Last night, a kind and generous friend took several of us out for a boat ride on Lake of the Ozarks. It was a Saturday night which is usually not the time to be on the lake dodging boats and navigating wakes. But it was much quieter than I expected. The weather was perfect. I didn’t need a jacket. I couldn’t help but think of my mom, she would have loved it—a handsome elderly gentleman, eighty-seven years old—at the helm of a very elegant Grady White boat, a boat you would see on the ocean. The captain told us there were about six of them at the lake.
I admired beautiful homes on the shore. At one sprawling mansion, a solitary man was enjoying his riches, with all the propane fires lit. I waved. I’m pretty sure he was a rock star. It seemed strange that no one else was in sight, maybe the party of fifty had yet to arrive. I’ll never know the real story, but I was entertained by my own version.
Wouldn’t it be nice? To have all the things? Maybe. But where does it end? There is always nicer things next door, just like the greener grass. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing the beauty people created and designed. It made me smile.
I’ll flip the hourglass on end, and we’ll begin again, building castles made of sand, tiny pearls within my hands.
But what stayed with me most, was the comment made by my private captain—who reminded me of my grandfather. He said we just have to get through the next 100 days. It took me a minute to realize what he was talking about and then it clicked, the days between Memorial Day and Labor Day—the full throttle days of summer vacation at the lake.
I grew up in resort areas in the mountains of Colorado. There were two distinct seasons to make money, summer and ski season, and for some, hunting season. The economy revolved around these limited days to collect tourist dollars. Shoulder season was anything in between, a little wiggle room to catch your breath. The days were numbered, with only so much time.
We’ve been numbering our days forever. My mom used to cross off days on her wall calendar, even before they were over.
So, what do I have planned for the next 100 days? Everything is uncertain. As a musician/entertainer, I’m used to booking the calendar a year in advance. Even certain campsites, like Assateague Island in Maryland had to be booked that far out as well. This is the first time in my life, that I can remember, I have an open calendar. Sure there are birthdays to celebrate scattered here and there, but what am I going to do with the next wild and precious 100 days?
One step forward, two steps back, leaving tracks in a crooked line, bending time. Through detours, stops, and starts, slow dancing in the dark bending time, bending time.
Many of the things I would like to do are dependant on that old, outdated, limited, finicky thing I’ve had to count my entire life—money. But, what if that didn’t matter? What if I let life live through me instead of trying so hard to make it fit into the numbered boxes on the wall?
I think I already know what to do. Yesterday, when I was working on one of the chapters in my book, I remember something I had heard in the Gateless Writing Academy. It was to stay in the scene longer and to not be in too big a hurry to move to the next thing. This past week, I’ve been taking note of the smallest things that catch my eye and writing them down.
The thin luminescent petals of the flower that bloomed from my cactus.
The red of a woven scarf, next to the purple fringe of a dream catcher hanging in the window.
The feel of a soft piece of shag carpet under my bare feet.
The widening circle of new friends, and catching up with old friends.
That’s how I want to spend my next 100 days. Bending time by noticing the beauty, awe, and love that is right in front of me.
Turning and returning we go around, living and loving, slowing it down, bending time.
Listen to the song Bending Time on Bandcamp or below 😊