“Au beau milieu de l’hiver,  je compris qu’il y avait en moi un été invincible.”

“In dead mid winter, I understood that there was an invincible summer within me.”

Albert Camus

Hurry, hurry. We are always in a hurry. We rush to do as many things as possible. To run is actually a symptom of fear and anxiety: running after something, running after someone, running from something.

Think of this: slaves run but kings remain quiet and still in their place – which is on their throne. Do we want to be slaves or kings?

A teacher once suggested I learn to walk fast without hurrying. It gave me pause. I was complaining about my knee injury that was not fully healed. “Is it better?” she asked me. I answered, “Yes.” “Then you are going in the right direction,” she said.

We do not necessarily “get there” and things do not always “get fixed.” What is important is going toward the objective and not moving away from it. My knee is always getting better and not getting worse. One friend has not met her weight loss goal but she gets closer and closer. We imprison ourselves by demanding perfection or near perfection and by insisting everything happen at once. We should absolutely keep our eyes on our goal, but we should acknowledge and celebrate the victories along the way that show us we are indeed on our way.

One cold wintertime I was gazing out my window and the ground was blanketed with snow. The branches of the trees were bare. April was two months away. I began imagining the daffodils and hyacinth that would suddenly and eventually appear. I knew in a few months the garden would be teeming with hydrangeas on bare branches that now looked like emaciated wooden arms. I thought of the unseen. Because we don’t see anything happening in winter doesn’t mean nothing is going on. It’s just hidden from us.

The garden’s trellis is a metaphor for our life. It may be bare,  but there is always the unseen; the seeds and roots are only sleeping beneath the surface. Bareness does not mean nothing is happening. As long as we are going toward the bloom, we are going in the right direction—though we don’t always know this and it can be hard to tell.

In my impatience I would always ask: “Can you show me tomorrow today?” I was running into the darkness, not even knowing if I was heading in the right direction. Tomorrow is as hidden and apparent as the snowy winter garden; the veiled mind. If we watch the sunset, we know to gently turn to face the rising sun of the new day and keep working towards the coming spring.