Renew — Maybe It Isn't About Being New

I know Sunday is supposed to be a rest day, but honestly I feel like I'm failing myself because this post isn't ready to write. Tomorrow is the end of August, today starts the crossover week and, while I'm willing to allow myself some leeway because of how busy this month has been, I would still really like to get caught up.

Maybe the problem is that I haven't been able to figure out what Renew is supposed to look like.

I came home to find that one of the tenants I liked had died a couple of days before. There was a tent trailer parked in the as-yet unfinished parking lot and my house was a mess. We'd taken out the garbage and stuff before we left, but I hadn't swept or mopped and it showed. Even a week later, some of it still isn't done.

Then I got a notice that I need to renew my OHIP and Ontario ID cards before my birthday.

That got me thinking. Maybe renew isn't about making anything new. Maybe it's about updating something so it can continue working. The government seems to think so. Update a photo, pay a fee and continue on, life mostly unchanged.

BTW, that tent trailer eventually ended up parked right in front of my window. The couple and their dog seem okay, but this neighbourhood hasn't been kind to them. They weren't here by choice and they seem like decent people, but because of the neighbourhood some people assumed they must be trouble. Then, because it is this neighbourhood, the trailer got broken into. At least they weren't home.

Cops and ambulances and parties outside my bedroom window at three in the morning are part of the deal here. It's not the best place in the world to live, but it is home to me. Then there are the other sounds. A rainstorm, a child's laughter, even the sound of my neighbours sitting outside enjoying the air, which is surprisingly rare here. Those things don't make anything new. They're simply things I like about being here.

I've been dealing with fatigue and some physical issues. I'm behind on my posts and my housework and there are all kinds of things I haven't caught up on yet. Strangely enough, though, I am starting to feel comfortable in my life again.

I went to aquafit the first Monday I was back because I missed it. On Friday I went back to the Y and finally got the financial stuff sorted out so all five of us can use the facilities without any issues. I ended up getting a good deal too, more than 50% off what I had expected to pay. That renewed a little of my belief in the system I live within. Sometimes things actually do work.

Then I went to Ribfest with my family because I'd promised myself I would. I spent an ungodly amount of money on a rib deal, but when I got home there was enough food to feed three people for three meals, and I always feel good about feeding my boys.

It was worth it for another reason too. It was nice seeing ordinary people in this town out having fun, listening to music, eating too much food and enjoying what felt like one big neighbourhood BBQ. It kind of renewed my faith in the city. Mind you, if I were a more political person I could come up with a few changes to how Peterborough is run.

But it's all part of the whole thing I call my life.

I think I was putting too much emphasis on the new part of Renew. The things that refresh me don't make me new. They're things I like, things I miss when they're gone and things I keep returning to because they're right for me.

Maybe that's closer to what renewal actually is. Not replacing what was there, but doing whatever needs doing so it can continue. Apparently my OHIP card needs a new photo. My YMCA membership needed sorting out. My faith in my city needed a neighbourhood BBQ. And I needed to come home and start finding my way back into my ordinary life.

None of it is particularly new.

Tomorrow is still the end of August. I'm still behind, the floors still need cleaning and September is going to arrive whether I've caught up or not. But the post I was worried about when I sat down this morning is finally written, and perhaps that's part of it too.

I don't feel new, but I am feeling more like myself.

And I think that's what Renew looked like this week.

Restore: Finding My Way Back to Myself

When I chose Restore as the third part of my August rhythm — Rest, Notice, Restore, Renew — I thought I understood what it meant. Then the week arrived and I found myself asking a surprisingly difficult question.

Restore what? And how?

My first thought was energy. Surely restoration means doing things that give me my energy back. But when I looked at it that way, the list was pretty short. Eating helps. Sleeping helps. Beyond that, most of the things I enjoy either use energy or simply give my brain a rest for a while. Reading doesn't magically refill the tank. Neither does playing a game, walking through a garden or working on my field journal.

Maybe I had been asking the wrong question.

