Much ado about Nothing

Do you hear that?

Right. Neither do I!

That's the sound of a very quiet early Sunday morning of a long-weekend, and I have nothing to do. Nothing planned, nothing pressing, and most importantly, nothing work-related rumbling around my stressed brain fighting for priority, needing sorting out, sucking all my energy and creativity in the process.

It's a bit disconcerting actually.

I'm not used to nothingness like this.

I know it's what I long for and want so badly during those times of peak focus and frazzled commitments, but finally realizing nothingness is so foreign that I feel ill-prepared to deal with it.

I know that's the point; to not deal with it, to just let it ride and be in the moment, i get that! But understanding the process and adapting to it are two totally different things.

The past few weeks have been extremely stressful - work has been a series of scheduling and rescheduling trades to accomodate delays and unforseen site conditions, working the phones with supervisors and site personnel and owners and designers and inspectors while watching a schedule disappear before my eyes and mediating between all parties to resolve the conflicts and bring the job in as quickly as possible, as effectively as possible. The homefront wasn't so dramatic, though after a couple weeks of having the family away, it took some time to readjust to the additional demands of my time and attention which work had already maxed out.

Something had to give.

And unfortunately, like is usually the case in times like these, its the ones closest to you that take the brunt of the fallout. Not on purpose of course, but we tend to give strangers more room and understanding when we're stressed, than the people who are always there for us, the ones who tirelessly support us and put up with our annoying habits and personality quirks that make us who we are - even when we aren't being distant and sullen and quiet. Throw in feelings of being overwhelmed and pulled to your limits, and yeah, it doesn't always make for a relaxing, peaceful existence.

But if you're fortunate, and have someone who will call you on your behavior when you've gone into your shell, or whatever it is you do when you retreat from everything and everyone around you while you flail at your world; someone who is willing to tell it to you like it is, who is willing to be patient and understanding and be there for you - but not sugarcoat things - if you have someone like that beside you, you'll be able to discuss those things that are troubling you and together find a way through them, guiding each other as need be, until you find your footing once more.

And then, with your clarity and focus restored, you'll be able to handle life's stresses the way you were meant to, and suddenly you'll find yourself on a quiet, long-weekend Sunday morning, sitting in the shade of the gazebo, coffee in hand, thinking about your world with nothing to do.

Except remember and be grateful for the people around you who are always there for you, even when you feel isolated and alone. The ones who care so deeply and perfectly and effortlessly that make it possible for you to feel like there's nothing you can't do.

The Waiting Room

"What if the rest of society ran the way your Doctor's office ran? You'd never get anything accomplished unless it happened by chance or you managed to wait long enough for something to occur. I think half of all illnesses could be eradicated if you didn't have to spend three hours in the germ-infested waiting room beside the child with what sounds like TB, or the woman who appears just slightly beyond quarantine. Certainly we'd all be less bitchy and our blood pressure would be much lower if somehow physicians better managed their client times."

I wrote that Thursday while seated in my doctor's waiting room, after having just checked in, and mere moments after having accepted my fate of waiting upon being told he was running "...at least an hour and a half behind schedule."

It's easy to be put out when you have an appointed time, and the keeper of that appointment is behind. It's easy to, but we shouldn't. We've all been taught to "do unto others as we'd have done unto ourselves" but doesn't it seem like that doesn't apply to family physicians? It seems they do it on purpose, a control issues perhaps, you say, asserting their supposed superiority over the common-folk. Or maybe they just book too many patients for the time available, knowing that their day will stretch into the evening, your plans be damned.

Maybe.

Friday morning I returned to the clinic to have bloodwork done - a routine to see where we're at with these migraines, which for the record, have been near non-existent in the last three months - the lab opens at 8:30 and there were already 3 or 4 patients waiting in the room when I arrived moments after the official opening time. The walk-in portion of the clinic doesn't open until 9, but that doesn't stop some walk-ins from arriving well before, hoping to get that first appointment slot so they can get on with their day and maybe get relief from their ailments or answers to their questions.

