I never imagined that getting outdoors more would actually make me less busy, but it did.
For some time, I had been observing that everyone around me appeared to be burdened by extraordinarily busy lives. When asked how they were, people no longer said, "fine," but rather "busy," an answer not infrequently accompanied by sighs and indications of emotional exhaustion.
It seemed many of us were leading lives filled to the brim with activity, a lot of it not very satisfying. In order to look at this issue more clearly in my own life, I took an adult education course that helped students identify the best moments of their lives, then helped them strategize to find the time to create similar moments in the present.
While this led some participants to explore an alternative vocation, the one thing that rose to the top of my list was swimming. This was not a longing that I could satisfy with a health club membership and the opportunity to do laps in a chlorinated pool. No, this was about blue skies and summer breezes and the feel of the water as I swam in a pond or a lake. It was the swimming of my childhood.
A short while later, my husband and I heard about a cabin for sale on a pond in the woods, just over a half-hour from home. It was made affordable by the absence of a modern bathroom and the prohibition against ever installing one. This made the cabin exceedingly unattractive to the 30 people who had seen it before us.
We bought it anyway, and made frequent visits to swim, canoe, and kayak. Then we made some unexpected discoveries: turtles that stuck their heads up out of the pond and dived underwater as we approached. Hummingbirds attracted by colorful flowers. Several varieties of frogs that would sing their little hearts out every night from spring to mid-summer. The whippoorwill whose distinctive call could be heard as we sat around a campfire, and the blue damselflies that like to sit on my toe as I kayaked around the perimeter of the pond. Even the weather became an endless source of fascination. The stormy day with the driving wind and rain engaged us as much as watching cumulus clouds roll across blue sky.
We became mesmerized by the natural world. Despite having a full-time job and two adolescent boys, I didn't experience the pond as a scheduling problem where I would struggle to find the time to get there. Instead, it was the reverse. Having spent time at the pond, less interesting and pleasurable activities began to diminish in importance. The more time I spent there, the harder it was even to remember what those other things were that had so occupied my time. There was even the possibility of doing more of what I would rather be doing, in my new, slow-paced life. I read a lot more. I also began to socialize more, but in a spontaneous, informal way, like when a pond neighbor would wander over with a cup of coffee and sit and chat.
Now that summer is gone, the pond is quiet. Our neighbors have retreated to their year-around homes, and only the hardiest of ducks and geese are to be seen. We love the pond's rugged beauty, even in winter, and spend many a weekend afternoon there from October to April. We walk the perimeter on a sunny, cold day, and feel restored.
Some people, when overwhelmed by life, seek out a clergyman. Others go to a therapist, or life coach. OK, I guess the teacher of that adult ed course could be classified as a life coach. But these days, when I need help clearing my mind and a sense of what truly deserves my time and what does not, there is no one I would rather turn to than a turtle or a frog.
Louellyn Lambros lives in Scituate and can be reached at llambros46@hotmail.com.