When life knocks me out of my usual rhythm, it can take me a week or two to recover. Calgary was wonderful, but it was also a very full week. I walked more than usual, saw new things every day, took hundreds of photographs and filled my head with experiences I wanted to remember. When it was over, I didn't go directly home. I went back to Toronto with Rob.

It was nice to stop moving quite so much and begin getting some of my normal back.

Some of that was very ordinary. There was shopping to do. In Toronto it was coffee and some of the things they don't keep at Rob's house. When I finally returned to Peterborough, it was groceries for the week. Necessities, really, but there is something reassuring about buying groceries for the coming week. It means I am back in my own life and preparing to live it again.

Staying at Rob's can be a challenge sometimes. He lives with his mother and brother, so there are always other people and other people's things around. But his brother has created a beautiful garden in the backyard, and it has become a refuge for me. In the morning I could take my coffee and whatever I was having for breakfast outside to the gazebo, sit among the flowers and listen to the sounds of the garden. Even the June bugs had their own song.

At home in Peterborough, there isn't a gazebo waiting for me. I open my window instead. I sit at my desk with breakfast and coffee and listen to whatever is happening outside. They aren't the same morning, but I realized they do the same thing for me. They give me a quiet place to begin the day before I ask anything more of myself.

There is also a little sitting room at Rob's that I have more or less claimed as my sanctuary. It has a loveseat and a table, although I have to overlook the computer equipment scattered everywhere. I did most of my work there. I read there. I relaxed there. For a while it became an almost-home, a place where I could settle into some of the things I normally do.

I found other almost-home things too. Walking through the garden reminded me of my usual turns around my building and my occasional visits to the garden nearby. Reading and playing my games brought back familiar parts of my routine. Working on the pages for my Calgary field journal let me return to the adventure, but this time without all the physical effort. I could revisit what I had seen, choose photographs, remember details and enjoy the trip again in an entirely different way.

 

Eventually, though, I came home.

There were little moments when I could feel my life clicking back into place. Walking around my building on the new pavement felt surprisingly good. Touching base with my son felt right. Spending time with Ness and Dean after Aquafit felt familiar. Even talking with the Outsiders felt like a return to something I recognized. Rob lives in a suburban neighbourhood that actively discourages people from hanging around outside. Here, people stop and talk.

Going back to Aquafit felt almost like coming home.

Then this morning I made my bed.

It is such a silly little thing. I make my bed every day, so there is nothing particularly noteworthy about it. Except this morning there was. I looked at it and thought, yeah, my routines are back in place. This is home.

My own room. My own mess. My own window. My own sounds. Even my fan at night matters. Rob has a fan too, but it doesn't sound like mine. Mine drowns out the world in exactly the way I am accustomed to, and apparently even that tiny familiar sound helps restore my equilibrium.

I think that's what I was missing when I kept trying to figure out how to restore my energy.

Restoration, at least for me, isn't necessarily about getting energy back. Sometimes it is the gradual return of the things that make my life recognizable to me. A cup of coffee in a quiet place. A book. A familiar walk. Making something. Seeing my family. Going to Aquafit. Making the bed. Hearing the right fan when I close my eyes at night.

Travel disrupts those things, and that's part of the adventure. I don't want every day away from home to look exactly like a day at home. But apparently I do need some familiar threads running through my days, even when I'm somewhere else. And when I return, I need time to pick those threads back up.

Maybe that is why restoration happens so slowly for me. I don't come home, get a good night's sleep and wake up restored. I come back a little at a time.

One routine. One person. One familiar sound. One ordinary thing after another.

Until one morning I make the bed, look around and realize:

There I am.

 

Notice: Paying attention to the little things

I thought noticing meant paying closer attention. Maybe it also means letting myself be surprised.

I am good at seeing things most people ignore. I learned early in my life to be aware and pay attention, not because of any abuse or trauma, but because I was very clumsy. Over the years I have managed to get better at not tripping over my own feet when something catches my eye, although apparently there are still limits.

Noticing starts with seeing. A black-and-white bird I don't recognize. A tiny stream almost buried under greenery and hidden by stone. Those are the kinds of things I see. They aren't necessarily important and I don't have to do anything with them. Something catches my attention and, instead of immediately moving on, I stop and look.