On this morning a young woman was already filling in the information sheet on the clipboard in anticipation of being the first one in, though no clinic staff were to be seen - though the lights behind the reception desk were illuminated. When the lone staff member finally appeared back at the desk from down the hall where she had been prepping the exam rooms, she was pounced on by the waiting woman, demanding to see the doctor.

"I'm sorry, the clinic doesn't open until 9 o'clock."

My ears perked up. This should be interesting...

"But I've been here since just after 8, waiting." Her voice already had an irritating tone, the type that develops from years of experience and use, and her body language screamed impatience. "And why do I have to fill out this form everytime I come her, don't you have my information on file?"

"I'm sorry, but the doctor isn't in yet. And if you have been here before as a walk-in and not a patient, your information is not kept and recorded in a permanent file, this sheet gets added to the previous file"

"Well, when will he be here?"

"I don't honestly, know." came the receptionist's reply.

"Well that's just stupid! Why can't he show up for his shift like everyone else? If the clinic opens at 9 he should be here..."

And off she went, berating the receptionist until she realized she wasn't being listened too, so she took a seat in the waiting and room and continued her angry critique of all things wrong with society to her boyfriend (God help him) who seemed amused by her take on things, and nodded in affirmation when she turned to him for support of her position. It appeared she'd been angry for a good portion of her life and wasn't in any mood to change that just yet.

I chuckled at her immaturity and air of superiority that allowed her to make herself look like a complete boob in front of a room full of strangers, and duly noted life's ability to give me exactly what I needed at this moment. I looked at my phone, at the passage I had composed just the day before in this very waiting room, and let the lesson sink in.

Sometimes it pays to bite your tongue and let things be what they are, without wading emotionally into the middle of the events before you. Time has a way of bringing things into clearer focus, and in that light, maybe waiting isn't such a bad thing; indeed maybe we could all use a bit more practice at it.

And maybe, just maybe, that's why at your Doctor's office, it's called a waiting room. Only in the Grand Scheme of things, it's life's lessons we're waiting for and not just the doctor.

Garden Stories

It's a beautiful summer's morning this early Sunday morning, and I share the quiet stillness with only a few song birds. Even the wind is silent, save for the odd rustle at treetop height, those upper brances currently crowned in sunshine, the long cool shade below keeps the morning dew on the grass.

A cup of coffee enjoyed in moments like these, helps one slow down to a more natural rythym; a return to center for the soul after the hurried week of 9 to 5, which for most has become from morning till night. Watching the little garden spider weave its perfect web between the jewel-like shine of the stained glass dragonfly and the the smaller golden gazing orb in the flowerbed, you wonder if nature intended for clocks to be invented, for time to be captured and kept prisoner in an a never-ending spiral. Is there a deadline for that web? Penalties if it doesn't get finished before the shadows slip past and it takes the full assault of the midday heat?

I suspect we all crave control, of even the smallest details in our lives, and it's that craving, that desire for certainty in something, anything, that brings about our quest for peace of mind. But maybe it isn't 'peace' of mind we seek so much as the ability to know that whatever we are doing right now is what we should be doing, not worrying about any of the multitude of items on our lists of things to do, those yet undone actions that if left unthought of might threaten to topple our day.

Afterall, all we really NEED to do in the next moment is breathe.

Beyond that we have choices of actions, a 'choose-your-own-adventure' book that becomes the story of your life. For some it helps to believe that no matter which page they choose next to turn, the outcome of the story remains unchanged; predetermined before the introduction. For others every turn of the page leads to new discoveries and an abundance of possibilities, and though they know not where they may end up, they've learned to never ask what-if about the choices they've made, knowing you can't be focussed on the road ahead with one eye in the rear view mirror.

