A Love of Work

I’m out of town for a week’s work at a spa resort.  All my delicious meals are prepared, the room is cleaned daily, the schedule offers many options for physical and spiritual nourishment, but I don’t have to attend any of them.  My own, already prepared, talks aren’t until the end of this week’s stay, and while I’ve brought lots of reading materials, my laptop, and have internet access, I don’t HAVE to do any of it. I’ve finished just the novel I was halfway through when I arrived, have read the NY Times every morning, and have fulfilled the two hours required daily for my job.

This leaves me with vast swatches of unscheduled time, something I claim I want dearly in order to meditate, contemplate, and create. And yet, I’m startled at my discomfort at being so at “loose ends,” even as I do not participate in most of the yoga, swimming, exercise classes, demonstration kitchen, creative arts, comedic talks, or hikes.  Most of this time, I have not been overly happy or even content. A wise woman I talked with Friday morning suggested I ask my higher power/inner being what I might be or do for small chunks of time, as looking at a week of possibilities has felt overwhelming.  When I reign in my horizon, the next right thing usually appears—go to lunch, wash your hair, journal.

Still, I yearn for meaningful work and feel slightly off-center when I’m just focused on self-care. There’s a balance I’ve long sought between service and self-care, and this week feels as though I’ve tipped into self-indulgence.  Maybe because in my regular life I take good care of myself and don’t overwork as a daily practice I haven’t needed such a deep dive into relaxation. Or maybe because I’m always busy and focused, this kind of spacious time and ease is just so unfamiliar as to feel uncomfortable.

I know I could be appreciative for the luxurious conditions and unique opportunity. I know I could be open to explore, connect, and learn more about this particular place and the people here. I know that this too shall pass. And I’ve learned that, even as I can’t be here wrong, my soul longs for a grittier experience and my heart needs community to thrive.

What to bring to Spiritual Direction?

At a recent poetry workshop with Naomi Shihab Nye, I became aware of what I love so much about this artist—she finds poetry everywhere, and she shares it enthusiastically with her audience. It’s enlivening being in her presence.

So too, as spiritual seekers, we can find the sacred in everything, and sharing the discoveries can be transformative. The monthly hour of spiritual direction is a time to sift through everyday life and see what comes to the surface as guidance, a nudge, or an invitation. Sometimes people think they don’t “need” to come to spiritual direction if there’s nothing major happening in their lives.

Actually, without external drama, we can attend to subtle, inner movements with new ears. In that monthly session, without an agenda, we can learn to listen more deeply to the guidance which is always leading us to our heart’s desire. For example, when there’s a troubling event, I can look for a message from the universe. When I have a negative response or reaction to someone, I can better understand my own history and beliefs. When I move slowly with openness, I can find beauty in simple movements, commonplace objects, and ordinary activities. Meaning, understanding, and beauty all nourish my spirit, one of the benefits of spiritual direction.

What could I bring to spiritual direction this month?

Small moments of grace:

Curling into a white chair when the sun hits and basking like a cat

Times my feelings were hurt and I want to know why:

A best friend shutting the door after twenty-one years

That sentence in a life story that cracks me open:

T’s appreciation of sunshine after 150 days (5 months!) “in the hole”

The contradiction that never heals:

A basement playroom stuffed with dolls and my childless life

Everything counts in the hour of spiritual companionship, so bring your life, every single time.