Be Present for the Pause
“Do you ever feel like it’ll never be over… like this is going to last forever?”
— The constant question of the moment... and by moment, I mean the question of 2020.
2020 has been a perpetual emotional and literal rollercoaster with a constant dose of anxiety, grief and confusion. What has everything come to? Is it ever going away (insert: COVID-19, racial injustices, political volatility, physical isolation, etc.)?
Seasons come and seasons go. But, as with anything, seasons transition-- there’s always going to be the in-between, the evolution and progression from one season to the next. Now usually we can expect the timing of such transitions, at least as it relates to weather. But right now, it feels like all we can do is embrace the chaos and wait it out. Ride the wave, as they say.
Let’s play this out a bit— what season are we really in?
Think about your life like a plant, a fruit tree specifically. In every season, there are certain reactions, byproducts and behaviors that correlate. The cycles we endure as people are not altogether different from the life cycle of our Mother. While we each have our preferences for why we like certain seasons best, we must acknowledge that each season has a precursor and transition-- it’s an interdependent web that is reliant on the natural progression and order of life. So what does that mean right now…
While it’s technically summertime, for a lot of us, it feels like an imposed winter. This incongruity can make things confusing at the least, and depressing (even debilitating) at the worst. But before we get too far into that tension and disparity, let’s just review real quick what each season really represents… basic life cycles even deserve a refresher.
We’ll start with my favorite season and the official onset of new life-- Spring.
The earth slowly awakens, rising from it’s quiet, deep and pensive slumber. The rains of rebirth are in full force, and the daylight dances its way back in, edging a little more every day. It’s a season of hope, vitality and fertility. For me, this reinvigoration of life and all its blooming glory is what keeps me going in other seasons.
As the blooms are emboldened by Spring rain, everything else on earth begins to grow green and the fullest expression of life arrives-- Summer.
The days are long, life is lush, and everything is delighted, radiating with vibrancy and warmth. There’s a sense of fullness of life and even some R&R; simply put, there’s abundant energy and action is top of mind for all.
As the dog days of August come to a close and the Aspens begin to beam yellow come September, we begin to settle down and recuperate our scattered summer energies-- Fall.
The daylight begins to dwindle and the leaves stop producing their own food and begin preserving their energy. It’s a season of balance-- as illustrated by the literal equilibrium of daylight/nighttime-- of gratitude, and even of comfort; the nesting that precedes hibernation.
After we give all our thanks and praise the earth and the universe for all that fills our plates, we start to retreat, reflect and reconnect with ourselves and one another-- Winter.
There’s less movement and momentum, and in its place an introspection and inner dialogue happening. The darkness and dormancy are represented by cold, long nights and occasional serene, snow blankets. Like the animals, even for us, winter is mostly about endurance and surviving the desolation.
Here’s the kicker though… while Winter is often seen as dull-- even depressive-- it ought to be leveraged, tapped for exploration and vision-casting for the future. This time of isolation is one meant for reflection and meditation of what has been, as well as what’s to come. Winter’s lack of spirit and zeal, its quiet calm, is the very source of rest and recovery that paves the way for the zest and sparkle of Spring. You can’t begin again or yield anything new-- you can’t produce fruit or ever ripen-- if you never face the solitude and simply survive. Our ability to harvest mature, wholesome fruit is only made possible by enduring the isolation. We must move season by season, and we must maintain the order of the cycle.
Right now very well may be the worst winter we’ve ever experienced, both personally and collectively. Life feels paused in almost every way, bleak and void of any semblance of hope, much less any levity. The physical earth is still breathing and there are ample signs of life in our natural environment, and yet… we are smothered every day, hour by hour, story after story, with sobering statistics and national breaking news. Society is gasping for air while widening disparities, divisiveness, death and destructive inequities run rampant.
And still the world turns, and magic is happening all around us. Even though the waiting— this metaphorical winter we are in— is extended indefinitely, there is an opportunity to look inward, to observe ourselves, and grow more self-aware + realign our intentions. If we do the work now in the waiting, in the future we will grow new leaves and buds, yield ripe fruit and collect a harvest.
It’s in these seasons that feel dark and despairing, when life doesn’t feel abundant at all but rather on a terminal pause, that we truly have the opportunity to prune and prepare for future flourishing and productivity. We have the chance to examine the ground we are planted in, and evaluate the strength and reach of our roots. While this season can feel like a series of setbacks-- even suffering-- I can tell you from experience, that this is where the magic happens. This season primes us for creation. Per a quick little Google search, I found a lovely definition of pruning that I find relevant here:
Many plants should be pruned in the winter months, while they're dormant. Pruning in winter encourages flowers and fruit, can encourage a good shape, promotes strong growth and helps to stop disease taking hold. Some plants should be pruned in spring, while others are best left until summer or autumn.
—from Gardners’ World
This pruning is not promised to be pleasant or painless. Trimming the limbs of our lives takes thoughtfulness, precision and poise. We have to identify first what needs to go and what needs to remain. Otherwise, we run the risk of overdoing it, and hacking away at our lives carelessly, maybe even encouraging them to grow back misshapen or unhealthy. What we ought to aim for is giving a concentrated, critical look at the areas that need to be shortened or cut off at their base.
My encouragement to you in this season: be present for the pause. There’s magic and maturation in the waiting. Show up for it; trim your edges and cut back where you need to. Be still, settle into this season while maintaining hope for what’s to come. You will thank yourself next season for showing up now.
I promise I understand. It feels like a pause from “normal” isn’t fair, like we are skipping the other “more fun” seasons. I felt like that nearly every year of my twenties. Like I was stuck in one perpetual winter with setback after setback… I was being pruned though, even without my knowing it at times. I was building, brick by brick, groundwork that would lay the foundation for my thirties and the rest of my life.
While I was enduring— surviving my metaphorical winter— I was becoming. Without that darkness and drought, the stillness of solitude, I wouldn’t have been able to fully experience the light, fertility and life of this new season. The fruit I’m bearing now wouldn’t taste as sweet as it does if I hadn’t been painstakingly pruned in the waiting.
Maybe that’s what we all need right now, as individuals and as a society—to be together in a collective pruning phase. To remove the excess weeds and stray stems in order to reshape ourselves for what’s ahead. I know I need it. America definitely needs it. Maybe you need it yourself too. If you and I (and our country) never endured the seasons of self-reflection and of isolation, could we really enjoy the seasons of expression and togetherness? Maybe we could to an extent. But how much brighter is Spring, how much more colorful is Summer, and how much richer is Fall after the pause of Winter…
Be present for the pause, people. Yes, you can. We are in this together; we are becoming.