A Millimeter of Progress in A Million Directions

December always gets me thinking about the vast spectrum of time. Ever expansive and ever fleeting.

In the 31 days of this month, I tend to find myself bogged down with not having enough time. And simultaneously wondering about how I will spend it in the upcoming year.

My favorite book that I read in 2022 was Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Her writing is best described as “Drawing on her life as an indigenous scientist, and as a woman, Kimmerer shows how other living beings--asters and goldenrod, strawberries and squash, salamanders, algae, and sweetgrass--offer us gifts and lessons, even if we've forgotten how to hear their voices.”

This is what she has to say about time:

Fir needles fall with the high-frequency hiss of rain, branches fall with the bloink of big drops, and trees fall with a rare but thunderous thud. Rare, unless you measure time like a river. And we think of it as simply time, as if it were one thing as if we understood it. Maybe there is no such thing as time; there are only moments, each with its own story.

I mean, wow.

Over the past year, I feel like I have watched a lot of time slip away. And I have heard many stories that clearly illustrate how we are thinking too much and not listening enough.

We humans are too caught up in making a millimeter of progress in a million directions. How can we be present when we are spread so thin?

And I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted from it all. I don’t want to make a millimeter of progress, I want to generate momentum toward accomplishing the things that I feel are truly vital in my life.

Over the last decade, I have found that if you don’t prioritize your life, someone else will. And if that happens, the time that you have simply isn’t your own.

When I was starting to plan and write Without a Cloud, I often felt like it was “wrong.” And that I should be putting more time and effort into my professional roles instead of into what some people would believe is a waste of time. And I could have easily continued to succumb to that tired excuse—as it was one that I also used to tell myself. But, as Robin Wall Kimmerer wrote, there are only moments, each with its own story.

At the end of this year, I have taken stock of the time that I have left, no matter how long or short that might be, and realized that I need to write what I can now. I don’t want to continue to celebrate hustle culture and constantly wear “busy” as a badge of honor.

In his book, Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less, Greg McKeown wrote:

What if we stopped celebrating being busy as a measurement of importance? What if instead, we celebrated how much time we had spent listening, pondering, meditating, and enjoying time with the most important people in our lives?

And I would add, what if we started to celebrate how much time we spend time in the natural world and notice our interconnectedness with all beings?

Like this praying mantis in the mums.

I remember when I noticed this little guy last autumn. Though I love Fall flowers and spend a lot of time and money decorating the deck with pots filled with oranges, yellows, and crimsons, I rarely take the time to notice them after the dirty work is over.

On this particular evening, I had gotten home after a long day and decided to take a short adventure to enjoy the blooms.

I had to literally and explicitly talk myself out of going inside and doing more work.

“Now listen up, self,” I said loudly into the dust-ridden air.

“You have permission not to do it all.” I tilted my head from side to side to stretch my neck and headed to the flowers.

On my work-free trek, I spotted this baby praying mantis. I had to snap a picture. And then I had to text it to my friend who had grown up calling them “prang” mantis instead of “praying.” She had only ever heard about these bugs spoken in her father’s midwestern language. Here in the midwest, we tend to smash up words.

For instance, folks outside of the midwest would ask, “did you eat?”

We ask, “jeet?”

So, just by permitting myself to take a little walk, I not only noticed more, I was able to connect with my friend and chuckle. And now the only thing I can remember about that autumn evening is the “prang” and my friend—not whatever work that I “should” have been doing instead.

December can be a rough month for a lot of folks. Full of reflections. Full of constant messages about new year’s resolutions that ask us to evaluate our lives, identify our shortcomings, and create new promises of change. Not to mention being reminded of who is missing at the table during holiday traditions.

But for now, I’d like to leave you with a little menu for some reminders coming into the next week. Let’s call it a Mantra Menu.

Choose what sounds good to you. Maybe it’s one, maybe it’s all. Or you can even make up your own. Write it on a post-it, and maybe put it on your mirror? Or next to the coffee machine?

Mantra menu

• I choose to pay attention to the story of the moment I am in right now.
• Only a few things really matter.
• I can do anything, but not everything.

In connection,

Ellie