone service, no possible way anyone could contact me. It was just what I needed.
Normally, though, I just ask to be left alone for a little while, and I seek out my tree. If someone doesn't understand this aspect of me, I can see how they'd easily interpret this time frame as my attempt to dislodge said person out of my life. It's not. I just need my time and space.
So, what does all this have to do with minimalism?
Plenty.
For me, minimalistic simplicity isn't just a matter of aesthetic. Just as my body lives in a dwelling, so my daily life is the dwelling for my mind. Living without unnecessary clutter, physically and mentally, brings a peace and sense of fulfillment.
Have you ever had the daunting task of going through attics, basements, back rooms, or storage units full of stuff you've not seen in years? Some of it is sentimental, but for the most part, it's useless junk.
Worrying about being sick, wringing my hands about whether or not I'm pleasing others, fretting about how much time I have to finish this-that-and-the-other thing; it's all clutter. These things take me out of the moment, just as a large stash of useless crap can distract us from feeling at home when it calls our attention.
When I was married, the last house we lived in was full of all sorts of things we used once and forgot about. We didn't have the space for all the stuff we owned. In response, I often kept to my own corner of the house, using the internet and my long, nightly walks to escape; all without realizing it was the clutter, emotional and physical, that was disrupting my sense of ease. I never felt at home. Not in my house, not in my body, not in my mind. So, how did I deal with it?
Well, naturally I'd buy more stuff.
Learning to be minimalist will come differently to different people. For me, there are habits I have to unlearn. I still mindlessly buy things to comfort myself; typically it's junk food. But that's why I started this blog; I wanted to show a process of change; to show you the "before" instead of the "after" of a minimalist's lifestyle.
For me, simplifying my life is like tearing at scabs. Most of them are coming free with little effort, but some with a sting and some fresh blood seeping through. My mind may always have these cycles, but simplicity will be my key to navigating them. Overtime, I will become better at catching the rise of the cycle, thus minimizing the steepness of my falls. However, I'll still need the wisdom of a good tree.
All that being said, it's a beautiful process, and I'm happy you could be here to experience it with me. I hope you can achieve simplicity in your lives...and maybe find your Wise Trees along the way.
