I'm glad to share this space with you.
Let's inhale together and release.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Welcome to a hit of hope.
In all's well that ends well Shakespeare says,
Come on,
Thou art granted space.
Granted space sounds like it's a gift.
And sometimes surely we welcome the space in our lives.
When we escape to a cabin for the weekend,
Or when we don't have to share a backseat with a sibling who farts.
But how often are we Goldilocks with the space in our lives?
Frustrated because we have too much or too little.
That it's never just right.
I bet many of us have a complicated relationship with space right now.
Space is exactly what some people might be craving,
Especially if they're trying to manage this pandemic with little ones in the house.
I have a feeling some folks are ready to go all 127 hours and not off an arm to escape.
But for anyone who has been alone for months on end,
More space might be the last thing they would want.
It might already feel like life is a sucking tar pit of despair because the space isn't filled.
Even without this current situation,
Our relationship with space might be complicated because you see space often comes with the end of something when we've had to let go.
This can be our choice.
We leave a job that is toxic or make the brave decision to turn away from an addiction.
But there are times,
Of course,
When it is not.
Come on,
Thou art granted space.
If Shakespeare in his ridiculous frilly collar had sat down across from me at the local coffee shop and offered me that gem of wisdom when my life had been upended,
I would have held up a finger.
Okay,
Not that finger.
But I would have held up a finger,
Googled best Shakespearean insults,
And thrown some of his own words back in the bard's face.
Now cream-faced loomed,
A pox on your throat.
You are not worth another word.
Simply put,
Duck you,
Shakespeare.
I thought about all of this when I went for a walk recently in a prairie with a friend.
Even though she's one of my emotional sherpas,
I hadn't seen her in months because of the pandemic.
As we walked,
We talked,
We laughed,
We cried,
And we stopped when we saw some milkweed pods.
My friend was transfixed by one that looked like a bird.
I was mesmerized by a cluster of milkweed pods.
You see,
There was all of this empty space.
Now because of time and season,
This milkweed had let go of life,
Yes,
And that could cause some grief.
We have been asked to let go of so much lately.
We've probably been surrounded by anxiety,
Grief,
And pain,
And it's easy to want to fill our empty spaces with things that numb.
We want to do whatever we can to ignore the weight of what is happening.
Inhale.
Exhale.
But what about working toward an intentional relationship with space?
Too little in your life?
What could you do to create 10 minutes,
Just 10 minutes of space for yourself?
Too much space?
How can you connect?
Which three friends can you text today?
Something else is we might consider the space in our lives,
This act of letting go,
As an act of planting seeds.
We release and we wait to see what happens,
What might grow,
What might arise.
The milkweeds I saw with my friends had released a host of silky seeds.
Some might find good soil.
Some might grow.
Some might feed monarch caterpillars,
Hiding the fragile cocoons until it's time for the butterfly to break free and move into a new life,
Fitted now with wings.
Remember your relationship to space right now,
Please do not gnaw off your own arm.
Please breathe,
Wait,
Hold the space intentionally and hope.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Okay.
