The lake is so low these days, there’s a forest of driftwood trees jutting up beyond the shoreline like wooden soldiers, standing at attention, waiting for the rain to deliver some much needed relief.
Once the lake rises again, they’ll be submerged — present, but lurking under the surface. So it is with my resolve.
Lately, every time I make a measurable advance in one of my pursuits, a drought of mind and spirit follows, seemingly sucking it dry. I wonder if the lake is aware of this constant emptying and refilling; I know I am.
The lesson I’ve learned is to pay attention. Previously, I thought that meant paying more attention to my pursuits. Putting in the extra effort. Moving forward at all costs. Sacrificing sleep to stick with it.
Finishing what I started, and all that.
But after experiencing the gnawing fatigue of being “on duty” twenty-four hours a day while I was caring for my father, I’ve come to know that ebb and flow are good things — inevitable things. My cup isn’t going to run over just because I think it should.
It’s okay to be tired. As long as I take time to rest.
It’s okay to be motivated. As long as I recognize my limits.
It’s okay to push forward. As long as I honor my needs.
It’s okay to set aside dreams. As long as I pursue them later.
Now I’m paying attention to the lake, observing its ebb and flow. And like the weary wooden soldiers at the front, I, too, am waiting for the rain.
Enjoying a moment of introspection,