spring

I walked to the end of the block and back today, no great feat, maybe a half-mile in total but probably less. I guess you could call it a “block.” I live outside the city where blocks are a little less defined. I followed the sidewalk until it ended and then returned to my house. The sun was shining for the second day in a row, a rarity this spring, and in just a few short days, the kids will be home all the time. Summer is near. Work is piling up, but I needed this time, a few moments where my body was moving and my mind was free to wander, to feel the sunshine on my face.

Months ago, even a short walk like this one was out of reach, at least in my mind. I spent most of the first part of this year recovering from muscle spasms in my back, and fear shadowed every activity I wanted to do. Take a walk by myself? What if my back seized while I was out? Who would I call? Who would help me? How would I make it home?

I limited my world to the places where I felt the safest: home, the chiropractor’s office, church, the van. Public places were terrifying unless I was accompanied by my husband, and sometimes even my children being along gave me a sense of security. They are old enough, at least, to tell someone else how to help me.

Trying new things or going new places is difficult for me, even when I’m healthy, so adding an element of injury and possible re-injury, had me hunkering down in safety.

And then I stepped outside the circle of my own making.

—

I’ve been volunteering with a local refugee organization for about a month now, and every time, it’s something different. The people are different, or the needs are different. And sometimes what I signed up to do changes when I get there.

A few weeks ago, I agreed to provide transportation for a few members of a family. I was to meet them at a clinic in the city–a place I’ve never been to–and take them downtown for lab work. I showed up to the church where the clinic is, and I sat in the waiting room as was suggested by the volunteer behind the desk. A half-hour passed as I watched people pick up their kids from the day care facility and as I listened to others in the waiting room talk about their lives. I heard all about a dog, and I was offered some sour candies. It was a completely uncomfortable place for me to be, but for the love of this family I was picking up, I was all for it.

When 30 minutes had passed with no sign of them, the woman behind the desk said I should go on up and check on them. When I got to the clinic, I learned that they’d already been picked up by someone else. I had been early to pick them up, so I thought, but it turned out I was too late. Part of me wanted to be annoyed that I had left my house for nothing, but another part of me was glad that so many people wanted to help this family.

Sometimes when you step outside the circle, things don’t go as planned. Inside the circle, there’s a predictability, a limit on the variables. Outside the circle, the possibilities are almost endless, and for someone who does not like the unexpected, it’s almost too much to handle.

But it didn’t end in disaster. I made some new “friends” I might see again. I lost a little bit of anxiety about dropping off or picking up at this clinic. I saw a new part of the city I don’t frequent. A week later, I showed up to volunteer again to find that the class had been moved. By the time I arrived downtown where the field trip portion was taking place, the class was over. But I had driven into the city and parked and walked, all by myself, without Google’s directions guiding me. I’m getting the hang of this city stuff.

I want things to go just as planned when I step outside the circle, and when they don’t, I want to retreat back into it. But I love this work, so I keep showing up. This week, I got to help my new friends again. It was their last class in the series, and I didn’t want my relationship with them to end, so I gave one of the girls my phone number. It was another step outside another circle because the phone and I are not friends, and I worried they might call me a lot, but really, so what if they did?

The next day I got a request from her for a messaging app, another move that causes me anxiety. But I downloaded it and we had our first chat this week. It’s a way to keep in touch, but I need to take another step outside of the circle. I need to initiate seeing them outside of these classes, maybe even stopping by their house.

One thing at a time.

—

Spring has been drearier than I would like. Cloudy days and rainy ones have outnumbered the sun, and the temperature at times has dipped to March-like numbers rather than May. Life inside my house feels a bit overwhelming at times. The school year is wrapping up, which means my kids are amped all.the.time and the last 20 minutes before they leave for school each morning hits every last sane nerve I have.

So one morning, even though the weather wasn’t ideal, I sat outside on the porch with my coffee and a book, just to quiet my mind for a bit before I dove into my work projects. I love the porch, but when I have work to do or it’s cold outside, I’d much rather be inside. I love the feel of the sun on my face and the freedom I feel when I’m outside of the walls, but most of the time, tasks win the fight for attention. I don’t sit still well.

I saw no less than six different types of birds that morning, including a pretty yellow thing I’d never seen before. Dozens of birds flit from tree to tree across neighboring yards, and some, I can identify by song. The house finches are back. They have reclaimed the nest in the hanging fern, and five eggs await hatching. The mama and daddy bird are very vocal right now. They are constantly chirping in the vicinity of the nest. I don’t speak bird language but I wonder if the time is almost come. If I sit still enough, I can see the mama perch on the side of the pot as she checks on the nest. I can hear her song in the nearby tree. She is never far away. Occasionally, our porch activity will startle her out of the nest. I always feel bad about this, but sometimes it can’t be helped. We are trying our best to co-exist without harm.

I noticed a neighbor walking by, as she does daily. And for the first time I realized that her husband wasn’t with her. In all the time we’ve lived here, when the weather was nice, they would walk by our house, wave and say, “hello,” especially if the children were out. I confess that I don’t know their names, and now I wonder if something has happened to the husband. Did he die this winter? Is he ill? I might work up the nerve to ask.

As I waited for the bus to arrive with the children, I saw another neighbor out weeding her flower beds. I was seconds away from walking over to introduce myself because she is someone else I do not know. I am a slow mover in these things, obviously, and I hesitated because I was afraid I would miss the bus. Or maybe I was just afraid of being weird or awkward.

When I give myself the freedom to step outside my circle, my safe place, I see more. The view from inside my house is limited at best, and when I’m in it, I can convince myself that it is safer in here.

But something in my soul shrinks when my world does, and I feel less alive. Maybe I’m in more danger walking around the city, but I feel more like me when I’m doing it. Maybe I’ll hurt myself on a walk around my neighborhood, but my body wants to move, to be active. It was made for this kind of thing.

Fear draws a circle in the name of security. Love draws me out of the circle in the name of vitality.

It still takes effort for me to step outside, literally or figuratively, but each small step reveals a grain of truth. And with each step I’m a little more alive in my humanity.