Most of us however, are more likely oblivious to the pages in our story; that we even have the ability to turn them at all, instead we're mired in the day-to-day details that create a story of survival, instead of writing a tale of adventure and discovery. And feeling powerless and not in control, we flail, instead of taking certain action, and find ourselves hurried and stressed and exhausted from our struggles.

Just breathe.

And then decide.

We have that power at our command, every moment of every day. It's our constant companion, available whenever we need it, whenever we feel lost or swamped or all alone. Take a step, a baby step at first if you're unsure, but trust that you are heading the direction you need to move. Secure in the knowledge that you are making a choice, a decision that will open doors of possibilities and adventure, if you are willing to see them. Every moment is overflowing with opportunity.

Seize it, and like my little garden spider, let's see what kind of amazing web you can weave.

The Sounds of Silence

A great summer thunder storm rolled across the prairies this afternoon; the churning skies rumbled off in the distance and grew darker as they approached. It went from clear and sunny and hot and humid to overcast and hot and humid and completely still in a matter of minutes. And that stillness is as ominous today as it was when you were a child and summer lasted forever and when you realized and felt the wind stop and the world grow silent you stopped too, and listened, and watched and you knew you were in the presence of greatness.

The thunder crashed louder and louder as it quickly enveloped us, the greys turning to purples and greens - colours no sky should ever turn - and then the temperature dropped; an icy cold front in the middle of a summer's day; a reminder that you are not in control no matter how much you delude yourself into thinking you are, or should be. Then those huge drops fell. Great, big, massive bucketfulls of water in single drops the size of water balloons. Then faster they came, and then the sound on the roof was not just of an aerial assault of water, but a more solid, sinister sound; the hollow knock of frozen water, hail, marble-sized and smaller, and it looked like it might be snowing - if it wasn't July - though that's never stopped Mother Nature up here before - and you looked out the window in anticipation, with a joyful anxiety, a curious stare from safety, as the pellets bounced and popped and rattled off the gutters, the gazebo and the garden of flowers.

And then, just like that, it was done.

Silence once more.

Then the clouds drifted, parted, and disappeared as the sun returned to brighten the afternoon and bake the rain and hail into the ground, evaporating more than absorbing, and you knew how hot and sticky it must be out there, and you dared not leave your quiet, air-conditioned womb.

School's out for the summer; the streets are quiet in the mornings - no mad rush to get them off to that scholarly jail, no yellow busses on the roads. The backpack returned overflowing with the contents of a grade 7 locker - I'm sure we could return that dictionary if we tried - it hasn't been cracked; and those gym clothes in the green sack? I'm not touching those. The boy can wash them - if they don't walk away on their own beforehand.

Stacks of homework and assignments - some we've seen, and others are news to us - we're becoming more at ease with being shut out bit by bit when it comes to school and friends and teenagerdom - we're still engaged in the boy's life, it's just now he has more ownership of it than before, and we respect that and attempt to foster that respect so it flows both ways. The report card, in all its sanitized informative passages tells us the bare minimum of how he did this past year - though we know in which subjects he excels and which ones he'd rather not have to face. He's got a Math and Science brain, though he's not convinced all Sciences deserve his equal attention yet. He has a wonderful vocabulary and creative mind - he just hasn't found his inner voice or confidence to be able to write it down.

It will come.

He has the same teacher for most of his courses in the fall that the had this past year - the benefit of the Grade 7/8 splits at the local junior high. His English teacher is his Math teacher and French too - as well as a few others - and she knows what he is capable of when he applies himself - a parent's ally she is - and she'll ride him and nurture him as if he were her own, and he will grow to her challenges, and one day he will thank her, though he may not acknowledge her role for years.

He'll find those gifts one day in contemplative silence. And I think he'll smile as he looks back on these days. When summer seems to last forever.

Silence. It can be a warning of dangers ahead, or it can signal a period of refuge, relaxation and rebirth. Like the empty halls of school over the summer, the silence speaks loudest when there's no one there to hear.