Dear Folks,
Four years ago I spent a month as a pilgrim, mostly walking by myself, sleeping in a new bunkroom every night, loading and unloading the few things I carried with me. My shoulders remember the weight of water, added to an extra pair of pants and shoes and shirts—17 pounds, give or take—old friends after 500 miles. The guidebooks suggested what I would need (and not need), and I followed the instructions dutifully. It was liberating to follow their advice: be open to what the day brings, greet every stranger as a friend, travel lightly, pray.
This past January, my family and I set off on a similar journey. How could we align our everyday lives more integrally with our values… shedding things, taking up less space, choosing more diversity, freeing up resources for education and adventure? We got out the map of Baltimore, circled work and school and church, drew lines for public transportation, and walked down dozens of streets. We took a class on urban home ownership, read neighborhood blogs, and attended various community meetings. We asked strangers that we met, “What do you like about where you live?”
Our house sold in a day, but it took several unsuccessful tries before someone accepted our offer on a new one: a 12 foot wide row house near Patterson Park. The shift invites us to travel lightly: in the past month we have sold or given away 4 armchairs, 2 tables, 8 dining chairs, 2 bureaus, bags of clothing, boxes of books, and more. Though my shoulders register the weight of things carried to Goodwill or out to a friend’s car, my heart feels liberated, to sort through what we no longer need and navigate toward a new way of being that beckons us.
Here’s a poem I have returned to several times over the past few weeks:
Beginnings—
just tiny stirrings
which disturb our even surface,
prodding us into new and different shapes…
claiming their place
on our horizons—
stretching us
where we would not go—
yet we must.
Driven by life forces
deeper than our dreams,
we dare to rise
and grasp towards
the new young thing—
not yet born—
but insistent—
like a tight seed bursting
for life… (Edwina Gately)
What is stretching you toward some new horizon?
Love,
David