I don't always remember why. I can't. It's hard to remember sometimes.
Especially when things get busy and I'm having to spend a lot of time indoors, fretting, jamming, juggling the many jobs, tasks, chores, demands, desires, and generally potentially deadening activities involved in living in our modern mechanized economic and domestic world.
Like lately. Like now. Where I have found myself pecking frantically at the keyboard all day, or else researching and reading and filling out forms, or running errands, or prepping for upcoming work, or diddling with the several other projects I tend to have spinning at the same time ...
What about ... out there? Getting out there, in the woods, mountains, into the flowering, heating desert and rising rivers that are the reason I have chosen to cobble together this patchwork worklife? Remember those? What about getting out and staying fit and strong and alive? What about the tribe of like-minded middle-aged parenting bums that make doing all this -- the out-theres and the in-theres -- so full or joy and pleasure and imbibing? Remember??
This recent bout of business busyness has been good stuff, for sure. (If anyone's interested (BAHAHA!!), you can check out what I've been so absorbed in lately -- starting Raven's Eye Press, and releasing my third book, The Monkey Wrench Dad.) So no regrets. At all. And I thoroughly engage with and enjoy the variety and challenge and independence -- the general buzz -- of my six-pack of jobs that get me through (teacher, free-lance writer, author, guide, karate instructor -- and now publisher!).
But it means I have to be consciously vigilant and deliberate in my efforts at remembering why. Why I have chosen to live this way, why I put myself through making my living this way. Because of the place. The people. The life. And the me -- the Self -- that these circumstances shape.
So what I must endeavor to remember is, not a list of those things, but the feel of those things. I do that through little actions. By simply stepping outside -- and just being there, out there. By inserting things where they'll fit into the cracks and crevices of the day -- bike rides, walks, runs, kata outdoors, chances to work outdoors. By visiting the neighbors and talking to people I run into. By sitting in the hot tub, alone and in silence; or with Sarah or the kids, talking, sharing, just being present with each other and -- and making sure I am fully awake to this awareness -- appreciating that brief time together.
Circumstances matter. I remember that by seizing the circumstances where ever I am that remind me why.
Sure, I want to be out there more. But I need to remember to find the out there right here.
Because that's why I'm here.