I’m working on a heavy piece. It’s one of those writing endeavors you start because it’s been kicking around in your head so long that you need to shake it out and get it out of your body. But once you start writing your way through it you feel overwhelmed. So, you keep placing it back down. Because you see all of yourself spilled out in front of you, on the page, and you can only look at yourself like that in doses. Does this track with anyone?
I’m here today, instead, to show up small. Quieter.
With just a little ditty.
Because while I was perusing on Notes the other day, I stopped at this one from
It made me realize that showing up here weekly and regularly does not mean that I need to spit out heavy or deep or long formatted content week after week.
So, here’s what I lay before you today.
I’ve been looking for quiet teachers. By quiet I mean the ordinary marvels that I find as I wander through my day. The things that could otherwise remain hidden because they don’t leap out at me. And by teachers, I mean the creatures or inanimate objects that give me pause and jolt my mind with a spark plug of an idea.
This idea came to me after reading a daily offering from Mark Nepo1:
The soil of life in which we grow speaks a different language than we are taught in school. In actuality, truth and love and the spirit of eternity are rarely foreseeable, and clarity of being seldom comes through words.
Quiet teachers are everywhere. When we think we are in charge, their lessons dissolve as accidents or coincidence. But when brave enough to listen, the glass that breaks across the room is offering us direction that can only be heard in the roots of how we think and feel.
I know what Mark is getting at. It’s a message or lesson we seek (a clarity of being) that often can’t be delivered to us from another person. It comes from nature. Or the Universe. Something is placed in front of us that cements a breakthrough or gives us a simple pause we didn’t even know we needed.
Now, whenever I see something or hear something faint that pulls me out of my rat race mind and slows my roll, I pause and quietly whisper “teacher”. I’ve spent the last week capturing each lesson placed at my feet. You know what they say, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
LEAF TEACHER: The light wants to shine through. Stay still and it will.
DOG TEACHER: Even when you don’t know what’s up ahead, trust that the path is yours to take
TREE TEACHER: Sometimes our dark parts slice right through us, but we still stand tall
SKY TEACHER: Our thoughts are meant to shape shift and drift
HYDRANGEA TEACHER: Stay bold even when those around you insist it is time to dim your light
MUSHROOM TEACHERS: Community is how we grow.
MUSHROOM TEACHER: We are all capable of blooming wide open like a flower
FEATHER TEACHER: We leave parts of ourselves behind so others can see we were once here
NATURE TEACHER: We may look different but we’re all from the same vine
SNAIL TEACHER: Give yourself permission to climb slowly
ROCK TEACHER: Even in the rubble of life, there is always heart shaped love.
I invite you to turn down the static in your mind and clear space for these quiet teachers. Their lessons everywhere. And they want to teach us a thing or two.
I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU:
~Have you ever experienced a lesson that had no words? Delivered to you from nature’s classroom?
~How do you quiet things down when your brain gets noisy? The best way I know is to go outside and move.
If this is your first time visiting DARE TO BE DRY, hello! I’m so happy to have you here. I invite you to explore below to learn a little bit more about me and find links to some of my earlier essays that connected with readers:
DARE TO BE DRY is sobriety focused. But you don’t have to have ever had a problematic tango with alcohol to be here and feel resonance. This is the space where I get curious and invite whatever parts of me want to step up that day. For decades I spent so much time and energy doing. Writing reminds me of the importance of simply being. It slows me down. I’ve learned I don’t like the pace in the fast lane.
My “hero post” explaining what my heart wants from this space and what it DARES TO BE
Two of my most vulnerable essays letting you know I Was That Kind of Drinker and what I realized when I hit 1,000 days of sobriety
I love writing about parenting - it stirs up so much. Here is a trifecta of inspiration from my kids: Preparing to Launch and Trusting the Mother in Me and What My Daughter and March Madness are Teaching Me About Being a Woman
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I’ve read this three times. I still have goosebumps. This is such a moving meditation for my morning, Allison. Just beautiful. Truly. Your writing lens is deeply wise and oh so clear.
It’s a trite one, but I handle butterflies at the library. We have an ongoing program where we (me) scoop up caterpillars from our library garden out back. Place them in a four foot tall box in the foyer so customers of all ages can witness the marvelous transformation that is the life cycle from egg to caterpillar to gooey chrysalis to gorgeous butterfly.
From May to September, I feed the caterpillars fresh milkweed and fennel every day. I clean up the poop, called frass. That hungry caterpillar who eats a lot? It also poops a lot. When they are ready, the fat, furry caterpillars climb to the top of the box, get in J position and spin their chrysalis. After they have what is an often messy emerging, I let the butterfly dry its wings for a few hours and gain some confidence to fly, then I gather whatever children are around, we take the box outside, and I set it free.
Ah. So many beautiful lessons from this particular creature Nature has gifted us.
It is not lost on me that I took this job and acquired this task just as I was getting sober, approaching a separation and starting my new life.
Such a lovely share and reminder, Allison. I consider my cats my teachers (though one of them isn’t so quiet, ha). It’s wild to me how they’ll be running around like crazy, after whatever there’re after (kitty treats, mostly), then plop down into a fully serene, meditative state in an instant. They’re so present, so focused on the immediate moment, and have mastered the art of fully relaxing (whereas I don’t even come close!).