February Into March
March 04, 2024
Planning the Day
The lists grow—
sometimes on lengthy strips of paper.
How easily my life becomes a list—
a long scroll of duties.
Sometimes the lists break down
into separate memos—
A batch of yellow memory scraps
each with an injunction.
Do this! Do that!
I can’t get rid of my lists.
Perhaps there is some primitive magic here,
that if I name my duties I must perform them.
But then I almost always rebel.
These lists when they aren’t burdening me,
give me an oppositional determination
to disobey and to do whatever I please.
Why do I put this “have-to-do-it” burden
on myself? It only makes me righteous,
artificially safe, and soul-tired.
Help me to sit here quietly.
Help me not so much to plan as to listen.
Help me to be informed, as in
”shaped from within,” by Your will.
My burden is so heavy.
Yours is always light.
—Gunilla Norris, Being Home: A Book of Meditations
Photo by Patrice Bouchard on Unsplash
February
First, the good news: February was brightly bookended with birds. On a walk along a creek early in the month, I suddenly heard the loud drumming of a woodpecker, sounding very close. I turned and saw the bird, on a tree trunk just a few feet off the path. Probably it was a downy woodpecker; it was fairly small and I recall seeing only a bit of red, which might have been the spot on the back of the neck of an adult male.
At the end of the month I had my birdwatching adventure, about which I wrote last week.
In between, February was about lists, lots of them. Priorities, To-Do’s, The Dailies (e.g., meditation, at least ten minutes of Spanish, etc.). Lists of things I bought, things I wanted to buy but resisted, birthday cards and notes to write—all good, but now I want “to sit here quietly … not so much to plan as to listen.”
… into March
This morning I walked out of my silent house into a chorus of birdsong. Sunrise was still an hour away but it sounded like dozens of ensembles up there, all contributing their unique songs and trills, rising and calling in harmony.
The turn into March has obliged my region with springlike weather, and being able to walk outdoors leaving behind the hat and gloves and sometimes even the jacket makes my spirit feel lighter as well. The temperatures will drop again, of course, but I am enjoying this respite. I’ve had a couple of long walks already, beginning to train for some hiking I’ve planned for the spring.
I’m thinking about shedding some of my relentless tracking of steps, miles, goals—with apps and devices that have kept my head down, nose to the grindstone, all this winter. The overall feeling of February was gray.
The latest episode of Rose Thorn Bud, the monthly podcast for paid subscribers to Wild Letters by Nic Antoinette is titled “let’s not over-optimize our lives.” Talking with her friend Julia Hanlon, Nic says that in February she bought a Fitbit, tried it out for one day, and absolutely hated it. She bought it because she has friends who love step-tracking (yup, me too!)—but, she says, “This could not be a worse-fit thing for me,” and that to “gamify or make trackable or optimize-y a thing that I love—somehow completely ruined it.”
Ouch. I hasten to add that Nic emphasizes the positive use of tracking devices, which encourage many people to walk, run, hike, and otherwise move their bodies. But I have to ask myself, is this still true for me? Or have I become too attached to the tracking? Have I lost the love?
For my long walk today I drove to a nearby path that runs along a creek, the same path where I saw the woodpecker a month ago. It’s listed on the AllTrails app, but when I tried to start tracking my walk it wouldn’t work—not on my phone nor my Apple watch. I wasted several frustrating minutes trying to get the app to do what it was supposed to do, then gave up. I started walking, and decided I just didn’t care anymore (though I did track my walk on my watch’s workout app). Soon I also turned off the podcast I was listening to, and walked on enjoying the quiet and the birdsong.
I thought about pausing the over-optimizing of my life.
