There’s something about being away and then coming home that reminds me that things are changing all around me, constantly. Like the white house across the street that has been white at least as long as I have lived here (23 + years) and now is a forest-y, pine-y green. Or the paper in the windows of the storefront that I often walk by proclaiming “Dennis Variety: Coming Soon” for many many many many months that has been torn down—coming soon is now.
Change is everywhere.
Consider the weather as another example. Mother Nature is as fickle of a soul imaginable. One morning you could be driving to a concert in Ottawa only to have all four phones in the car simultaneously sounding the first of several tornado alarms…and then end the night at LeBreton Flats on a perfectly perfect summer evening listening to Amos the Transparent and The War on Drugs leading up to the fun-yet-intense musical stylings of Mumford & Sons. Did we let the threat of the tornadoes stop us from enjoying our day? We did not. And we were rewarded richly.
Change is around us, is within us, and is not to be reckoned with. So you gotta wrestle and roll with it until you find yourself in an embrace with it which will eventually become loving.
Anyway vacation went by in a blink. It has me thinking about Ferris Bueller’s classic line about life moving fast, and his caution that if we don’t stop and look around, we might miss it.
As someone who thinks a lot (a lot lot) (a lot lot lot LOT LOT!) about the passage of time, the only way to trick myself into thinking I’m slowing it down is to set aside my worries and avoid external distractions such that I can be fully present in whatever once-in-a-lifetime moment I’m in. The week feels like it flew by, but the actual pace of the actual vacation made it really easy to be fully present in—and thus fully appreciative of—every last moment, be it big or small. From the giant (740ml, almost the equivalent of a bottle of wine!) ice-cold cans of Labatts on the boat ride out to the cottage to reading/napping/listening to the loons while sitting on the dock in the bright Canadian sun (which is a real thing!) to our exquisite shore lunch featuring fresh-caught bass to our big night in Ottawa for the concert, the week consisted of string after string of special memories, all woven together to create unique pieces of fabric that ultimately are sewn together in the cozy quilt that’s more commonly known as my life.
Being more present and more appreciative and being disciplined about and dedicated to staying that way has been one of the biggest transformations in my life in recent years. I’ve always been kind of committed to learning and trying new things, but it’s only recently that I’ve started to consider those things in the context of continued personal growth as a critical component of an enjoyable and full life. I’ve started to think differently, to change my mind, and to believe that there’s probably always a better way. Being open—and flexible and adaptable as my mind will allow—keeps things more interesting, seemingly affording me more power to resist the passage of time. When you’re doing more meaningful stuff (and yes, the mundane can (and often is) meaningful if you pay attention) you stop frittering precious time away and then you in turn stop worrying about how fast it is going by or how much or little of it is left.
As we get older, it’s easy to take a hard pass when life presents us a challenge or an uncomfortable situation. We can excuse it away as us being set on our ways, of having “been there, done that,” or just not needing to do whatever because, well, we’re “too old.” I’m not talking about not taking up an offer to go for a skydive or a bungee jump. NFW would I ever do either of those. Ever. I’m talking about people who stop pushing themselves, who stop taking on new friends. Of people who don’t consider new ideas or are unwilling to shift their perspectives. People who don’t think they need to question their own patterns and processes and the thoughts and beliefs that fuel them.
If you don’t do these things, you’re missing out.
When you repeat the same patterns over and over, you end up in a rut (blissfully? ignorantly?) unaware that you’re as close to being in a grave as any living person can be.
What kind of way to live is that?
Being on vacation, being in places old and new with friends old and new, in conditions and contexts that are constantly changing re-re-re-re-re-reminded me of how important it is to keep my heart and mind open to new things…while also reminding me that I consciously need to actively make room for those things and invite them in.
While I was away, I was also reminded of the strength of the so-called ties that bind. That’s one of the things about this kind of vacation. Plenty of time to decompress and reevaluate and reflect and rethink. When we were sitting at the picnic table at Green Bay on 31-Mile Lake I recalled the family-famous words of my grandfather, Papa: “What are the poor people doing now?” As I was fondly remembering him, Louis Armstrong’s “Wonderful World”—one of Papa’s favorites—came on the playlist we were enjoying. As I was sitting there enjoying the rituals and routines of the lake that have existed for decades if not centuries, thinking about Papa, listening to his music, I thought about the roots that run deep and that will deepen and strengthen over time despite all of the change and uncertainty and unknown.
While I was as happy as I can possibly imagine being in that moment, those thoughts gave me the great comfort and satisfaction that comes only from knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, both literally and figuratively. I felt myself starting to tear up, and quickly pulled myself together. There was fresh fish and homemade French fries to eat.
But still…music has a way of triggering weird chains of emotions.
Like at another point while I was away when I heard one of my favorite songs, “I’m So Open” by the Cowboy Junkies. After it played I found myself reflecting on my favorite line: “I don’t sleep most nights, just lie awake and count my blessings.”
I don’t waste my insomnia with counting sheep. I count my blessings. And they are many.
My roots are the roots of my blessings. They are my strength. They feed my growth.
Change is scary. But any alternative is boring.
Life’s too short to live a boring one. Shake things up. Muddle a jalapeño in your tequila and spice up your margarita. You might be surprised that it’s actually quite tasty.
And speaking of blessings, sharing this space with you is one of mine. I appreciate you being here with me.
Love you too.
Love this. Thanks for memorializing and for reminding us all to be open to new friends - they are fun to find. And they are everywhere.
Thanks Ms. Comeau for your awesome weekly writing! Bummed we missed you all but so glad you all got to hang with Dede!
Best