The Power of Standing Still
Last week, I had the privilege of getting away on a solo retreat. I stayed at a friend’s cabin not too far away with a commitment to slow down and create space for silent reflection & prayer.
It was amazing. I didn’t know how I would respond to that much silence and unstructured time. After several rounds of laying aside expectations I had placed on myself, I was able to settle in. I discovered a heightened awareness of the beauty of nature around me, a reminder that I am more than the various roles I play, and a deep sense of gratitude for the people in my life.
I spent literal hours just sitting in the living room looking around. I hiked by myself, sat in a pile of rocks looking for treasures to bring home to the girls, and watched the sun rise and set. I sat around the fire pit from 9-1 one day as the temperature changed from 30 degrees to 60 degrees! Birds and squirrels chased each other, and deer trotted by at least once per day.
I’ve been climbing trees all of my life, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore and reconnect with a childhood pastime. After finding a suitable tree, armed with a backpack of snacks and ropes, I climbed up to one of the highest spots, entering a new level of seclusion. I stood in that tree, in roughly the same spot, for two hours. At one point, I thought to myself, “What am I doing up here?” only to quickly answer “You don’t have to do today. Just be.”
It was challenging to downshift my pace into such silence and isolation. I’m used to the constant noise of parenting in a tiny home and the constant inner desire to accomplish something meaningful each day. But I knew I needed space to “just be” and it was so good for my soul.
When I got back home, I noticed a lingering calm and presence of mind. I was a more patient parent and homeschool teacher. I was a more present spouse. I still feel myself being a little more centered and grounded, and I’m truly thankful to have that experience away.
A couple days ago, as I spent time around the Village with my neighbors, this sense of calm and unhurriedness came in handy. I said hello to a fellow who was eating on a picnic table. We struck up a conversation in a rare moment when he didn’t have his usual armor on. Then, another friend joined us and the conversation evolved. None of us seemed to mind the lingering and somewhat aimless dialogue. After awhile, a fourth neighbor joined in as the first guy walked home. We chatted about politics, the mail being delayed that day, addiction and the long process of recovery, a neighbor’s dream car he’s saving for, and the stuff of life. Most of the time it was just me and another person, but every so often someone else would join the circle. It was a beautiful conversation tree with a handful of beautiful souls. I stood in roughly the same spot in the street for almost two hours.
On the walk home that afternoon, it struck me that my unrushed time in conversation was an echo of my times on retreat the previous week. Slowing down, standing still, and appreciating the beauty around me.
Every time I listen to another’s story or offer my non-anxious presence, I hope to subtly remind my neighbor that they matter, they are beautiful, and they are worth every bit of my time.