August

and everything after

….is a Counting Crows album, and I’m pretty sure I’ve written a newsletter with that as the byline before, but what can I say: I think of it every time August rolls around again.

This August, wildfire smoke from the north has been lingering for the past seven days, and it’s been hazy. When this happens, the sun sets as an eerie red orb hanging in the western sky, and the first light of morning seems filtered through fine linen—you can almost convince yourself it’s fog or mist rising from the water, but the acrid smell that comes with it reminds you that it’s not. They say we should expect the haze to lift today, and I can see all the way across the lake this morning, so maybe that’ll be the case. It’s tough to not be able to move around freely outside for days on end—as so many people across the midwest (and Canada) are experiencing more and more often as wildfires burn.

This August also includes the surgery that is supposed to rid me of melanoma, so that leaves a bit of a haze on things as well. It’s a minor surgery as surgeries go, but I’m told I’ll need to avoid using my left arm for awhile, which is a challenge when teaching yoga and leading group activities and supervising pool time and digging potatoes are all a regular part of your everyday. If I was coaching someone else in this situation, I would say things like, “How could this be an opportunity to ask for and accept help?” or “What possibilities exist inside having to do things differently for a little while?” or “What would it be like to take time to truly rest and recover?” Good points of inquiry, right?

If I’m being honest, most of the time I’m just annoyed that I won’t be able to swim or dig in the garden or cook like I want to as I wait for the incision to heal. That I’ll have to use my limited PTO to take some days off work for recovery instead vacation. Rest and recovery sounds good —optimal even— when offering those things as the best option to others, but decidedly less appealing when you’re the one who needs to take that advice (and it’s high garden season). I like being able to move freely and run around outside—doing so is a big part of how I manage stress and anxiety, and there’s new stuff to harvest every day.¹ It’s frustrating to be stuck inside when the air quality is too poor to go out and do regular activities. So it’ll probably be frustrating to feel limited in movement, even if the air quality is better.

I did get the garlic harvested yesterday, so that’s something.

So the coach in me says, “Okay, well, who’s available to offer support as you navigate this?”² and “How, specifically, does moving and getting outside help with managing stress? What else can offer those benefits, or something similar, while you’re more limited in activity?” and “How can this need to move slower offer nourishment?”³

All this to say, August this year will be different, but it’ll also be full of chances to look for grace in the shadows, beauty in the pause, and reasons to savor the season we’re moving through.

Here’s to August and everything after. May healing meet you where you need to be met, and may peace linger at the edges of the things you don’t want, waiting to be allowed space to be. And may you remember that the only pace you have to keep is the one that works for you in this season of life.

I haven’t seen the SWEET CORN AHEAD signs yet this year, but I’d imagine they’ll show up in the week to come. Poem found in Church of Shadow and Light.

1. Like zucchini - who needs some? I picked six yesterday, and I’m pretty sure there are at least 5 baseball bat sized ones hiding out there under the leaves still. Also cucumbers and kale and more basil that I can realistically turn into pesto.

2. I literally ask this question (of the patients I work with in recovery) every day.

3. For someone who has written multiple books on the topic of living slower, including one anthology called “In Search of Simple: Field Notes from Near and Far on Slow Living” this is a classic practice what you preach situation.