My husband Yancey and I have returned from Portugal, where we were with Dan and Robyn Hines, reflecting with 22 other people on the second half of life. It was fun, meaningful, and life-changing.
In his work, Dan uses an extended metaphor from traditional wayfinding and navigation—how Polynesian peoples left their home islands and found new ones without maps or compasses! At one point, Yancey said, “I’m seeing that it’s okay not to have a set destination, but you have to pay attention. You can’t not have a destination AND not pay attention!” We all laughed and wrote that down.
We hear a lot about “It’s the journey, not the destination,” but what are we paying attention to on this journey, and are we even paying attention at all?
We all have different habits of attention. Mine go toward meaning making, identity, and the inner life. For decades, I have been on a pilgrimage of the heart, and it’s part of my life’s work to invite others into this journey. But I’m trying to broaden my view as I enter the second half of life—what are the birds doing? What is the sky doing? What about my favorite Cottonwood down the street—what is it up to? And what is my breath doing? Freed from the compulsion to make meaning (or succeed, connect, explore, reform, challenge, understand, have fun, etc.), I can simply BE. That’s what the poem below is about.
P.S. If you’d like to be with Dan and Robyn on one of these retreats, they will be in Bali next year!
P.S.S. And my dad and I are leading an “Art of Noticing” tree tour at Elizabeth Park in Bellingham on Saturday, June 1, 10:30-1200. Free, donations accepted for Whatcom Million Trees Project. Come practice your noticing skills, be in nature, and meet some of your Whatcom County neighbors.
New Hobby
In midlife, we are
taking up birdwatching.
We’ve gotten the promotion,
climbed the ladder,
bought the house,
remodeled the basement,
raised the kids,
vacationed in Hawaii.
Tried to outrun suffering,
ended up avoiding joy, too.
The birds have made it
through the winter,
strategized about seed stashes,
kept their little bodies moving,
and now sing raucous songs
of survival.
After years inside,
we step outside,
finally listening.