I have no lesson for you this week, only a suggestion. Look out your nearest window and slowly look up, down and sideways. Stop when something draws your attention and really look at it. This isn't a quick scan but a slow, deliberate look. Or, if you can, step outside and walk 100 yards in any direction and do the same thing. The point is simply to see what you might normally skip over. That is noticing.

Noticing doesn't have to be directed outward. I am tired today, and that is another way to notice. Turn the same attention toward yourself. Pay attention to the aches and pains, the feel of the fabric against your skin, what feels good and what feels bad. Notice even the things you generally don't pay attention to. Give yourself the same slow attention you just gave the world outside your window.

Calgary gave me plenty of opportunities to practice this. I went to Reader Rock Garden expecting a rock garden laid out on relatively level ground, only to discover that the rocks were actually steps and the garden was vertical. It was a beautiful place, emphasis on beautiful, but definitely not what I expected. I probably wouldn't have seen nearly as much of it if I hadn't been determined to reach the café, which, as it happens, sits about halfway up what felt very much like a rock mountain.

The next day I went to the Calgary Central Library expecting an uninspiring building full of books and things. Instead, I found somewhere I could have explored for hours. Even the building surprised me, with its shape inspired by a Chinook cloud. I was particularly drawn to the fourth floor, with its Indigenous teachings and books, Canadian and world history, and inviting places to sit and read. Did I mention that this place was huge?

Maybe that is what I am learning about noticing. It isn't about searching for something extraordinary. It is about giving the ordinary enough time to become interesting. Expectation tells us what we think we're going to see. Noticing gives what is actually there a chance to surprise us. 

What Rest Looked Like This Week

When I chose Rest as the focus for the first week of August, I imagined a slower week. I imagined staying late in bed, reading, watching TV, all the things that come to mind when you think of rest. That didn't happen.

Instead, I've spent the week getting ready for Calgary. There have been lists to make, things to pack, appointments to remember, laundry to finish, journal pages to complete, and all the ordinary chores that somehow multiply whenever you're about to leave home.

Then there's the housework. Dishes, sweeping, and all those little jobs I usually put off. I hate housework, but I know I'll appreciate coming home to a clean apartment instead of having to deal with it after a week away.

A few days earlier there was also our road trip back to Buckhorn. It wasn't physically restful, but it settled something in me that I didn't know still needed settling. Sometimes the heart rests before the body does.

In many ways the trip was restful, albeit full of memories. Along with the memories came peace in seeing things from my growing-up years that remain true in spirit, like Sandy Lake and Cody Inn. They are cherished memories, and I think that gives peace of mind and, in its own way, rest.

This week reminded me that rest isn't always measured by how many hours you spend in a chair. Sometimes it's measured by how little you're rushing inside your own head.

There were moments.

Standing by the lazy river and allowing its current to sweep away some of my fatigue. The sound of rushing water eases my mind and lets it rest for a little while.

Spending time with my girls and the important men in their lives. I was spending time with loved ones, and that was another reason the day felt restful.

Getting a stack of photos I thought were long gone, including some really old ones from my Dad's album. Looking through them reminded me just how many wonderful places I've been and experiences I've had. They are cherished memories, and I think that gives peace of mind and, in its own way, rest.

Planning and dreaming about spending four days in Calgary, free to explore anything I want without any of the pressures I feel here at home.

Writing in my journal and sharing scrapbook pages of the memories I've collected, hoping they'll mean something to whoever looks at them after I'm gone, instead of simply checking another task off the list. Though there was some of that too.

None of those moments lasted very long, but each one let me breathe a little easier. They let my mind relax and experience what was going on around me without worry or fear.

I've spent much of this year learning that I don't have to earn rest by exhausting myself first. I'm still not very good at believing it, especially before a trip when there always seems to be one more thing that needs doing. But I'm getting better at noticing the small pauses hidden inside busy days. Maybe that's what rest was this week.

Calgary will have its own adventures, its own discoveries, and probably its own tired evenings. I'm hoping I'll find a few more quiet moments there too.

For now, my version of rest is knowing that the preparations are almost finished. Soon, it will be time to go.