TENDING MY MOTHERS' GARDENS IN A ROOM OF MY OWN: A Time to...

I never watched my mother or grandmothers get harried over New Year’s Day, in the way that I have over the past few days. Their only requisites were an immaculately organized and well stocked home with pots of greens and black-eyed peas cooking—no sweat! Unlike my wise foremothers, my energy levels have ebbed and flowed frenetically as I plotted my next move for 2012. My plan has to be on paper by December 31!

I continued to make lists and organize, only to make more lists and reorganize. My energy was of the destructive variety: the kind that uproots harvests before they’re ripe and struggles to plant seed in frozen ground. My turning point was anxiety that manifested physically my chest. I took a moment to collect my calm with my  Henri Bendel Vanilla Bean Candle and a cup of (decaffeinated!) Zhena’s Fireside Chai. Breathe…in 1,2,3,4,5; out 1,2,3,4,5

My ancestors recognized the power of seasons, so New Year’s Day didn’t cause them to lose their cool. They weren’t distracted by human demarcations on their life goals, because everything had its own time and season. I felt my own seasons shift in June, and again radically in August.

"To everything there is a season,
and a time for every matter or purpose under heaven..." (Ecclesiastes 3:10, AMP)

I let all the articles and posts about resolutions get to me and make me feel as if what I was doing (my list of thirty-two things to accomplish before I turn thirty-two) wasn’t enough. All those articles and posts I’ve collected are pretty awesome, but I’ll file them away for the start of my next season.