the “together”

Seasons are good because they don’t last forever. With eternity being the only thing that lasts, wisdom is gleaned by maximizing the seasons… recognizing what’s present while it is there — not immobilized by pining for the past nor reaching only for the future. Seasons give life value.

I’ve been struck by the seasons shared in my current community, seasons that surpass our individual differences, differences we too often choose to use as a divisional source or force.

Together, we have experienced the tenures of presidents Bush, Clinton, Bush, Obama, and Trump.

Together, we have watched seven summer Olympics — in Barcelona, Atlanta, Sydney, and Athens… in Beijing, London, and most recently in Rio.

Together, we cried the day Diana died… maybe, also, for Michael or Pres. Reagan. At least then our heads were bowed, our voices softened, and our hearts were full of respect.

Together, still, on 9/11, we stared at the television in shock but no awe. That remains one thing seemingly still so huge to attempt to wrap our heads around.

But the experiences within these seasons shared have not always been so “big”…

Together, we have celebrated the birth of our children, their noted growth and accomplishments — ours, too — both personal and professional. We have huddled, too, in some heartbreaking moments of mourning. I will never forget, for example, our “Best Friends for a Day” post, where a series of planes, trains, and automobiles in the middle of a blizzard in the wake of my sister’s death on the eve of one of my son’s greatest successes led to a precious, shared experience. Again, it was together.

The beauty of shared experience is the “together.” The value is that it comes and goes in seasons.

Are you maximizing where you are while that you are there?

The moving vans soon come to pack up my stuff and haul it away. No worries; the Intramuralist will continue… just from a new home base. We are moving to a new community.

While there is excitement in all the newness that accompanies a move, this isn’t, obviously, totally easy. It’s hard, in fact, for we have maximized our seasons. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This thought keeps swirling in my head, such seemingly simple words…

“There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.”

“Where the Sidewalk Ends” is one of those iconic Shel Silverstein poems written to children but yet so poignantly also written to us. We often miss the joy that children inherently have; we let obstacles and other stuff get in the way. We thus miss the beauty of the seasons. Silverstein encourages us to go to the place that children know… stepping back, sensing the joy, seeing what our kids see.

What do they see?

Seasons.

And they see the value of sharing them together.

Respectfully…
AR

 

[Photo by Joseph Young on Unsplash]