The Beautiful In Between

We don’t give up easily in the Midwest. We expect spring to return every year. March is the pivoting month. Statistically the most snow falls during the month of March in Minnesota, and yet the migrating robins return. It is a month of sunlight that matches mid-October. It is a month of both/ands. It is a month of passing and promising. Winter loosens its grip, and spring, with her pastels and tender pedals boldly defies her docile façade and pushes, forces, and sprouts. We not only accept this ambiguous dance, we expect it.

The Ides of March, which is a reference to the Latin word “Iduare” or divide, marks the middle of March, and nearly the Spring Equinox. And of course, it is almost St. Patrick’s Day. This winter has for many of us, been a test of our loyalty to living in the Midwest as the weather delivered bitter cold and record-breaking snow. Yet, this week, there was a hum in the air. Warm temperatures ushered in snow melting bright sunshine, followed by several days of rain and melting. I heard it on the streets and in casual conversations. Everyone seemed to sense it, despite some tragic wet basements and leaking roofs. There is a change in the air. The weather has shifted. Winter is on its way out. Everyone commented on it. There was a collective felt sense about it. Something had shifted. And we all seemed to welcome the shift, which seemed both natural and remarkable. A welcome easing up and hints of spring in the birdsong, and occasional bare grass showing around the protection of a tree, or in a secluded southern exposure.

Yet, March is not unique. There is always the push/pull of the seasons, including the seasons of our lives. The false certainty we cling to as we prescribe expectations and outcomes in our lives, is often, like a snowstorm in late March, upsetting. We want to be able to alter and modify the situation. March is a month of transitions and she invites us to hold lightly to our expectations. Opposing metaphors like the Lion and the Lamb are assigned to March. February and April don’t receive such contradictory distinctions.

March is the month in which when I was a child, wearing 100% wool mittens and ill fitting rubber boots, I built dams in the melted rivers that cascaded down the alley beside our home. Alone in my urban planning experiment, I would gather up soft melting snow from the snow banks on either side of the alley, pack it into the rivulets of water and watch with fascination as the water found alternative paths to follow its gravity insistent flow. Sometimes the melting snow would be stopped long enough to create a mini lake until that accumulated water spilled over it’s edges and flooded the surrounding rivers of water, widening them or creating new paths to the street below. Finally, as the sun got low in the sky, my wool mittens began to sag heavily off the ends of my fingers, which were now cold, and red and stiff. Dripping with water and melted snow, I pulled off my soggy mittens and found my way into the warmth of my Mother’s kitchen, which smelled of food cooking in the oven and surrounded me with warmth. The table was set. I pulled off my rubber boots and wet wool mittens, my snow pants and jacket. I got ready for dinner. I moved on from my dam building project into the next part of my life.

This is life. It is always in flow. It is always in transition, from season to season. We have periods of time in which we falsely let ourselves believe we have a handle on the flow, the seasons, or the outcome of our lives. The Buddhists remind us that all in life is temporary. Everything eventually melts and some day will again refreeze. Jesus encouraged us to shake the dust off our sandals and move on when there was no fruit in our path. Paul encouraged us to worry about nothing. Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a season to everything. And yet it is such a hard lesson to learn. We cling to the desire for certainty. We are continually surprised when things come to an end, or when we have to make big transitions in our lives.

The practice of being in the moment, finding joy and satisfaction, or sometimes sadness and discontent, sometimes frustration or surprise, is a practice requiring intention and repetition for most of us. We want to move on from our grief, when sometimes just being in our grief, with deep self-love and self-compassion, is exactly where we should be. We want to cling to and orchestrate events so that when we are in places of joy and satisfaction, we can have reassurance, or even a guarantee that this moment will never end. It is often difficult for us humans to put our egos and our fears aside and to welcome each moment, what ever it brings.

Today, on the Ides of March, the division between the halves of March, I am reminded of the profound reality of the both/ands of life and the importance of living in and honoring this moment, this day. It may be snowing and cold, but the sun will return. It may be bright and sun filled but the clouds will also return. Both are essential. It is in finding the joy and acceptance of what is, that we find peace. This is not being a passive participant in our lives. In fact it is the opposite. It is recognizing our role in moving forward in our lives that is the only power we truly have. Accepting this moment and not needing it to be different, yet also not giving up our ability to find a meaningful path through to the next moment of our lives is the challenge we all face. The story is never over. Love itself is the energy of this evolutionary path and Love never dies.