Repeating Patterns

Turning Lines Into Circles Again—My Sunday Best #148

This morning I read about repeating patterns, fractals. The clouds in my coffee are the same clouds up in the sky. The rings of time in the piece of firewood sitting next to the chiminea are the same rings that form in Dennis’ water bowl when he takes a drink. The vibrations that transform into music in my ears are the same vibrations that are reaching your ears no matter how far apart we are. It’s all the same. The breeze that I feel this morning might be the same breeze you felt last night, or later this afternoon. And that waxing moon that grows a little each night is on the same page as my calendar. Or the other way around. The ocean tide changes every six hours as if the earth is inhaling and exhaling. Movement, patterns, turning lines into circles.

Life is made up of repeating patterns. Sunrises, sunsets, clouds, waves. And although I am repeating myself over and over, I am not the same person I was yesterday.

This past week, my husband and I decided to step back from the busy life we have created. To see the forest for the trees, so to speak. We unpacked our instruments from their cases and put them on stands, where they could take a break from the repeating pattern of putting them away, loading and unloading them from the car, and taking them out again—over and over.

If you’ve ever had to cancel a commitment you made—something you said you were going to do—then you know what follows: disappointment, sometimes anger, and an unexpected freedom.

I’ve disappointed a lot of people in my life through my choices—parents, teachers, employers, friends, and family. And I, in turn, have been disappointed in others. Expectations. When things don’t go as planned, as we expected, we can either be disappointed or curious. Hmmm. Okay—how is this going to go?

This week I heard a parable about water. It is a familiar story. About how water flows and, when it is blocked by higher ground, it backs up, rises, and finds a new way. Be like water was the message. When life doesn’t flow like I think it should, let it find its own way.

I love this. It reminds me of my mom. When the ice would start to melt in the spring, she would spend hours chipping away with a hammer and a screwdriver, creating tiny rivers to direct the water away from the road or the front door. They would freeze up overnight and she would have to start all over again.

Even nature has certain built-in expectations of how life will proceed with the changing of the seasons, the hours of sunlight, and the ebb and flow of the earth’s waters. The hummingbirds expect to fly north in the coming weeks. They might even be here now. I put my feeder out just in case. My snow cactus expects the temperatures to increase. I can tell because it is already pushing out a few tiny buds.

In this world we have to plan so far in advance. In order to work, we have to book a year ahead. In order to camp in Arizona during the winter months, or Maryland during the summer months, you have to book a campsite a year in advance as well. A lot can happen in a year. A lot can happen in a month. In a day. In an hour.

Everything is subject to change. I wrote that at the top of the calendar I share with our loyal music family.

Doing what I say I’m going to do is a lesson that runs deep. It was instilled in me from an early age that what I do or do not do affects everyone. Just like a butterfly.

So how do I navigate the changing tides and not rock the boat—or worse, tip the boat over? Knowing what to expect gives us a false sense of security. No surprises. It may appear to be easier that way, but who wants to live a life with no surprises?

Life doesn’t seem to care so much about my plans anyway. The water still finds its own way.

All this to say, we cleared our schedule this week. Instead of trying to guess when Mickey’s back will be better, we decided to honor his body with the gift of time, free of pressure to heal by a certain date. In doing this, we disappointed a lot of people who were depending on us. Ugh.

This isn’t the first time life has cleared my calendar for me. When I was married to my first husband, we found out he had colon cancer at the young age of 28. I was pregnant with our second child. In a moment everything changed. All the preparations for the upcoming holidays were no longer important. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s were just days on the calendar that passed without notice. The to-do list vanished. We lived moment by moment. One breath at a time.

The water hasn’t shown me which way to go next, but I do know what I won’t be doing. I won’t be packing up my guitar and loading the equipment into the car for now. And as this moment melts into the next, I am curious to see what direction the water wants to flow and to watch the rings that expand from the center.