Don't push so hard against the world

Easing out of striving

Late winter/early spring in the Boston area has been more Eeyore than Pooh or Tigger—gloomy, gray, and wet. For much of March, I was able to push through it, getting outside in the woods even when a good portion of the hike was jumping over small streams and trying to find the least muddy way around. Then we had a few glorious days—sun, temperatures in the high 60s, not a hint of cold in the air. The flowers bursting into bloom with magnolia trees boasting their charm, tulips looking regal, and daffodils trumpeting out the change of season. Once you remember what spring feels, smells, looks like, the sudden pull back into winter feels cruel and unbearable. It’s hard to have the zest and bounce of Tigger replaced by the slow, heavy sadness of Eeyore.

We spent a few days in the Berkshires last weekend. When I planned the trip, I thought of the august mountains filling the landscape; the constant growl of leaf blowers replaced with the trill of a song sparrow, the high-pitched quaver of the black-and-white warbler; the quintessential New England main street with a white clapboard, steepled church and a century’s old inn. I didn’t think about the fact that mid April is more late winter than early spring in the mountains. We brought bikes, eager to ride along a rail trail and enjoy views of Mount Greylock, possibly sighting osprey or heron along the Cheshire Reservoir. But we hadn’t packed the right clothes for temperatures that were just pushing past 45 degrees with a constant spray of precipitation, sometimes even solidifying into sleet. So we opted for a hike along part of the Appalachian Trail that ended at a cabin on Goose Pond. While the sun hid from us, the weather cleared up just enough for a good trek through the woods.

Early April hiking can feel drab and dull. The mountain laurel looks as if it is just waking up from the long, wet winter; the green not yet vibrant; the buds still dormant. The trail is mostly still covered with a thick carpet of leaf litter whose satisfying crunch under foot has been softened by the constant moisture of rain and melting snow. The canopy is still sparse with few trees leafing out. However, if you stopped and looked more closely, the trail was bursting with a myriad of textures and colors. The wet, rainy March gave lichen much to work with from flaky, blackened skin to deep rusty parchment. The gnarled, deeply ridged texture of a mature ash seeming somehow wisened with age. L wasn’t with us—as he was on a school trip to a much warmer, more exciting location. So the hike was quiet, punctuated with occasional conversations with M and Z. But mostly, it was contemplative and focused. And while once I would’ve worked hard to fill the air with words, I relished the slowness, the steadiness, the focus on foot falls and what was all around us. I found the beauty in the lingering winter, even when I was aching for the warmth and light of spring.

Most of my life, I have strived. Strived to be an excellent student, the best if possible. Strived to get into a good college, a great graduate program. To complete my doctoral work in record time so I could start a family while still relatively young. To conduct research that was meaningful and would make a difference, not just result in a publication and a degree. To start a program, develop a treatment, make a name for myself beyond my department. To be recognized. All while raising three little boys, trying to maintain a marriage, friendships, be a good community member, keep my house clean, healthy food prepared and served and shared together.

It was exhausting.

I switched jobs. Got out of clinical work, thinking that might make the difference. Got back into clinical work when I found consulting was even worse. All the while, my boys were growing up. Quickly. And I was working. Seemingly all the time. Missing events, even though I tried so hard not to. But fitting all the work things into a 40+ hour work week that required physical presence at specified times, well, it just wasn’t all going to fit.

And then, I worked with a postdoctoral student who had done a lot of mindfulness training and talked about how hard she was working to stop striving. What, I wondered, did that even look like? As work got harder and the healthcare system focused more and more narrowly on profits over care, I started to explore getting out of the strive, the climb for more importance, more pressure, more responsibility to create revenue out of caring for people who were struggling. By January 2020, I had committed to leaving and starting my own practice. And then, two short months later, the world stopped. And COVID changed our lives.

Before COVID, walking in the woods just around the corner from my house was an occasional occurrence. More so when the boys were small and easily transported. I didn’t really know any of the trails, could’ve easily gotten lost. In the past four years, those woods have become as familiar as my neighborhood. There isn’t a trail I haven’t walked, most countless times. I have walked with my kids, my husband, my friends. But mostly, I walk with the dog, sometimes chatting with a friend or family member on the phone, sometimes listening to music or an audiobook, though most often, I’m listening to the quiet: the occasional chirp of the birds, the pecking of the pileated woodpeckers, the howl of the coyotes, the beautiful serenade of the peepers.

I am immersed in that place, in that moment.

I am present.

What I want now from my life is just that: to be present with the moment. To delight in the company of friends. To feel gratitude for all the small sparkling moments of joy. To have the reserve to feel and experience the sadness and grief that life brings. To remember that it will pass, more fully when I allow it to be present. To be a compassionate, empathic, and authentic provider in my client’s lives. To choose friendships that offer meaningful connection and mutuality. To worry less and trust more. To mother my children in a way that is responsive to them and their needs. To deepen and strengthen my marriage.

To find the beauty in the Eeyore days just as much as the Tigger and Pooh days.

To not strive, then, but to just be.

Big Strong Girl

It's not now or never
It's not black, and it's not white
Anything worth anything takes more than a few days
And a long, long night

Don't push so hard against the world, no, no
You can't do it all alone, and if you could
Would you really want to?
Even though you're a big strong girl
Come on, come on, lay it down
The best made plans are your open hands

Rest your head
You've got two pillows to choose from
In a queen-sized bed
Hold out for the moon
But don't expect connection any time soon

Feel the light caress your fingertips
You have just begun, the word has only left your lips
Maybe in time, you will find
Your arms are wrapped around the sun
You're wrapped around the sun.

~Deb Talan

All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.

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