Winter Solstice

New England Open Air goers and the field at The Browne Center which hosts a mowed Labyrinth in the grass

In all the cultural hubbub of the holidays, I have found - in recent years - this has become a time of quiet.  I find my life tends to slow down to about 5-ish mph, where half the day is over by the time I've finished my coffee, I'm taking showers in the afternoon, eating chocolate for breakfast and spend most of the morning petting my cat.  December happens to be the season where I have the least amount of money and most amount of minutes.  The outdoor season has dwindled, school is done, and the weather outside is... well, mild this year, actually.

Coming home is the best because I am actually warm.  We do not watch TV in our coats and hats and I do not even need my snuggie, or socks.  In fact, sometimes we actually have to open a window because the house gets too warm as the wood-burning stove powers on.  After years of living in drafty New England spaces, I realize I grew up spoiled.

Walking through the labyrinth (think path in the field, not David Bowie) of the Browne Center for New England Open Air last weekend, I contemplated the amount of time it takes to get into something and out of something.  Fairy tales and commercials promote this idea of an instant change or fix - a sudden rescue - but in real life, it takes time to walk in and out of experiences.  Experiences linger, grown on us, change us, and we slowly learn to walk with them.

This particular labyrinth is a path mowed on a small portion of a field, where I walk through twists and turns until I find myself in the center of this cerebral-looking grassy maze.  Once I arrive in the center, I stop and sit down, taking in the 55 degree day and the golden green color of the field and grass surrounding me, before I walk the same path out of it.  Ellen Langor talks about mindfulness this way:

"And so, mindfulness, for me, is the very simple process of actively noticing new things. When you actively notice new things that puts you in the present, makes you sensitive to context. As you’re noticing new things, it’s engaging. And it turns out, after a lot of research, that we find that it’s literally, not just figuratively, enlivening."

I think emotions have a way of pulling us in, better than thoughts might do.  They are motions to slow us down enough to notice ourselves and how we are affected by everything.  My dad showed us the video of Carson and Ernie the UPS deliverer... and well, if you don't think you're a particularly emotional being, try watching that.  Langor goes on to talk about what stress is:

"...when there’s stress, there’s an assumption that they’re making that something is going to happen — number one — and that when it happens, it’s going to be awful.  Both of those are mindless.  You want to open it up, both ways.  First, the belief that it’s going to happen.  All you need to do is ask yourself for evidence that it’s not going to happen.  And you always find evidence for whatever you ask yourself."

"I think that it goes back in some sense to Epictetus, who said, not in English, and not with my accent, but that “Events don’t cause stress.  What causes stress are the views you take of events.'  ...almost everybody is mindlessly driven by these absolutes and part of these absolutes are these evaluations of good or bad.  If it’s good, I feel I must have it.  If it’s bad, I must avoid it.  When it’s neither good nor bad, I can just stay put.  And just be.  So we get a lot more control by recognizing the way we’re controlling our present and our future."

Why wrap presents?  We're just going to throw the paper away.  I venture it's because we value the present (double-meaning intended).  We are bringing attention to that present moment, inviting surprise - creating space for joy.  My mom still loves watching us open presents. 

What I love about this season, is that humans decided to invite celebration, merriment, and gift-giving into the darkest days of the year (well.... if you live in the Northern portion of the Northern hemisphere).  To me, it is somehow reflective of the the human spirit's need for community.  We allow ourselves this time to connect with others, value those relationships, check in on people, and delight in giving.  Even if Adele is really what brings us all together, at least we are making an effort. 

The shortest day is upon us and it will take a few months to fully lengthen that light again. 

Time to take a shower.