Downed Trees

Lately, there has been a tree down across the path in the woods where I run. Usually, when trees come down on these trails, I am amazed and grateful for the mysterious volunteers who come in and remove them. Each time I run by a newly cleared path, I say a little thanks for whoever took the time to tend to the woods. But, for some time now, the downed tree near the entrance to the trail has not been removed and I find myself saying thanks for that, too. That old, fallen beauty, which could be seen as an obstacle, has become something that enlivens me instead. Its place on my path has had the odd effect of allowing me to feel my agility, my youthfulness, my coordination. I run toward it, without slowing down, step up onto the trunk, and push off feeling that brief second of suspension and quiet in the air. A beautiful break in the rhythm of my footfall, the way composers insert a rest in a piece of music that makes what comes after even more poignant. I’ve come to like it there. But, what of the downed tree in my computer?

In recent weeks, I’ve had to tend to more technology issues than I am accustomed to. My profession doesn’t require me at a computer all day, so when problems arise I am more at a loss as to how to fix them. I can get easily frustrated thinking, "I have work to do in a limited amount of time and now I won’t get it done." Slight panic and fear arise, like water starting to boil in a teakettle. The whistling screech starts to build. The kind you want to turn off before it reaches its full volume. But, what if I could see the problem as just a tree down in my computer? What if the problem itself was part of the path and not something in the way? Instead of tending to what I had planned, I now I have this before me. What if I could just bend like branches do in the wind? The problem asks of me to pause, which I don’t always want to do. It asks of me to seek help, which I don’t always want to do. It asks of me to include it, which wasn’t part of my plan. As my first meditation teacher used to say, “this, too.” And “this, too,” is part of it. When I think of it this way, I don’t struggle so much. It might be annoying, but maybe it’s just what wants my attention first and can I trust in the necessity of that?

There is another, smaller downed tree further on in the trail. That one is more like a hiccup as I run over it. And then, there is the occasional huge fallen tree that requires me to stop and find may way around, under, or through it. Whatever the size, my latest strategy is to ask myself, “can I make this part of my path and not something in the way, not something separate?”  Self doubt, traffic, pain, the unexpected bill, a hard conversation with someone, not knowing the next step, being gripped by overwhelm, all of it is just part of my life. I might not like it, but I could have a kindness toward myself as I bend to meet it. It's a gentler way of being the world. Imagine if we could all practice dealing with whatever arises without trying to make it fit our plan and instead saying, "huh, I wasn't expecting this, but here it is, and I'll be tender with myself as I handle the step that is now before me."