Waiting for a Bus

For a number of years I commuted to work on a city bus.  It was the reasonable thing to do since the bus stop was a half block from my home, and dropped me off across the street from my office.  Riding during rush hour, the buses were frequent, so even if I missed my intended bus, another would be there in ten minutes.

Even though it is still reasonable to take the bus, I hate waiting for a bus.  Waiting for something to happen without any control triggers all my anxieties.  A worst case situation occurred yesterday going meet friends at the National Cathedral, which can only be reached on a bus.  I set out on the trip with lots of extra time.  Arriving at the bus stop, there were already three young women waiting, a good sign that a bus had not just left.  I found a place to wait, able to look almost a mile up the road.  Minutes passed as I watched a series of buses turn off on other streets, following different routes.  After waiting for fifteen minutes, I checked the posted schedule, noting one bus should have already gone by.  More people arrived, and more time passed, my anxiety rising about making to the appointed meeting.  Finally, the bus arrived after I waited over a half hour. 

Other waits can be very long.  Last week I had an interview for a job, one that would be a very positive step in my career transition.  I was told it would be a week before I would learn their decision.  Just like waiting for the bus, day by day I have had rising anxieties.  I have worried about mistakes made during the interview.  I want to do something, to take action, but know my email think you is plenty enough.  I wonder why they haven’t contacted my references, or if they even will.  I am waiting in suspense.

While waiting, I have been practicing letting go and being present to each moment.  Meditation is one way I continue to learn how to let go.  While sitting in silence, I acknowledge my thoughts and feelings before letting them go.  Like any skill it takes time to be comfortable with letting go, and constant practice. 

Being present is closely related to letting go.  Worry and anxiety focuses on the past or the unknown future, so being present breaks away from those paralyzing states.  Staying in the present moment involves closely paying attention to where I am and what I am doing.  Being present is grounded in my senses.  At this time, I am able to look out the window on a cloudy hazy day.  I can smell the fragrance of the peonies I cut from the garden.  I have my cup of tea nearby, which is beginning to cool down.  I hear the creak of the chair as I move.

Being present with people means engaging with them rather than turning inward.  Joining the group at the cathedral was a way to feel their energy and playfulness of a group.  In an unexpected surprise at the cathedral, when I saw an old friend, and we had a few minutes to talk.  If I had not stayed present in the moment, caught up in my worry and anxiety, I probably would have missed her. 

There are many times in practicing being present when I have been surprised, and blessed, by experiencing something wondrous.  In staying present to the moment, I might find God reaching out to reassure, to comfort, to encourage.

Even though I got to the cathedral later than I wanted, my friends were also later than expected.  So the worry and anxiety was unnecessary.  I hope that will also be true for my job search. Even if I get something later rather than sooner, God will be with me throughout the waiting, if I am able to let go and be present.

New Growth

One year ago my job was eliminated.  Last Saturday was the anniversary of being escorted into the Executive Director's office and told I was not needed.  In spite of time and effort to work through my grief, it still has been a heavy anniversary that needed to be honored.

A few weeks ago the Spiritual Directors International sponsored a Contemplative Retreat at Ghost Ranch, Abiquiu, New Mexico.  Rabbi Nahum Ward-Lev led a small group of us through periods of sitting meditation balanced with contemplative time exploring the landscape around us.

The last morning had a thick layer of clouds, muting the light.  When Nahum sent us outside for a contemplative walk, I started up the trail up to Box Canyon.  I had traveled 30 minutes up the trail then turned around return to where the group was gathering. 

Alongside the path there was a large juniper tree, with a massive trunk, lots of twisted gray wood and only a few branches with foliage.  Its half-dead condition was like so many others I had seen along the trail.  Yet, there was a remarkable profusion of bright green and yellow sprouts coming out of the trunk hear the bottom. I stepped off the trail to look at it more closely.

As I pulled up the camera and took a few exploratory shots, a bright column of sunshine broke through the clouds and lit up the tender branches.  The green became more intense, the yellows shining with the warm light.  I shot from several angles before the sunlight was stopped by the clouds a minute later.  I offered a prayer of gratitude and felt deep joy.

Although much of the year was spent grieving what is dead, I recalled and began nurturing a different part of myself.  Significant knowledge and skills had been rejected by that former workplace.  In my old wood, I found new and tender growth emerging from a deep internal source, cautiously reaching out into the harsh world.  New growth was emerging from seemingly dead part of myself. 

This is my new image for growth into a new life.